Rope Enough (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 1) (28 page)

Romney checked his watch. ‘All right, we’ll have a quick look before we try the other gun emplacement.’

They traipsed the forty or so metres in land and away from the cliff edge. Grimes description of the site was accurate, although he could have mentioned the brambles and weeds that made what was little more than a rockery almost invisible. Even before they arrived, Romney was wondering if they should abandon the idea in favour of more likely places. He doubted that Park would have known about this place.

The rain had gone from negligible to determined and wetter. It came at them at forty-five degrees and the air around them resembled the falling to earth of a volley of arrows. It cascaded off their clothing and sought out openings in the seams.

Feeling responsible for the detour, Grimes strode diligently around the jumble of stones intent on exploring it completely or at least giving that impression. Romney was looking over, thinking about the time and light that they were wasting when Grimes beckoned.

***

14

Romney left Grimes in the station locker room drying off, changing and feeling understandably pleased with himself at his discovery. Romney took the stairs feeling justifiably self-satisfied that his theories and predictions had borne fruit. And while in this individual case it would provide him with a position of strength in which to negotiate with his senior officer and a means with which to attract and potentially snare Park, he also keenly felt the satisfaction that can only be gained when a wealth of experience and professional judgement combine to provide an instinct that delivers – like a trader who sells the day before the market collapses, or the striker who defeats the off-side trap to fire home the winner.

Before letting the superintendent know he was back he gave Marsh another call. She and her team had been at their diversionary task for a good few hours. As expected, they’d turned up nothing. Romney told her to call it a day.

Falkner, with an ardent professional interest in the case, welcomed a short-notice consultation with Romney. He sensed from his inspector’s voice on the phone that he had some good news at last.

He listened intently as Romney, his hair and clothing still damp from his soaking, began detailing the discovery and what he proposed to do about it. When the DI had outlined his plans Falkner sat back with his arms on the rests of his executive chair. A frown creased his forehead.

‘Well, for a start, well done,’ he said. ‘That’s a good find.’

‘Grimes deserves the credit for that, sir,’

Falkner nodded. ‘I’m not happy about you leaving it there though. You should have discussed that with me first, while you were there. Imagine how we will look if that disappears. I don’t like it, Tom.’

‘Hear me out, sir, please, that’s all I ask. If you don’t like it, I’ll go straight back up there and get it myself.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Yesterday, I knew he was guilty, but I had nothing on him, nothing that would get him to court. Now, I have something, something that can tie him to Roper’s death, possibly also implicate him in the rapes.’

‘That’s stretching things. You don’t, yet, do you? What you have is a weapon lying under a rock somewhere. You cannot be a hundred percent certain that it was Park and not Roper who put it there, can you? There is reasonable doubt.’

‘That’s why it needs to stay there. If we remove it we also remove our only avenue to success, our only chance of linking Park to anything. As soon as we release him, Park will believe we found nothing to hold him with. He’ll go home and find out that we’ve taken his place apart and found nothing. He’ll feel smug. He’ll feel he’s won. Sooner or later he’ll go back for the weapon. I can read him.’

‘And if he doesn’t go back for it?’

‘Give me a week. Authorise the surveillance. If he hasn’t been tempted back in that time, we’ll review things.’

Falkner drummed his fingers on the armrests, as the cogs in his mind did the maths and he compared the rough figure against a possible result. ‘You’ve had a good run on this, Tom. For what it’s worth I think you’ve done a good job.’

‘With respect, sir, that will all amount to nothing, if we don’t make an arrest, if we let him get away with it.’

‘Could we replace the weapon with something else?’

Romney shook his head. ‘I need him to get it in his hands. I need him to be caught with it. Say we sneak up on him, arrest him, just as he uncovers a toy. The CPS would never even see it to court. I can hear him now.
“I was just walking on the cliffs with my grief when I saw the package buried under some stones. I uncovered it and the police jumped out from behind the bushes and arrested me for finding a water pistol.”
That would be our last bite at that cherry.’

‘What surveillance do you propose?’

Romney sensed that Falkner was coming around. ‘We station a pair of watchers up on the cliffs. There is plenty of good cover. Not only will they be looking out for Park, but they can keep an eye on the pistol as well. We’ll also have someone at all times keeping an eye on his flat. The moment he is sighted, day or night, I’ll be there.’

‘And if he gets his hands on a loaded gun with you in his way, what do you think will happen?’

‘All he could do is throw it at me. If it’ll swing it, sir, I’m owed a couple of days leave. I don’t mind taking it to use for this.’ 

Falkner smiled broadly. ‘That won’t be necessary, Tom. If this works, you might want a couple of days off to celebrate.’

‘You’ll agree to it then?’

‘I’ll authorise the overtime till Friday. If he’s made no move for the gun by then we pick it up and go with the Roper text confession and leave Park for another day. At least we’ll have tried and we’ll have tidied things up for the bureaucrats. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ said Romney. All things considered, he thought that Falkner, ever stingy with the company purse, was being quite generous. The show of support gave Romney confidence in his plan.

*

Marsh returned with her search party in the early afternoon. Apart from her – the only one who knew the probable futility and real purpose of their excursion before they left – they looked a defeated and jaded lot. Romney gave them time to eat and drink something and then called a meeting in the squad room. As protocol dictated Falkner had been invited.

Being the superintendent, Falkner was able to pick and choose the meetings to grace with his presence. Given the high profile nature of this particular case and the promise of some overtime he was certain to attend. He knew some of the troops would be jumping at the chance of a few hours extra and he wanted them to see and hear that he had authorised it. Ever the political animal, thought Romney.

When everyone was settled, Romney said, ‘I want to start by thanking everyone for their efforts and all the good police work that’s been done so far. It’s that that’s got us to this point. But it’s all going to count for nothing, if we don’t get a result. As I’m sure most of you understand, we’ve got what will eventually turn into a high-profile serial-rape case on our patch. At least it will be when the press finally get hold of it. I would like us, as I’m sure you all would, to be remembered as a station that solved it and apprehended the perpetrator.’ There were nods all round and noises of agreement.

‘All the evidence points to this being a most unusual case. Recent developments suggest that the rapes were carried out by two individuals working together to help each other fulfil their fantasies. The evidence supports me. One of those individuals is dead: Peter Roper. The other is Carl Park. I have good reason to believe that Park is not only guilty of the rape of Claire Stamp and is an accessory in the rape of Jane Goddard, but that he is also responsible for the death of Roper. With Claire Stamp dead, we can’t touch him. With Roper dead there is no one to testify against him. Our only hope of collaring him is if we can lull his ego into a sense of false security. For that, Superintendent Falkner has agreed to sanction some overtime in a surveillance operation.’ Heads turned towards the super and he basked for a moment in their appreciation. ‘At the moment, Park is in custody, but in two hours I’m going to release him. I have to release him. And then we have six days – six days in which we give him enough rope to hang himself.’

Romney spent the next fifteen minutes detailing his proposals, taking suggestions and fielding questions. He was both pleased and proud that, to an individual, his team were apparently united in the common purpose.

Marsh and Romney worked together to organise a proposed surveillance rota. At the appointed time they went together to the holding cells to oversee the release of Park. When Park was brought out to sign for his things Romney was waiting for him. Park’s eyes were sunken and rimmed with black circles. He moved like someone dog-tired, someone who hadn’t slept for a long time.

When he saw Romney, he said, ‘What’s happening?’

‘You’re free to go that’s what.’

Park found the energy for a shallow smile and taking advantage of his little audience said, ‘I told you. I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent.’

Romney just stared at him. ‘This time you’re lucky, that’s all. You won’t always be lucky, Carl, and when your luck runs out, I’ll be waiting.’

Flooded with a sudden bravado, Park said, ‘Do I get a ride home?’

‘No,’ said Romney, ‘and I believe it’s just started to rain.’ He turned and left Park to sign for his things.

*

‘I can’t see him going anywhere tonight but his bed,’ said Romney, when he and Marsh were back in his office. ‘He looks done in and I don’t think he’d be that foolish. He doesn’t need to go up there.’

‘I suppose you’ve thought about the possibility that he might not ever go up there again?’ said Marsh.

Romney nodded suddenly weighed down with the heavy responsibility. Then, trying to show more confidence than he felt, he said, ‘We’ve got a week to think up a way to make him, then, haven’t we?’

Despite Romney’s doubts that Park would go for the weapon immediately, a vehicle with the first shift of police watchers was stationed in the shadows where both the fire exit and the front entrance of his apartment building could be watched. One officer followed Park home and then joined the other in their vigil. They reported back. Then the waiting began.

Romney took a look around his office, decided that there was nothing further to be done and left for home himself.

He had been involved in a few surveillance operations before in his career, but never responsible for one as important as this. It was a responsibility that he felt keenly. Part of him felt he should remain at the station – be with his team in spirit and provide that figurehead for the operation. But his reason dictated that to behave that way for what could be a week would take its toll on him physically and mentally and that should the time for action come he would not be at his best. He knew he had good officers on the job; Marsh and he had taken pains to mix experience with youth in the surveillance teams. He also knew that the best thing he could do would be to go on as normal. And, if and when the balloon went up, he would need to make sure that he was in a position to respond day or night. With the surveillance clock ticking there was one thing he could worry away at: hatching a plan B. If Park was going to play it cool for the week, Romney would need something to encourage him up onto the cliffs.

*

By long standing arrangement Romney was to be entertaining Julie Carpenter that Saturday night. With the operation in motion it had crossed his mind to postpone the evening. He wasn’t sure that with the distraction of the responsibility hanging over him he would be much company. He also felt a twinge of guilt that officers would be spending their night in a freezing van when he would inevitably end up in a warm bed with company. But again, logic suggested to him that he should carry on as normal as best he could. Whether he was enjoying the pleasure of a beautiful woman or sitting at home alone waiting for his phone to ring wouldn’t have any influence on what happened with Park.

*

Saturday night passed for Romney in a most agreeable way. He stayed off the booze and kept his phone close. He cooked, was attentive to his guest and ended the night entwined in a naked exhausted embrace. He slept heavily.

The following morning Julie Carpenter left to spend some of the day with her mother in Deal. On any other Sunday Romney would have been sorry to see her go, but it was with a barely concealed sense of relief that he waved her off after their breakfast together. He showered, dressed and drove out to the cliffs.

The gloom laden sky sagged beneath its burden of weather. Romney cast a wary eye upwards and hoped that whatever was about to be deposited on the town would hold off until he’d seen the officers on watch and regained his vehicle. He checked with the van monitoring Park’s flat to be assured that there had been no sign of him. It was as Romney expected; he didn’t know many of Park’s age who were out of bed before lunch time on a winter’s Sunday.

Superintendent Falkner had flexed a contact to enable CID to borrow space in the elevated coast guard facility which overlooked the English Channel. From there they had a commanding view across a wide expanse of the cliff top. Using powerful binoculars they were able to keep a comfortable watch over the site where the gun was buried. During the night they would watch for torch beams, but, unless word was passed that Park had left his home, they had instructions to stay out of sight in the towering glass and concrete edifice unless they suspected that the site under surveillance was being compromised. It suited those on watch being warm and sheltered and with limitless hot drinks.