Not many of them believed that Lawrence was still in the frame and even DS Butler was having doubts. Only DC Anian Stanford remained convinced, but then, she knew him more than most and she had what the others did not – a woman’s intuition.
The DC didn’t need an A-level to work out what was wrong with Sam Butler. Apart from the dressing-down he’d received from Wooderson and the criticism from Detective Superintendent Baxter which had upset him even more, confiding in him about her feelings toward Rick Cole had been a big mistake. Even so his reaction had still come as a surprise. And it should not have done. She was old enough to know about men by now, and when it came to women they were all the same.
So much for his wife and kid, Janet and Lucy. So much for the doting dad!
Plato eat your heart out. You got it wrong again.
But what of Cole himself? Anian had picked up a rumour that he was more than friendly with a certain PC who’d been seconded to his team. She wondered if it was the PC who’d taken her own place. Now that would be ironic.
She sat in her car thinking about it all, Cole included, aware that she was running out of time and options. The final session with Lawrence was on her. It was her last shot and she hadn’t got a plan to take it forward.
What was it Geoff Maynard had said? Use the religious card? She shook her head. Religion wasn’t going to excite Lawrence, not any more. Even if it had figured in his past he’d got it under control. And that left the other option, every girl’s secret weapon. And there was something inevitable about the way it had panned out, that sooner or later she had always intended using it.
In the office she caught up with DS Butler.
“Sam, I have a confession to make.”
He was still smarting and almost said, ‘Another one’, but that would have been too churlish and she didn’t deserve it. Instead he tried a conciliatory smile that wasn’t too convincing and ended up more like a grimace.
She made sure they were out of earshot and said hurriedly, “I went for another session with Lawrence. He’s still painting me.” Butler sat down heavily. His face darkened as he waited for more and she worried that the others in the room would pick up on it. “I couldn’t give up,” she insisted.
“You were told…” His voice sounded oddly broken.
“I know. And it’s down to me.”
“It was a formal instruction, Anian, and it wasn’t mine. You’ll lose your job here.”
“I know.”
“I’ll have to report it.”
“I know that too.”
“For Christ sake, why?”
“Because we’re that close and because we know he’s guilty.” Butler swallowed air.
“The thing is, it’s my last session with him tomorrow and things are coming to a head…”
“Wrong! It was going to be your last session.”
“Sam…”
“Sam nothing. We’re on the line here, right out on a limb. Do you think they’ll believe I had no knowledge of all this? Everyone knows, or they think they do, how close we are. Partners, isn’t that the word?” “It’s too late now. We can’t stop now.”
“Yes we can. And we will. You will!”
“Then I’ll do it without you, Sam, and if it goes pear-shaped I’ll deny you had any involvement.”
“Like I said, you think they’ll believe you?”
“You can’t stop me. Not now.”
“Don’t call me Sam,” he said without a smile, playing for time. He was in a corner and he knew it. All he wanted was out. A result was no longer a priority. Survival and a pension came first. He said, “I don’t like it, Anian. We’re way out of our depth.” “It’s our last shot. If this fails we’ve got nothing, not a thing. Nothing will go wrong. He doesn’t take chances. He’s not going to tip Rohypnol or anything else into the wine. Somehow he’s got to get me out of there to wherever it is he takes them. Whatever happens it won’t be in the shop. He’s not going to carry me, is he?”
“He could use a threat, a knife – maybe we missed a firearm.” “Sam, nothing was missed. Sure he could use a knife, but he’s not going to frogmarch me along the High Road and if he comes out back, you’ll be there.”
“Will I?” he said. “Someone should be out front. What if his lodgers help?”
“He won’t involve them. John Lawrence is a loner. And who else would you get?”
He nodded reluctantly. “No one.”
She threw him a tentative smile. “But you will help me?” “You’re not giving me a choice. I can’t let you do it alone.” “That’s what I’d hope you’d say.” She reached forward and touched his sleeve. “Don’t worry.”
“It’s how I am. I’m never happy unless I have something to worry about.”
“Well there you are then, I’ve made you happy at last.”
In the corridor at Sheerham nick Cole caught a look from Donna that asked a question and he ushered her into his office.
“Guv?”
“Donna, you all right?”
“No.”
“You’re not letting it get to you?”
“Not the case, Guv. Other things. You’ve got to me. Being cut short last night shook me back to reality. I was dreaming. It wasn’t real, was it?”
“It seemed real enough at the time.”
She shook her head. “It was an emergency, Guv, that’s all it was.” “I never misled you, Donna. It was you that knocked on my door.” “Wrong. You opened it before I knocked. But I’m glad I did. In another way I’m not. It’s nothing to do with you. You never said anything except come to bed. I’ve got a fiance who buys concrete tunnel linings and my favourite DVD is Titanic.” She turned back to the door then paused. “I’d like to go back to uniform, Guv.” “Any reason in particular?”
“Maybe it was the phone going, maybe Geoff getting hurt. I don’t know. Maybe we’ve been saved by the bell.”
“About going back to uniform?”
She offered him a tricky little smile that reminded him where it had started, then said simply, “Status Quo. My favourite band.” For just a moment she hesitated then said, “Gotta go,” and with a swirl of skirt she went and the door closed behind her and with a curious certainty, he knew that was the end of it.
At his table in the White Horse, partitioned by the stanchions, Rick Cole sat alone. It was well after closing – three, four, who counted? And the room was swimming. He’d come out to hear some noise, any noise, and even Chas Walker’s voice filtering in from the far end of the room was mildly satisfying.
He considered calling it a day, selling up, selling out, starting somewhere fresh. But he knew he wouldn’t. It was just Teacher’s talk. Come the winter’s late dawn he’d be back on the job, poking the bad men where it hurt.
He thought about Donna Fitzgerald at home with her fiance, and Anian Stanford in her single bed. He thought about his own bed and the wife who’d left it. Ex-wife, now, of course. He checked his watch. God knows why because he was thinking in years.
It had been a long time ago. Last he’d heard she was living in Sunshine on the California coast with her American husband, two kids and an outdoor swimming pool.
Now, where was it the San Andreas fault ran through? His smile was humourless as he nodded and emptied his glass.
He had blamed the job, and so had she. But that was crap. Staleness had grown into indifference and from there it was always going to be a matter of opportunity. And yet it had all started so well – his foot on the ladder in a job he loved, a quick promotion, the beat of London and a beautiful young wife. The future had never promised so much. “I’m leaving you,” she had said. “I never minded you being a policeman. I just didn’t want the house turned into a police station!” “Coppers aren’t normal,” she had said.
He’d had enough. He shook away the memories and levered himself out of the chair. He looked at the door – the exit to reality and a cold house – then at Big Billy’s excellent daughter, Diane, who stood behind the bar. She
