Jack in the Box (17 page)

‘I’m trying to get a handle on the Jack in the Box murders. DCI Harrower ran the case.’ She chose her words carefully, conscious that Simon, as Harrower’s boss, might think she was criticising him. ‘I’ve uncovered inconsistencies in how he handled things.’

Simon raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘We’ve interviewed someone who said the murdered boys were involved in a drug scam. You remember the details of the case?’

‘I remember them well.’ He brought the brandy to his lips. ‘But Tom gave no hint to me of drug dealing at the Duke.’

She bent her face to her drink, hoping her expression hadn’t given her away. She’d not mentioned the Duke to either Simon or the Chief Super. So, why had Simon brought it up? Had he jumped to this conclusion simply because the Duke was frequented by the boys? Or was there something he knew and wasn’t telling her?

‘I think I know why that was,’ he was saying. ‘Tom probably ignored it because he’d followed a false drugs trail once before, with disastrous consequences. Before your time, but it led to great embarrassment for him.’ He smiled knowingly. ‘Tom was old school, did everything by numbers. He’d be very careful to get hard evidence before pushing that sort of thing upstairs. And we both know how difficult it is to get drugs-related evidence.’ He took a mouthful of liquid. ‘I know there are things you can’t tell me but, broadly speaking, how are you proceeding? Have you been fishing at the Duke?’

‘We’ve found nothing.’

‘A dead end? Maybe Tom was right, and your informants, wrong.’

‘I’ve sent my snout in.’

He chuckled. ‘Still using Tubby? I thought he’d gone to ground in Torremolinos. I’ve been on the lookout for him.’

‘He’s back in London, sir.’

He gave her a long look then, the kind he’d given her in the past, which made her feel like a sixteen-year-old. ‘How are things with you, Von? I’m not talking about work.’

What could she tell him? He was the last person she could talk to about Kenny. She set down her glass. ‘Never better,’ she
said.

He cupped her chin and lifted her face to his. As he looked deep into her eyes, something twisted inside her. After a long silence, he released her. ‘Shall I get a room?’ he murmured.

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes, sir.’

Chapter 21

‘You’ve never been out of my thoughts,’ Simon said, undoing the buttons of her blouse. ‘We should have done this more than just the once.’

It had been three years before, as he was retiring. Probably the only time they could have done it, a working relationship would have been impossible otherwise. They’d been working late, a week before his retirement do. It was a huge send-off at the Dorchester with officers from every force in the country. He was clearing his desk, and she was finishing a report that could have waited till the following week. He suggested talking through her current case over a quick drink. They went to this same hotel, where dinner had followed the drink, her case forgotten. He seemed reluctant to let her leave, asking about her childhood, her family, questions he’d never asked in their years of working. She, usually unwilling to speak about her past, found herself desperate to tell him everything. He was a good listener, a quality which had earned him a reputation as one of the best detectives at the Met. They had a nightcap. Then he made the suggestion, using the same words:
Shall I get a room?
She’d never told Kenny. Why hurt him? It was only going to be this once.

Simon unzipped his fly and guided her hand inside. He slipped his fingers under the front of her bra, then ran them round to the back and unfastened the hooks expertly. He stepped back to look at her, the movement pulling her hand
from his trousers.

Then he was grabbing at her, cupping her backside with both hands. His mouth closed on hers, the force of his body crushing her breasts, his erection stabbing her. As he pulled her towards the bed, she decided that there was no need to tell Kenny. It was only going to be this once.

She woke in the morning to see Simon in a bathrobe, towelling his hair. He dried it quickly, rubbing his head in short rough movements. She remembered this from before, how she’d been afraid to spoil the moment but he’d seen her in the mirror looking at him.

She sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts.

‘Good morning,’ he said lazily. He came over and took her hand. ‘I’ve ordered room service for you.’

‘Only for me?’ Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

‘I’ve a plane to catch, and I still need to pack.’

Her reply was automatic, and she hoped it masked her disappointment. ‘Business or pleasure?’

‘Some business, but mainly pleasure.’ He pulled away the bedclothes. ‘But nothing as pleasurable as last night.’

Her eyes held his. If she could only detain him, she was confident they would make love again. ‘Won’t you at least stay for coffee?’ she said.

He was kneading her breast. ‘I can’t tell you how tempting that offer is, but I really must go.’ He pushed back her hair and kissed her neck.

She watched him dress, wondering what he did in his retirement. Perhaps old governors never retired. She knew so little about his private life. He had a villa in Spain, and a house in London, and who knew what business interests. Nothing to do with the force, she was sure. What little filtered into Clerkenwell had more to do with his appearances at his London
club or at some society boxing event, sometimes accompanied by his latest wife.

He was knotting his tie when there was a knock at the door. She grabbed the bedclothes and pulled them up. A young man entered, wheeling a trolley.

Simon motioned to the window. ‘Leave it there, please.’ The man threw her a quick smile as he closed the door.

Simon brought the coffee to the bed.

Her heart was pounding.
Make the phone call. Take a later plane
.

He picked up the signet ring and worked it onto his left hand. His eyes didn’t leave her face. ‘I hope I’ll see you again.’ He made it sound like a question.

‘Call me when you’re back in town, sir,’ she said, deeply disappointed.

He smiled, his eyes wandering over the outline of her body under the sheet. Then he picked up his coat and left.

She took a quick shower and slipped on the robe Simon had worn, wrapping it tightly round her body as though she could wrap him with it. She sat at the window, sipping coffee. She was in no hurry to leave. She had the day off and could spend it as she pleased. She could go swimming (the only exercise she took as her large bust made it difficult to do sports and gym routines). Or she could go shopping, squander money on clothes she didn’t need, something she hadn’t done for months. She glanced at the sober navy blue suit, lying where she’d let it drop. Maybe she should take Danni’s advice and buy something red. She could call her and invite her along. Except that Danni’s weekends were spent at her father’s pile in Buckinghamshire, and she was unlikely to come to town just for shopping. No matter, she’d go on her own. Yes, a day at Harrods was what she needed.

Her shoulders sagged. She was fooling herself. What she
needed was Simon to come through the door and make love to her. She couldn’t define what attracted her to certain men, but it was never the obvious, like good looks or athletic physique. Men like that who’d succeeded in slipping between her sheets had rarely lived up to the promise. Simon was an exception. He’d paid her the most attention in bed, and was highly skilled at sex.
I hope I’ll see you again
. Her pulse quickened as she remembered his fingers, running like a breath along her skin.

Another exception, of course, was Kenny.

She felt the first prickle of guilt. Had he returned last night and found her gone? What would he have thought? She was working late? Sleeping at the nick? Sleeping with someone else? Strange how the guilt she felt now, when she was convinced he was cheating on her, was greater than it had been the first time she’d slept with Simon, when her relationship with Kenny was at its strongest. And why had she slept with Simon that first time, when she was all but living with another man? Was it just the anticipation of great sex? She’d never been sure. And somehow it hadn’t seemed important, he was out of bounds, always married. Maybe that was part of the attraction, that she wouldn’t have to commit.

She shredded the croissant and stuffed the pieces into her mouth. She ate quickly, out of habit, forgetting she didn’t have to rush to the police station. She wasn’t even hungry after the huge dinner. She always ate too much when she was with Danni.

Danni. The woman’s words came creeping back:
I think it was the Chief Super who offered his packet to Simon
. A feeling of unease stole over her. The Chief Super smoked Hoyo de Monterrey. He’d read the Forensic report and seen the analysis of the contents of his brother’s ashtray, but he’d not told her he smoked the same brand of cigarillos. Was that significant? Everything was significant until proven otherwise. Her old governor had told her that. Simon. She ran her fingers over the
robe, remembering how her body had moved under his hands.

It was time to get herself across London.

In the bathroom, she stood before the mirror, brushing her teeth vigorously. The toothbrush was one of a pair, each in shrink-wrapped plastic. Unlike the tiny foldable toothbrushes supplied by most hotels, these were normal-sized with a wide handle. Simon’s lay discarded on the shelf. She was about to throw it in the bin, when something stopped her.
I think it was the Chief Super who offered his packet to Simon
.

I think
. Danni wasn’t sure…

It seemed a betrayal, but she told herself it was a precaution, a routine piece of investigation, eliminating him from her enquiries. She was a copper, after all. This was what she did.

She removed a plastic bag from her handbag. Taking care not to touch Simon’s toothbrush, she wrapped the bag round it, and sealed it shut.

Von let herself into the flat. ‘Kenny? Are you home?’ she shouted into the silence.

She’d rehearsed what she would tell him, to the evident amusement of the passengers on the tube who must have enjoyed her constantly changing facial expressions.

But there was no reply. She let out a breath. She was off the hook for now, she wouldn’t have to lie. But still, the guilt came nibbling at the edges.

She changed into jeans and a sweater, then set about tidying the flat. She swept the newspapers and pizza boxes into a black bin bag, glanced at the pile of ironing in the kitchen, separating out the only items that needed pressing (her shirts for work), then loaded the washing machine, snagging the tights as she crammed them inside.

She was opening a tin of soup when she heard the key in the lock.

Kenny’s head appeared round the door. ‘Put that down, love, I’m taking you to lunch.’ Like a conjurer, he brandished a huge bunch of yellow lilies from behind his back.

‘Kenny!’ She threw her arms round him, pressing her face against his neck. Suddenly, she stiffened and stepped back quickly.

‘What’s got into you? You look like you’ve just kissed a leper.’

She busied herself with the flowers. ‘So, where are we going? Do I need to put on my glad rags?’

‘How about the Al Sole di Napoli?’

The restaurant near Greek Street where he’d taken her on one of their first dates. She turned to face him. ‘Why, Kenny? Why are we going out to lunch?’

‘Why not?’ He ran his thumb lightly down her arm. ‘Aren’t you curious to see the place? Remember what we did afterwards?’ he added, smiling.

‘I doubt we’ll get a table at short notice.’

His smile faded. ‘Look, love, if you don’t want to go, just say. I’ve got plenty of things I need to do right now, and I—’

‘Okay, what, precisely, do you need to do? What have you been doing these last couple of weeks?’

‘I’ve told you what I’ve been doing,’ he said slowly. ‘Researching a story.’

‘In the British Library?’

‘Among other places.’

‘Don’t lie, Kenny,’ she said, conscious of the strain in her voice. ‘You’re piss-poor at it. You haven’t been working.’

He flushed. ‘And you know this how?’

‘You’ve been keeping your phone switched off. There isn’t a journalist alive who does that.’ She paused. ‘Unless he’s up to something and doesn’t want to be contacted.’

‘You know the trouble with you? You’re always playing detective. It hasn’t occurred to you there might be a simple
reason for my phone being off?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘It’s been playing up.’ The words were measured, as though he were speaking to a child. ‘Phones do that from time to time.’

‘You’re lying.’ She was shouting now. ‘It’s a badge of honour with you. All right then, so here it is. When you phoned from the British Library, I heard music and laughter. You were somewhere else, Kenny.’ She poked him in the chest. ‘Where was it? A pub? Al Sole di Napoli? Were you there with someone?’

‘That’s it, isn’t it? You think I’ve been shagging my wick off. Well, I’ve been working, you dozy mare. Earning an honest crust. Not like you and your shitty little murder investigations.’

‘What’s her name?’

He turned away. ‘Who?’

She kept her voice steady. ‘The woman you’re seeing.’

‘I’m not seeing anyone,’ he mumbled, his back to her.

Something inside her snapped. ‘I can smell her on you. I smelt her when we went to bed and I can smell her now. I may be many things, Kenny, but I’m not stupid.’

He spun round, staring wildly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

‘So I was right,’ she said, with the calm of fury. ‘What’s her name?’

He started to move away but she gripped his arm. They stared at one another for what seemed like eternity.

‘It’s Georgie,’ he said finally.

Her stomach convulsed in shock. Her legs gave way and she found herself on the floor. She struggled to catch her breath, knowing that if she lost control, she’d throw up. Unable to rise, she crawled to the wall and leant against it, seeing for an instant what Kenny would be seeing, a woman approaching middle age, hunched on the floor, her face bled white.

The effort of holding it together defeated her. ‘Fuck you, you
bastard,’ she screamed. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. Pressing her head against her knees, she wept as though her heart would break.

He made no attempt to go to her. ‘I love her, Von,’ he said.

She heard his words through her sobbing, surprised at the strength of emotion behind them. She lifted her head and wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘And I suppose you’re going to tell me she loves you.’

He avoided her eyes. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

At least he’s honest about something
.

‘How long has this been going on?’ she said after a silence.

‘A few months.’

The muscles of her throat tightened.
The bastard
.

He walked to the window. ‘So, where do we go from here?’

‘I’d have thought that was obvious,’ she said, dragging herself to her feet. ‘You love Georgie. End of.’ She snatched up the bouquet ribbon and wound it viciously round a finger.

‘There’s something else.’ His next words sliced through her. ‘There’s a baby on the way.’

‘A baby!’ Her heart contracted.
A baby. Oh, Christ…
She forced out the question. ‘Is it yours?’

His silence was more eloquent than words. She turned her head away so he wouldn’t see her face.

‘Jesus, love, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.’

‘Oh, spare me the clichés,’ she shouted. She took a deep breath. ‘You know something, Kenny? When it comes to being a bastard, you never let me down. Now get the fuck out of here before I do something we’ll both regret.’

He made to move towards her but she backed away.

She waited till she’d heard the front door close, then collapsed into a chair. Her body felt as though the skin had been stripped from it.

I’ve seen this coming
. Danni’s words. Yet, if Danni had seen,
then why hadn’t she, the ace detective? She crushed the lilies in her hands, snapping the leaves off the stems. No, she was fooling herself, she’d seen the signs. It was over. Had been for months. She and Kenny had been going through the motions. She took the bottle of vodka from the fridge and poured herself a glass, drinking it neat the way she had when she was younger and her constitution could stand it. As the alcohol reached her knees, her anger drained away. What rankled was not that their relationship was over, but that he’d been betraying her for months. Maybe, subconsciously, she’d known all along and that was why she’d slept with Simon, to get her own back. Yet, was there any difference between Kenny’s betrayal, and hers? Was a one-night stand, where she’d had fabulous sex with Simon, better or worse than Kenny’s affair with a woman he said he loved, a woman now carrying his child? She threw the glass across the room, feeling a stab of satisfaction as she heard it shatter. That was the problem: she no longer knew.