A Cry in the Night (32 page)

‘Yes, sir. I only think.’

She felt quietly proud of the double meaning in her words and wondered if being clever mattered to this man. His criteria more likely involved wealth, a loud laugh and tickets to the big game.

‘So, we talked before about Sergeant Cartmell, yes?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What’s happening with that?’

She gave a stammering reply about having been away in the Lake District and therefore not being entirely certain of the latest developments. Mr Frey leaned back in his chair and watched her as she did so. Eventually she ran out of words.

‘There’s a dead rat on your desk,’ he said, and waited for her reaction.

‘Yes, sir,’ was all she could think of to say.

‘Doesn’t bode well, does it?’

The floor felt uneven. He was endorsing it. There was no air in the room. This must be how it feels, she thought, when the prison door opens and the guards come in with truncheons.

‘What should I do, sir?’ she heard herself say.

‘I can’t stop an entire police station from hating you, Barnes. Especially if you show no interest in pulling your neck out of the noose.’

‘He beat him into a coma, sir.’

‘Shut up!’ Mr Frey snapped. ‘I don’t want to hear about any of it. Not one word.’

She didn’t know what to say. The sun was gone and she saw her insipid reflection standing awkwardly in the dark glass behind him.

‘So what do I do?’

He straightened files on his desk, for effect she assumed, as he considered her words.

‘Sergeant Cartmell isn’t going to pay for his actions. Let’s get that straight. He’s a good man and even good men do terrible things sometimes.’

He shifted in his seat and then gestured for her to sit down. The offer surprised her and she meekly accepted.

When Zoe had first signed up to become a cop, she had sat at the desk of a senior officer who had joked and enthused about the opportunities ahead of her. She had lapped up his words, giggling on the edge of her seat. And now she sat before a similar sort of man, who held no interest in right or wrong, in the law, and especially not in her. She realised that all of the previous discussion was just foreplay. The real, awful deals would begin now. Most likely, she thought, she would leave the room having resigned.

‘Sam speaks very highly of you, by the way,’ Mr Frey said.

She nodded, scared to give anything away.

‘It’s a shame when the good ones are thrown to the wolves. The police service can be very excitable when it comes to protecting itself.’

Here it comes.

‘You need to prove your own value, Detective Constable.’

I’m all alone in here, she thought. He could do anything and no one will come running.

‘You were seen,’ he said, and suddenly there was ire in his voice. ‘With her.’

For a moment, Zoe didn’t understand who he was talking about, but then suddenly her stomach rolled and she realised that he meant Helen Seymour.

‘I’m not sure I follow you, sir.’

‘Yes you do. What are you doing cosying up to a QC?’

‘She asked to meet me, sir. I agreed. The meeting was brief and we haven’t met again.’

She waited for him to blow her lies out of the water. The silence that followed didn’t tell her anything.

‘What did she want?’ he asked, and still she didn’t know if he’d bought her story.

‘She felt intimidated by DI Taylor, sir.’

Nothing. He just waited. He was sly and clever, she thought with grudging admiration. The silence forced more out of her.

‘She wanted me to feed her information about him. I refused and left immediately.’

‘Who did you tell about this?’

‘No one, sir.’ The raised eyebrow flustered her more. Her lies were going to unravel. ‘DI Taylor had told me about his distaste for Mrs Seymour.’

‘Good man. And she’s not married. It’s Ms Seymour. Even if she married, I bet she’d remain Ms Seymour,’ he said and she noted the bitterness in his tone with surprise. He looked away from her for a moment, and it struck her that they might once have been lovers. Mr Frey and Helen Seymour. She felt so revolted by the idea she decided it couldn’t be true.

‘I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell him about her approach,’ Mr Frey said.

‘I thought it would inflame the situation. He didn’t trust her and knowing about it wouldn’t change that.’

‘You were protecting him, were you?’

She told the Chief Superintendent that she had only been interested in an easy life. Self-deprecation, she had learned, was the easiest way to sell a lie. He gazed at her and she felt like prey once again.

‘She’s dangerous, that one,’ he said, and she nodded. ‘If she’s worried about Sam then he should know, because she’ll come for him. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen her take men apart.’

Zoe could believe it. Had it not been Mr Frey behind the desk, she would have asked for the grisly details.

‘What do you think of her?’ he asked.

‘She seemed very determined,’ was her wary reply.

‘But she clearly thought you were like-minded, or else she wouldn’t have contacted you.’

Each time she felt that the sword had been put away, suddenly it was unsheathed again.

‘I think she just thought I was stupid and easily bought.’

‘She offered you money?’

‘She didn’t get the chance.’

‘Shame. We could have used that against her.’

Zoe nodded as best she could.

‘You’re a good girl, Zoe,’ Mr Frey said, and she dared to believe she had passed a test.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.

‘Poor old Malcolm’s problem is that he thinks you’re not part of the team.’

Her mind raced back to this old line.

‘You’re loyal, I can see that. You need to make him see it too.’

‘By writing a false report on what happened?’

Mr Frey waved his hand as though this was no longer an issue.

‘I’ve told you, men get over-eager. Sam gets over-eager. It happens. I’m here to be an umbrella for them, an umbrella against the shit that others want to throw at them. It’s not the most pleasant of jobs, but I think I do it rather well.’

He pulled some gum from his pocket, took a small tab and offered some to Zoe, who politely declined.

‘I’ll protect you and I’ll protect Sam and I’ll make sure Sergeant Cartmell falls in line.’

‘And what do I do?’ she asked. It was meant to come out meekly, but Zoe just needed to know the facts, however good or bad.

‘You bring me Helen Seymour’s head on a plate.’

He said it with no obvious pleasure, but she knew it was there.

‘I’m not entirely convinced by your rendition of events, but I’m willing not to press too much harder if I see that your loyalty really is to us. She clearly thinks you can be trusted too.’

Zoe didn’t know who she trusted, but she could feel the knife being turned.

‘And that’s useful for us. As you’re part of our team. One of us.’

She nodded.

‘I bet a clever girl like you will be able to get under her skin, find her weaknesses. She’ll never see you coming.’

Zoe thought of the intimacy she’d felt with Helen. He was probably right. If she did what he said.

‘Oh, and if you don’t? Well, we’ll all know whose side you’re on for real then, won’t we?’

He continued to smile and chew, but his eyes were ice-cold. She stood up and nodded.

Destroy Helen Seymour and all would be fine. Follow Sam and his mad obsessions and join the male brigade that
wants another mouthy woman silenced and then you can breathe again.

Zoe didn’t know what she thought of Helen Seymour. At the very least she was tough and exploitative, but her failings felt slight compared with the monster in front of her. Unless she allowed him to abuse his power then she would drown. Malcolm and his rogues were waiting downstairs with more than just dead rats. And she loved this job. She bloody loved it. She loved the physicality, the sense of action, of doing, of immediate effect. And she was good at it. Who was one man to stop her? Who was one woman?

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said and turned and left. She waited for a parting shot as she walked out of his office, but he didn’t say a word. She wondered, as she walked past his secretary, whether he was on the phone now to the thugs downstairs, telling them to put down their cudgels.

*

The corridors below were quiet and she was able to find an empty office – an incident room which was unused after the successful conclusion of a case. Zoe was able to work at a desk without anyone knowing about her.

She began with the cases that Sam had investigated. The terrifying women and their infanticide. The details made her feel sick. She turned the facts over and over, just as he had done.

In time, she saw the connection that he had been led to – Helen Seymour’s involvement in each case. She discovered it with a gasp. But she worked on, through it and out to the other side. And it was here that she found the second connection. The connection that Sam hadn’t yet discovered. One other person was connected to each and every case. Just as Helen had made sure that she was introduced to each woman, so another figure made sure that they were the Senior Investigating Officer’s first port of call, every single time. And that person was Chief Superintendent Michael Frey.

Zoe didn’t know what this meant. She didn’t know why Helen would want to be involved in every case either. But Mr Frey was right about one thing. She would be able to get Helen to tell her.

She made photocopies, making sure that no one saw her. And then she dug deeper into the cases. Her work took her hours. Once done, armed with what she needed, she headed out, well aware that she was unlikely to sleep any time soon.

The village was muffled and gagged in white. Inside the pub, the men drank and the mood corroded further.

David stoked it up. Without him, the men might well have just grunted and growled, but the strangeness of the night, the booze and the lust of the mob got things going.

‘She’s laughing at you, you know that don’t you?’

The question was easily dismissed, but it still buzzed about in the crowded room.

‘There’s a woman who’s killed her kids and she’s got away with it.’

Sam sat still and stared David down, but he could feel the heat that the words generated.

‘Are we seriously going to let her get away with that shit?’

People tried to calm David down, and for a while he was willing to let them. But memories of Zoe meant that he couldn’t leave the itch unscratched. He brought it up a little later and noted the way men said less against him this time.

Five whiskies later and they were nodding.

It only needed a little more. And then a glass smashed on the floor and soon chairs were upended.

David ushered Tim towards the door, and somehow this kind and gentle man found himself swearing and encouraging others. Men burst out through the back doors, suddenly high on the freezing air, giddy and overexcited. They marched together with grim purpose, not really sure if they were going to do this or not, not really sure what ‘this’ even was.

‘Let’s fucking show her!’ someone had yelled, and that was the fuzzy mission.

It was a ten-minute walk to Bud’s place, but the booze made it feel like a thirty-yard stroll. As they got there, a few men slowed, the realisation dawning that the words now had to be translated into action. But Tim, David and four others marched ahead, not willing to entertain doubts. As they got to the house, Bud opened the door and stood there, shiftily. They’d made plenty of noise on the way and Sarah had, no doubt, shoved him out to face them. No one had any truck with Bud.

‘What is it?’ he asked meekly.

‘Send her out,’ Tim said. His voice was set with rage.

‘Don’t think I should, Mr Downing,’ Bud replied.

‘Give me my wife,’ Tim countered, and Bud faltered under such authority.

‘Get her out!’ David screamed in agreement.

Bud shook his head. ‘I don’t think you should be here.’

‘Get out of the way!’ David yelled, but Bud didn’t move. And he was such a big lump that no one was quite sure how they’d get past him.

‘Bud, you dumb shit—’

‘Give me my wife!’

‘Get out of the way!’

The abuse rained down but Bud stood firm. It seemed like the more they screamed, the firmer his resolve. It might have remained like this, but there was a momentary pause and someone heard Sarah’s voice call out from behind Bud.

David and another man ran at Bud, and while he pushed David away with ease, the other was able to knock him to the floor. Tim and two others were right behind him, barging into the house, tripping over his heavy boots, crashing into the corridor.

Sarah stood in front of Tim, and he slowed for a second until he saw that she was wearing the silk pyjamas that he’d bought her for Christmas. The top buttons were undone and hinted plenty at the flesh beneath. She’d worn them in their home, in their bedroom, in their bed.

Tim reached out to grab her. Sarah pulled back but he had a hold of her arm and he dug his fingers into her flesh. She yelped with pain. He needed to hear that and he wanted to hear more. He was about to slap her in the face when something pulled him up and away and he found himself
outside the door with a new barrier between them. But the barrier was not Bud, but Sam.

‘I can’t let you do this,’ he said.

David was up in his face, shouting that Sam was one of them, and to get out of the way. But Sam was immovable. He looked at Bud and offered him a hand. But as he pulled him up, he saw the cut above Bud’s eye open up and blood spurt out. It hit the snow and suddenly everyone was silent.

‘You should all go home,’ Sam called out. ‘Everyone. Go home now.’

Those at the back were happy to be directed and immediately began to trudge away. A straggle of men remained.

‘There’s nothing here for you,’ Sam called out. ‘Go home now, please.’

He spoke so calmly, his words were undeniable. Eventually they all left. David and Tim were the last to go, muttering to themselves, but mollified nonetheless.

Bud smiled shyly. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘You’re hurt.’ Sam’s voice was painted gentle. ‘Is there someone who can help? It might need stitches.’