Staying Power (11 page)

‘No wonder you've been having a cry, then. Nasty thing, sinusitis. Or is it the time of the month, then? What shall I tell the gaffer?'

‘You'll tell him that I've been delayed and I shall be in as soon as I can. Full-stop.'

Still fuming, she tried to phone her GP for an appointment: maybe this would legitimise her lateness. To herself. OK, perhaps to Graham, too. The line was engaged. She jabbed the re-dial button with increasing irritation while she made and drank a coffee. OK, the only answer was to stop off at the surgery and get into work even later.

Kate had done no more than hang up her jacket and notice that the dead coffee – what point was Fatima trying to make, for God's sake? – still lurked on Fatima's desk when Graham appeared at the office door, gesturing with his head.

She followed immediately.

Unsure of his mood, she remained standing. If he offered her tea she could take the upholstered chair; otherwise the upright wooden one might be a more tactful option. He lifted the kettle; she sat comfortably.

While he waited for the kettle to boil, Graham leaned on the back of his chair, eyes amused. ‘And how are your period pains, DS Power?'

She grimaced. ‘So at least Selby deigned to pass on some message!'

‘Indirectly, shall we say?' He turned back to the kettle and made two mugs of drinking chocolate. ‘There was still snow on the ground when I came in,' he said, as if justifying the extravagance.

Kate hadn't noticed, didn't want to pursue discussion about the weather. ‘So what's this about my period pains?'

‘Just a loud and public announcement about women and their habits, with the word bloody much in evidence. He's had a bollocking, Kate – in public and again in private.'

‘Did he remember – I use the word loosely! – to pass on my message? To you or Cope?'

He shook his head. ‘Apart from the public joking, no. Been setting traps again?' His voice was serious.

She nodded, unrepentant. ‘Looks like a long-term problem, doesn't it? When I joined your squad, you tried to persuade me to grass him up. I said I'd rather deal with it myself. But I've a nasty suspicion that – while not actually giving up on me! – he may be harassing Fatima now. You know it's Ramadan and she's fasting. He keeps tempting her with food and drink.'

‘Which she has left on her desk. Well, it's not a hanging offence.'

Her eyebrows shot up. The man had just been on an equal opportunities course, for God's sake.

Graham shifted under her gaze. ‘OK. This time I want proof positive and he'll be out of here sooner than he can say “disciplinary”. I'm not asking you, Kate. I'm telling you.'

She nodded.

‘Are you all right, by the way? You do look peaky.'

‘See how bloody insinuations stick! OK, sorry. Actually I've tried to see my doctor, but he's booked up till next week. I'll just have to be more conscientious with my steam inhalations. Sinusitis,' she explained, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. ‘Meanwhile,' she continued, ‘yesterday afternoon was interesting. Colin and I had a look at Alan Grafton's house and contents.'

‘And?'

‘Nineteen-thirties semi. Some oldish furniture: the same age as the house, I suppose. He collected antiques. He had an enormous overdraft the bank was foreclosing on. And before you shrug and tell me it's obviously suicide, I'd like someone who knows about accounts to have a look at his papers. Maybe someone in Fraud. I did ask Colin if he knew anyone who owed us a favour. But there might be a lot of work and maybe it ought to be official.'

He shook his head. ‘I was afraid you'd take this too seriously.'

‘I think I have to. The other thing we found at his house, you see, was a photograph of me.'

He stared. ‘You're joking.'

‘You think I'd joke about a thing like that?' She gave him the details.

‘What do you make of it?'

‘I'm not sure there's anything to make of it. It might just be that he caught me standing beside that head and thought it would make a good shot.'

‘But he sat next to you on the plane: did he mention seeing you before?'

‘It's all so hazy … I reckon he did say something very vague about having seen me there. I made some silly joke. You know how you do—'

‘If you're being chatted up by someone you don't fancy.' He leant on the last word slightly.

She grinned slightly, to acknowledge the reference. ‘He did talk of taking me out to dinner; but he might have been joking. And he did say other things but I missed them – I was so deaf.'

‘And did he try to contact you again?'

She got up and walked to the window. Fine snow was slicing across the sky. ‘He may have tried to phone me here. Someone did. Fatima took a message. The message disappeared.'

‘Fatima lost it?'

‘Possibly. Or possibly not.'

‘You mean someone might have “disappeared” it?' He was beside her at the window. The harsh light delved into his frown lines, making his skin look tired and unhealthy. ‘Bloody hell! We're supposed to be fighting crime here and all some stupid bastard can do is play silly pranks.'

‘If that's all they are.'

‘Nail him, Kate. Just nail him. soon. OK?' He moved back to the desk.

‘What do you want to do about the message not getting through this morning?' she asked.

‘Your word against Selby's.'

‘Unless you want me to get Telecom to send me an itemised list of today's outgoing calls from my number?'

‘Proves you made a phone-call, doesn't prove you gave a message. Leave me to think about this.'

‘Can I ask a favour?'

Shocked eyes caught hers. She held them.

‘Don't consult anything except your own instincts, Graham. If you talk to the Super he'll see it as a wonderful chance to ship me off to the media.'

‘For God's sake, I wouldn't want him to know about this. I keep dirty linen very private, Kate. If I talked to anyone, it'd be Cope.'

‘Exactly.'

‘For God's sake, Cope may be a rough diamond but he's the salt of the earth. And one of your fans.'

She stared at him, eyebrow raised.

He gave a sudden embarrassed grin. ‘I suppose I mixed my metaphors.'

‘I'm no school-teacher. You can split your infinitives and leave your participles hanging as far as I'm concerned.'

‘But not rate Cope?'

‘Just regard him as I do. A funny bugger. Hard one moment, vulnerable another. Human and fallible. Certainly a bully.'

Graham shook his head, more in disbelief than disagreement.

She looked at him under her brows and held his gaze. And then smiled. ‘Thanks. And I can talk to Fraud and see what they say about Alan Grafton's accounts?'

‘If this goes over budget—'

‘OK. I'll see if Colin will call in that favour. By the way, have we got any unsolved break-ins?' Almost against her will she told him about her flooring.

‘Worth a quick check. Get Fatima and Selby on to it. OK?' He looked at his watch. ‘Meeting. Budgeting.'

‘Great. See you, Graham, and – thanks.'

If her smile was sunny, his was troubled. One day she would ask him if he hated meetings that much. But what she would not ask him about was the latest addition to his desk. No, not a snazzy computer. A very large, heavy, silver frame. She'd not seen what it held, of course. But she'd bet her Christmas overtime it would be a photo of his wife.

Perhaps it was that heavy frame that put the idea of domestic strife into Kate's head. Not that she could imagine Graham lifting a hand in anger. Not even his voice. Though perhaps the cold withdrawal he'd specialised in recently was a means of control at home, too.

It was other means that she was thinking about, however. The sort that put bruises on the face of that care assistant at Cassie's home. Rosie, that was it. Angry with herself for not thinking about it earlier, she reached for the phone, though their office was only a corridor or two away.

‘Domestic Violence Unit.' The woman's voice at the other end was cheery and positive. ‘What do you do for lunch?' it asked, when Kate had introduced herself.

‘Strong coffee.'

‘Well, why don't you stretch a point and make it a sarnie? Come down and join us – then we'll go down to the pub for half an hour. Me – I'm Lorraine – and Midge. Go on, do you good.'

Any other day it might. But it felt as if the wind were slicing into her sinuses, and her eyes poured tears. Again. At least this time she wasn't crying, if such a distinction could be made. Her two DVU colleagues looked at her with obvious anxiety but seemed reassured. And relaxed visibly when they reached the shelter of a pub and her tears stopped. Presumably every day they heard nervous victims giving fictitious explanations involving friends being beaten. Not themselves, no way!

Both women would be in their late thirties, Lorraine white, Midge African-Caribbean. Lorraine, the sergeant and the older by a couple of years, sank heavily into a deep chintzy chair, before looking round. ‘Hmph. All these familiar faces – it gets more like the police canteen every day. Except for the furniture. Funny, trying to pretend this is a country cottage bang in the middle of Brum. Still, it's a break, isn't it? And you can have a salad.' She gripped the pads of fat on her hips.

‘
You
can have a salad,' Midge observed. ‘
I
shall have – oh, their chilli con carne's not bad.'

Kate had expected anyone sporting the nickname Midge to be grossly overweight, but in fact she was slight to the point of thinness. She was also surprisingly short. Both women were in plain clothes, but whereas Kate tried to look business-like, sometimes, she thought, adopting her own severely tailored uniform, these women obviously dressed to reassure their clients: cheerful tops and informal skirts.

She bought the first round – mineral waters for all – and settled for the chilli con carne with side salad. And, as an afterthought, chips.

‘There's this nurse at the nursing home where my great-aunt's staying,' she said. She paused, catching a look flung from one woman to the other. ‘No. If someone was knocking me around I wouldn't stay. I'll put up with a lot of things, but not, repeat not, violence. It really is, like I said on the phone, information for someone else.'

Lorraine gave an apologetic smile: ‘We have this sort of double act. We go into it automatically, almost. So if we sound a bit heavy, a bit obvious, you will forgive us?'

Kate nodded. ‘No need to apologise.'

‘OK. For starters, you know we can't intervene – can't just turn up on the front door and offer to sort the bloke out – without being invited. By someone or other,' Midge added, grinning. ‘By the beat officer, often as not. And we can't wave magic wands. The woman's got to want to protect herself. Which means not continuing in the relationship as it is.'

‘Who'd want to, if you were being beaten up?' Kate led with her chin. She knew many of the answers already – no money, no place to stay. ‘You can't tell me many women actually enjoy it – ask for it?'

Lorraine looked hard at her over the rim of her glass. ‘You batter away at a woman's self-esteem long enough, she'll think she does deserve bad treatment. Ah! Here's the food. Now, before I forget, you give that nurse one of these.'

Kate took what looked like a credit or a loyalty card.

‘See? A woman can slip it into her purse, and no one will be any the wiser. You don't even have to talk to her about it – everything's pretty self-explicit – but if she does ask you can point out that that's our number. There.'

‘My phone: some people get all the fun,' Midge observed.

‘The thing to remember, Kate, is that brutality isn't always a matter of breaking bones. Some people do seem to thrive in really explosive relationships. But some men seem able to grind their partners down in unbelievable ways without ever hitting them.'

‘Or without needing to hit them any more,' Midge put in dryly. She dabbed crisp-looking chips into the chilli con carne.

Kate followed suit. The chips were excellent.

‘So what's it like in the hallowed halls of CID? For a woman?' Lorraine asked, as if to take her mind off her salad. She'd allowed herself a puny-looking slice of ham.

‘A bit male.'

‘What! After the Met? I'd have thought anything else would be a holiday after a stint down in the Smoke!'

Kate shrugged. ‘I never had anything there but a bit of teasing. Not sexual harassment, ever. And we got very close, some of us. Maybe I'll make friends up here eventually.' It slipped out before she could stop it.

‘Not so good up here?' Midge asked.

It wasn't worth prevaricating. She'd heard her voice give her away. ‘I'm actually quite lonely. I got quite friendly with one couple, but we've rather drifted apart. Her brother was implicated in a very nasty case and – I think she rather blamed me. I've got a lovely next-door neighbour but she's got my cold squared – flu, really. Anyway, she works shifts. I do run a football team for the local Boys' Brigade but—'

‘You don't go in for cradle-snatching. And I suppose the boys' parents are – all parents?'

‘And solidly married.'

‘And you don't do married men? Very wise.' Lorraine nodded sagely.'

Except that she did, didn't she? Kate didn't reply.

Fatima was looking very pale when Kate got back, warmed by a brisk walk and the promise of some more time with Lorraine and Midge. It was a long time since she'd held a tennis racket in her hand, but Midge assured her she'd soon manage again, and promised to coach her at an indoor centre. Lorraine promised to take her cooking in hand, just as soon, that was, as she'd reached her Weight Watchers' target.