Cut Short (27 page)

  Shema thought they must know she was lying, but their questions changed. No, she didn't know if Jacqueline had been with a boy at the party. She didn't know if Jacqueline had met anyone that evening. She had no idea if there were any strangers at the party. There were loads of people there she'd never seen before. She didn't know how old they all were. No, Jacqueline Ross wasn't a special friend of hers. Shema felt her face go hot with shame. The woman gave her a little card with a telephone number on it and asked Shema to be sure to call the police if she remembered anything else.

  Shema was shaking by the time she left the Etherington Room. Was there no end to the terrible consequences of going to that awful party? She had lied to her father and now she'd lied to the police too. As soon as she was out of sight she sidled up to a bin in the yard, and dropped the card in it. Then she turned and ran as fast as she could towards the toilets where she threw up, trembling and sobbing. At last she stopped puking, splashed cold water on her face and made her way unsteadily back to her classroom. Now maybe life could return to normal. But she knew it never would, because she would never have another friend like Rusty. Jogging back along the corridor, she began to cry again. She'd wanted to tell the policewoman everything she knew, but she couldn't risk her father discovering her shocking secret.

48

Ramsden

The firm that supplied the station's unmarked vehicles replaced Geraldine's car discreetly but it was impossible to keep the graffiti a secret. Gossip spread fast, and soon everyone at the station knew about it. The paperwork had been a further time consuming irritation she could have done without. At least there wouldn't be an official investigation, although she had to report the incident as a random act of criminal damage. As she drove her new car out of the school, Geraldine didn't head straight back to the station. First she had an informal investigation of her own to conduct. Homeware was a large store on the bypass where she'd bought her washing machine. As luck would have it, the store was only about twenty-five minutes' drive from Woolsmarsh.

  Tall and slender, Miss Clarke in Human Resources rose to her feet and smiled pleasantly at Geraldine. 'Please come in, Inspector. How can I help you?' Miss Clarke sat down and leaned back comfortably in her chair. Her smile failed to conceal a nervous tic in the corner of her eye.

  'I'd like a list of all your delivery personnel, and a list of all your local deliveries on the 27th of September.' The HR woman didn't move. Instead she enquired what the investigation was about. 'I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you. Now, can I have the list, please?'

  'If there's been a complaint against one of our staff …'

  'There's no complaint, Miss Clarke, but I do need sight of that list right away. This really can't wait and I'm afraid you're wasting time. I'd appreciate your co-operation.' Geraldine rose to her feet. 'If there's a problem with compliance, I'll have to close your store and ask you to surrender all your records to the police. But that would be taking a sledgehammer to crack a nut. All I require is a list of your delivery personnel and your deliveries for the 27th .'

  Miss Clarke's smile vanished. 'Of course,' she said quickly. 'Can you wait one moment, please?' She hurried away to fetch the information and Geraldine sat down again. As soon as the HR manager left the room, her phone rang. Geraldine waited impatiently, half listening to the message.

  'You're through to Miranda Clarke in Human Resources. I'm not at my desk at the moment. Please leave a message and I'll return your call as soon as possible.'

  'Miranda, it's Lynne in accounts. Can you pop up and see me before the end of the day? Thanks.'

  The caller hung up and almost immediately the phone rang again. Geraldine glanced at her watch and yawned as she listened to the Miranda Clarke's message for a second time. A memory flickered in the back of Geraldine's mind as a muffled voice came on the line.

  'Miranda, it's Anne. Call me when you get this. We need to talk.' Geraldine wondered who Anne was. Then Miranda Clarke scurried in.

  Geraldine scanned the list quickly and found it straight away. On Thursday 27th September Bert Whalley and Arthur Ramsden had delivered a washing machine to her address. About two years earlier, Geraldine had apprehended a Norman Ramsden in the course of a violent robbery.

  'What can you tell me about Arthur Ramsden?'

  Miss Clarke shrugged. 'What do you want to know?' She turned to her monitor and typed in the name. 'He started working here three months ago. He's been very reliable. It was lucky for us we found him when we did. His predecessor left us literally overnight.' She looked up at Geraldine with a rueful smile. 'Your lot picked him up, in fact. He's awaiting trial for a spot of burglary on the side. Are you sure he's not the one you're looking for?'

  Geraldine thanked Miss Clarke for the information and drove back to the station, puzzling about how to deal with Ramsden. Back at her desk, she telephoned her previous station for information. 'Can you look up Norman Ramsden. I need to know if there's a brother or anyone else called Arthur. Arthur Ramsden. Soon as you can … Thank you.' She replaced the handset and looked up. She hadn't heard Peterson approach. He was standing beside the desk, watching her.

  'Who's Arthur Ramsden?' he asked quietly.

  Geraldine frowned. 'It's nothing.' Peterson was about to speak when her phone rang. Geraldine learned that Norman Ramsden had a younger brother, Arthur. Her former colleague added that Arthur hadn't been seen since his brother had been sent down. Geraldine replaced the handset thoughtfully. Arthur Ramsden was persecuting her maliciously, but it was a relief to put a name to the figure she'd seen on the security tape.

49

Attention

The strangler's third victim had whipped the media into a frenzy. Whenever members of the Murder Investigation Team set foot outside the station, reporters were waiting to quiz them about their progress. Geraldine resented having to field their questions but at least the police didn't have to respond to the reporters, and certainly not in any detail. The DCI was trickier to fob off, as she exerted pressure on them for a swift result, even though she knew how laborious these cases could be. There were notes and witness statements to read, reports to type up, photos to study and phone calls to make. Geraldine had worked hard for her rapid promotion to DI. Once she'd thought she might rise higher. Now she wasn't sure she wanted this any more. If they ever managed to draw the case to a satisfactory conclusion, she decided to think seriously about handing in her resignation.

  It wasn't the demands of the investigation that worried her so much as the nagging fear that she wasn't up to the job. People depended on her and she was floundering. She'd rushed headlong into her career without giving it much thought. Now she wondered whether this was really what she wanted to do. There must be more to life than this gruelling slog, and constant anxiety, eating away at her. She could find a job in a bar, with no responsibility at all, and look forward to a good night's sleep at the end of each simple day. But then she'd not only have to give up her flat, but her identity as well, along with everything she'd worked for. Being a detective was all she knew. She didn't really want to give up her career, she just didn't want to fail. She sighed and turned over in bed.

  Kathryn Gordon wasn't helping. She'd bowed to pressure, wasting valuable resources manning a twenty-four hour patrol of the park.

  'We have to maintain public support, Geraldine,' Kathryn Gordon insisted when Geraldine voiced her reservations at the morning briefing. Geraldine didn't need reminding of that. She'd read more than enough harsh criticism of the police in the press over the past week, and witnessed near hysteria on the street. There were rumours of local residents forming vigilante groups.

  'It's not the first time this has happened,' the DCI said. There was a murmur of assent. They all knew the press profited from stirring people up. 'We've already had those bloody women marching around with their placards: keep our streets safe, and so on. We have to keep a lid on it all,' the DCI went on. 'The last thing we want now is problems with public disorder. The media go to town on things like that, stories galore, it's easy pickings for them, and it's important to keep them focused on the investigation. Anything else is a distraction. We have to keep the case in the public eye. That's our only chance of getting information that can move us forward.'

  'But standing guard over the park isn't going to help,' Geraldine protested. 'Putting all our available manpower into the investigation might. House-to-house enquiries. Following up all these people coming forward with information. It's all got to be covered with limited resources.' Kathryn Gordon bowed her head for a second then raised her eyes.

  'We've all heard what you have to say, Geraldine,' she responded tersely before she continued.

  Geraldine wasn't surprised when the DCI asked to see her after the briefing. This time Kathryn Gordon invited her to sit down. Geraldine waited. The older woman sighed.

  'You worry me, Geraldine,' she said at last. 'Frankly, your last DCI's report wasn't altogether flattering.' She quoted, without looking at the file, 'Tendency to lateral thinking.' She paused. 'You're a bloody good officer, and God knows the force needs strong intelligent women. But be careful. Lateral thinking,' she repeated. She sat forward and spoke very quietly. 'The force won't tolerate maverick officers.' Geraldine was startled by the bitterness in her voice. 'You have to understand, this isn't a power game, Geraldine, it's a necessity, if we're to get the job done. And we will get the job done. But only if everyone pulls together. And that includes you.' Geraldine nodded dumbly. 'You're an able officer, with great potential,' the DCI went on, 'but you have to play by the book, Geraldine. I can't afford to lose good officers, but the needs of the team have to override every other consideration. Remember your place in the team.' Geraldine was shaking by the time she left the DCI's office.

  Her shift over, she didn't want to spend the evening alone so she went to the pub. Carter was at the bar and she bought him a pint.

  'What did Kathryn Gordon want with you?' he asked. Geraldine shrugged, and didn't answer. 'You think it's hard for a woman to get to the top. Well, it was a whole lot harder back in the nineties. Your rapid promotion owes something to the DCI and women like her. Pioneers in their day. But it takes a certain sort of woman to get to where she is. Determined, single minded, ruthless.' He took a swig of his pint.

  'Egotistical, self aggrandising,' Geraldine added under her breath. Carter smiled sadly and shook his head. 'I think she resents me,' Geraldine confessed, staring into her glass.

  'That's bloody daft, and you know it,' he chided her and she nodded miserably.

  'I guess I'm just feeling undervalued.'

  'That's down to you, isn't it?'

  'You mean I have to prove myself? Because
she
had to fight to be respected, every woman has to?'

  'We all have to earn respect, Geraldine,' Carter said sharply but Geraldine wasn't so sure. For all the talk about equality, the gender divide ran deep, and it wasn't only men who treated women unfairly. The DCI seemed to be going out of her way to prove she wasn't giving Geraldine any special treatment; all Geraldine wanted was to be treated the same as her male colleagues.

  That night Geraldine lay awake, while the frustrations of the day raced through her mind. She could feel tension in her neck as she moved her head on the pillow, and realised she was biting her lip. It was hard to believe that less than two weeks before, she'd been moving into her new flat, eager to be sent on another case. She got out of bed but was too wound up to work, so she busied herself tidying and dusting the flat. She could think more easily when she was active, and at least she had the comforting illusion she was doing something useful. When she'd finished on the living room, she tidied her bedroom. There was always something out of place. With so many disturbing loose ends in her life and her work, she needed the repose of an orderly home.

  She dusted her bedside cabinet and replaced her clock. Opening her top drawer she was startled to see Mark's photo grinning up at her. She touched the shiny surface, tracing the line of his lips, and felt unbearably lonely. Peterson had joined her for a drink a few times, but he was usually in a rush to go home to his girlfriend. They spent a lot of time together, and she liked him, but it wasn't the same. Apart from Craig, there were no single men in her life and she'd managed to ruin things with him. All the men she met were either married, much younger or older than her, or sitting on the other side of the interview table trying to blag their way out of a prosecution.

  She went into the kitchen and set about scrubbing her tiny kitchen worktops. She could bear any amount of solitude, if only she could have the satisfaction of success in her work. But another girl might die that night, and all she could do was clean her flat until every surface gleamed.

PART 5

'the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking'

Albert Einstein

50

Boyfriend

The following morning, Geraldine was thrilled to receive a text from Craig, asking if she was free for dinner that evening. She was on early shift. Perfect.