‘Well, Ithink that’s started things; if we hang around and prepare herbreakfast then we can leave it for a week or two and work out atimetable. Do you fancy a little smoke before we go tobed?’
Gemma beckoned himover and put her arms round him.
‘You weregreat, Mark, and I was hoping you’d have a joint ready. We – well,really you – deserve it.’
Tuesday 6 October1981
Since theevening at her mother’s Gemma had found it increasingly difficultto keep a focus on the day job. The driving to and fromLittlehampton, the paperwork, the interminable hanging around atvarious courts, the hopeless and hapless offenders, and alongsideall of that the idiots she had to work with – it had never been howshe had envisaged her life panning out; and she was determined thatit couldn’t go on for much longer. Seeing how Mark had taken to hisnew, really renewed, role had made her realise that it could be forreal; things could work out the way she had occasionally imagined.Although Gemma had never had a clear or detailed plan in mind, shecould see herself getting her revenge, and her dad’s, and perhaps agood deal more besides. Meanwhile, she knew she had to keepeverything else as normal as possible, to carry on as thesupposedly dedicated junior probation office keen to make her wayin a chosen profession. She realised she had to keep herself aboveany future suspicion, to keep up the image, just in case. Thatdidn’t mean she couldn’t help keep Mark on track and help with thepractical side of things, too.
Now that itwas all out in the open between them, a good deal of their time wasspent discussing progress and strategies. It had given Mark and hera closeness which Gemma was enjoying more than she had thought andwhich he seemed pretty happy with too. Maybe it was the thrill ofdanger, the allure of engaging in something which was so beyond thebounds, so callous and calculating too; it was little surprise thatcrime could be so addictive. They had agreed the do at Anne’s hadbeen a good start and that Mark’s approach of regular and varieddoses was the only way to make it all seem natural. She had beenamused by the fantasy he’d told her he’d had after his previousefforts with his in-laws: essentially it involved him being giventhe sobriquet of ‘The Cocktail Murderer’ and being accorded similarnotoriety to the most infamous of villains. Gemma wondered if hereally believed a place in history beckoned.
As it was, andfor the next stage of things, Mark wanted to add to the mix bygetting hold of some more conventional but illegal drugs before thepromised night out in London with Anne. He had arranged to meet upwith his former colleague Craig later in the week to see if Craigcould help him make contact with that market. Meanwhile Gemma waspursuing an idea she had about one of her current clients, Roger,which she reckoned could potentially add an extra element to Mark’scocktail approach. Knowing she had an official appointment withRoger scheduled for later that day had given her a little moreenthusiasm for the drive down to work that morning.
It wassurprisingly warm for early October and she had put on a low cutstrap dress and ankle sandals, and more lipstick than she usuallywore for the office. She felt good and knew she looked good. Shehad always been well aware of her ability to manipulate oldermales. Typically pervy, in spite of his pro-feminist posturing andself-righteousness, Mathew hadn’t been able to lift his eyes as faras her neck when she had breezed into the office earlier; and herboss Gregory had been embarrassingly but quaintly incoherent whenhe’d hovered around her desk, seemingly with some memo which he’dnever even got to deliver. Even Lizzie told her that she lookedsummery and full of life.
She was readingthrough Roger’s file with more care than she would normally havedone when the internal phone buzzed and Lizzie spoke.
‘There’sRoger here to see you, Gemma.’
‘Thanks, send him inplease.’
Roger musthave been in his late forties if not older, judging from thedetails he’d provided as part of his mitigation when he wassentenced at the local magistrates’ court a few weeks back.Apparently he had been conscripted for his two year’s nationalservice from 1949. An army background, even from some time ago,usually helped impress magistrates and he had been lucky to begiven a two-year suspended sentence for cultivation of marijuana,which he had claimed was for personal use even though there wasenough to last him a couple of lifetimes at least. Tall and thin,with piercing blue eyes, he looked like, and probably was given hisoffence, an ex-hippy as well as ex-soldier. One of the conditionsof his suspended sentence was that he would be supervised by aprobation officer and that task had fallen to Gemma.
The bell on her officedoor tinkled as Roger pushed it open; he did adouble-take.
‘Bloody hellMiss, you look good; makes these visits a real pleasure, youknow.’
Gemma hadtaken to him on her first contact immediately after the court case,not for any particular reason other than that he was morearticulate and easier to talk to than most of her clients. And tobe fair, with those eyes, he reminded her of Peter O’Toole, whichwasn’t a bad comparative. She decided to get straight on with herploy. She never doubted he would fancy her anyway. As with so manylocal cases, probation and police officers, court staff and localsolicitors generally knew one another, had established decentworking relations and were happy to share information. In thiscase, Gemma had managed to read up more than usual on Roger’sbackground from his solicitor’s unofficial notes. As well as thearmy background he had held a variety of jobs including farm workand as a crew hand on a fishing trawler; he had lived on whatappeared to be some sort of small holding for many years andapparently was a keen naturalist. It was just an inkling of an ideabut Gemma remembered one or two of the supposedly cooler studentsat her
