Staying Power (30 page)

‘Intensive therapy?' she repeated. ‘But why?'

The Brummie voice at the other end said, ‘There was a significant deterioration in his condition. It has to be stabilised.' All that Neville-like formal terminology from such a homely sounding woman.

‘Does that mean further surgery?'

‘At this stage I can't comment.'

‘Is it possible to see him? I'm the police officer who found him.'

‘I'll transfer you to the IT Unit.'

But whatever her nursing skills, the woman couldn't manage the phone and the line went dead.

Lizzie was beside her, her hand on her forearm. ‘What's up, Kate?'

Kate stared. ‘Young Simon: he's getting worse.'

‘Better get round there now.'

Such unexpected kindness did what everything else had failed to do: brought tears to Kate's eyes.

‘After all, you may just get something before he drops off his perch. Bill can go with you.'

‘Bill's ferrying young Nigel back to college.'

‘Maybe I'd better go with you. You look a bit watery. It'd be embarrassing if you wrapped a car round a lamp post.'

Lizzie? She'd be the last person Simon would want to see. If he could still see. ‘I'll be OK.' She gathered her coat and started through the door.

‘Kate?'

She turned.

‘Check back with Welfare if he croaks. OK?'

‘You look rough: fancy a cup of tea?' The Bournville Lane SOCO peered at her with concern. He was a middle-aged man who looked like a TV stereotype of a police officer: sturdily built, respectably suited and tied, hair short at the back and sides.

‘Love one, Bob. I've just been to the hospital. Young Simon.'

‘The kid that was beaten up? How is he? He lost a lot of blood, I can tell you. Pity you lot stamped all over it.'

‘Sorry. Things don't look good for him. They're talking about opening him up again.'

‘Internal bleeding? Poor kid. Still all you can say is he's got a better chance than some street kids.' Bob leaned back and pointed to a calendar behind his desk. Amnesty International. Packets of cellophane-wrapped cards tottered in an uneasy pile on his bookcase.

‘You mean here it's criminals that go round killing them, not the police,' Kate said, smiling grimly. ‘Look: I haven't done my Christmas shopping yet. Are those for sale?'

‘You choose while I make some tea. Looks as if a few biscuits wouldn't come amiss, either.' He busied himself with a kettle. ‘Look, Kate, if you knew this kid—'

‘He was a witness. Nice kid. Whatever the Bogota police would have made of him.' She fished out five packets at random; changed her mind and took ten. She'd have to find some Shelter ones from somewhere. Putting some money on his desk, she said, ‘
Is
a witness. He's still hanging on in there, isn't he?'

‘That's the spirit. Now, I'll tell you what we've found so far. Tyre prints. Nice frozen ground, you see. Yours, ambulance, panda: we've eliminated those. And a set of new ones which matched some old ones. Good enough, I'd say, to match with the tyres, when we find them. Someone scuffed one of them when parking, I'd say.'

‘I'm hoping for an early Christmas present here. Well, an inspired guess. Any idea what sort of vehicle?'

Bob grinned, gesturing a rabbit coming from a hat. ‘Big one, not small one, that's all I'll say. Good, your colour's coming back. All tubes and machines, was he?'

She nodded.

‘And deeply sedated so you can't even say anything to encourage him. Come on, Kate, they're tough, these kids. They want to live. That's half the battle.'

‘I should have asked him to come and stay – it's not as if I haven't got room.' God, how had she said that to this complete stranger? She grabbed the tissues he produced.

‘Inviting a witness to stay? Come on, Kate, love, you know what your boss would have had to say about that. And rightly, too. Don't you repine about something like that. Your job isn't housing waifs and strays. It's hunting down a nice flash car for me to ID. And later on I may have something else to ID. You never know.'

Kate managed a grin. And turned it into an evil one. ‘You don't have to do all this stuff yourself, do you? Because young Simon was using headed, letter-quality paper as bog-roll. And the loo wasn't clearing … You don't suppose—'

Bob rolled his eyes. ‘OK. I'll get one of the young lads on that, shall I? Provided you promise not to make any jokes about it.'

She raised her eyebrows.

‘No. Leave them to us. Tell you what, Kate,' he added, as he slipped the card money into an envelope, ‘who would you like us to tie this to? Strictly off the record, that is.'

‘A businessman with a Mercedes. Nasty piece of knitting called Sanderson. The only thing is, try as I might, I can't work out how he should have known I was in touch with Simon.'

Bob shrugged. ‘That'll be a nice little job for Uniform, won't it? Come on, Kate, we shall find something. Where did you and Simon meet?'

Kate covered her mouth in dismay. ‘I picked him up from his squat, once, and took him to Sainsbury's coffee bar. About the most public place in Selly Oak. I never thought—'

‘Most folk can have a coffee with a friend without getting roughed up, surely to goodness. Implies there might be a bit of guilt there, doesn't it? And wouldn't it be wonderful if we found a line in his credit card statement, to show this businessman of yours had been in Selly Oak that day, and his till receipt told us he'd bought his wife a nice bottle of wine from Sainsbury's at just the right time? Come on, Kate: we're all part of a team here, and what one of us misses another will find.'

‘There is just one thing he could have done,' she said. ‘Sanderson's house is alive with surveillance equipment.'

‘Well, he might not have left it behind – why should he in a dump like that? – but he may have left some screw holes in a wall, a scuff in the plaster, we can match to a similar piece of equipment elsewhere. We'll do all we can. Provided you remember: leave the shit jokes to us.'

Kate might have been so anxious she arrived for the meeting some twenty minutes early, but Graham was there to intercept her. He smiled and nodded her into his office.

‘Come and sit down. You look as if you could do with a cup of tea.'

‘I could really use a dose of the Super's espresso – before he went decaffeinated. But some of your real tea would be lovely.'

‘On a day like this I was going to offer you hot chocolate. Tell me,' he said, busying himself with mugs, ‘did you have any lunch?'

She said nothing. Surely he wasn't about to share his precious packed lunch with her?

‘I thought not. Here.' He produced a paper plate flexing under an assortment of buffet goodies. ‘Lunch meeting. There's a fork in here somewhere.' He burrowed in his desk. ‘You must always try to eat regularly. For the job's sake as much as your own.'

Kate nodded, attacking a samosa. ‘Thanks, Gaffer.'

The kettle boiled, and Graham was on his feet again. ‘There. Assam, with caffeine.'

Mouth full, she smiled her thanks.

‘Lizzie tells me you had to go and see young Simon again. Problems?'

‘He's losing ground. How much longer will you be holding back the media?'

‘As long as I can. If he – It's hard to sit on murder.' His voice was so gentle it was hard to imagine that he could often be so lacking in understanding. ‘Come, I'm being previous. He's young … he's in the best of hands.'

‘I notice you didn't say, “he's fit”,' she snapped. ‘Sorry.'

‘Sometimes a bit of anger is good for you. Point taken, anyway. Feeling any better now?'

‘You're not being kind to me because of what's coming out at the discussions about the squad this afternoon?'

He raised his eyebrows. Then he laughed. ‘You mean the condemned man's last meal? Surely you're not expecting any problems, Kate. You couldn't manage this as well?' With a flourish he produced another plate, this barely able to sustain two thick slices of gateau.

‘I'm not looking forward to friendly conversation with Cope.'

‘I heard his version. It might be useful to hear yours.'

She gave a bald account and then addressed herself to the cake. To fill the silence, she said, ‘Robin used to cook wonderful cakes.'

‘You don't talk about him much.'

‘You don't talk about your wife much.'

He looked not at her but at his desk. And then at the big photo. ‘No,' he agreed at last. Then, straightening as if before a promotion panel, he looked authoritatively at his watch and said, ‘Perhaps we should make a move.'

The meeting had moved very quickly and efficiently under Neville's chairing. He was now summing up point by point.

‘All the accounting evidence,' he nodded and smiled at Ben, ‘points to the idea that Sanderson was deeply involved in long firm fraud. That he “bought” materials on the basis of false credit-ratings, given by companies that were mere fronts. We have evidence to suggest that he was disposing of materials thus fraudulently acquired through at least one retail outlet.'

‘Remember this morning we've run to earth at least two other premises,' Lizzie put in.

While Kate was out. She'd not known of it till ten minutes ago.

Neville acknowledged his omission with a nod. ‘Sanderson also seems to have a major stake in a questionable educational establishment, though despite Bill's best efforts we can't find anything downright illegal about it.' His voice changed to suggest a parenthesis. ‘Somehow I don't think Bill's going to let go of this one. Ever thought of joining the Ofsted team when you retire, Bill?'

‘Just let me get at them,' Bill growled.

‘Now let's look at the evidence about Alan Grafton's death. Kate, are you OK about this?'

‘Sir.'

He read Patrick's official report. ‘In combination with the SOCO report, which finds no evidence at all of anyone else's involvement, I have to conclude that we can't put this particular case forward to the DPP as one of murder.' He smiled. ‘We never know what the inquest jury will have to say, though. Sorry, Kate: I know you'd like to nail Sanderson for that.

‘We have strong hints from Nigel Sanderson that his father is involved in Nigel's own drug-forging cottage industry. I'd personally like to make a connection between the vitamin tablets stolen from local pharmacies and those picked up by Kate's contact from the Met, who has kindly sent me a copy of the forensic science report.'

Kate nodded. Trust Dai to be so professional.

‘I'm happy to tell you that the gilded youth of the metropolis have been forking out huge sums of money – in order to take not E's but vitamin B.' He paused for effect and for laughter, which seemed genuine enough although they'd all known what was coming. ‘Meanwhile, other people, maybe on our patch, are no doubt taking all sorts of far more noxious substances as a result of the pharmacy break-ins. I want results now, ladies and gentlemen.' He paused to consult his notes: Kate could see the meticulous handwriting produced by a fountain pen. He smiled. ‘The only crime we haven't been able to link in some way with Sanderson – and I don't need to tell you we need the hardest of evidence to nail a man of his standing – is Kate's carpet-layers.'

This time he didn't need to wait for the laughter.

‘But we have tied that up, thanks to exceptionally hard work from Colin.' Eye-contact and an approving nod. ‘No, Kate, it wasn't the young man you feared it might be. His boss. Would you like to go with Colin later this afternoon and pull him in?'

‘Love to, Sir.'

‘Good. Now, the only thing still to be decided is when we invite Sanderson to talk to us. Kate, you must have a view on this?'

‘A view. But I wouldn't want to be the one to make a decision.'

Neville's eyebrow reminded her that that wasn't an option anyway.

‘It seems to me, Sir, that Mrs Sanderson's safety must be paramount, here. Unless we can put her and her son in a place of safety, we cannot bring Sanderson in. Dare not. And that means we have to persuade Mrs Sanderson to go to a safe house. And we may have to commit resources to protecting her. I'd like a chance to work on her before we do anything. So long as we are ready to pick him up if he gets suspicious, we could continue to play a waiting game.'

Neville nodded. ‘I see no difficulty with that. What do the rest—' He stared in disbelief at the phone. Clearly this time his secretary had orders to block calls. He picked up the handset.

He was not the sort of man to pull faces that would give any hint to other people of the content of a conversation. But there was no doubt of his anger. He ended the call.

‘Waiting,' he said, ‘seems to be an option temporarily out of our hands. That was a call from Bournville Lane nick, Selly Oak. They've an armed siege in progress, it seems. Someone demanding to talk to Sanderson before he kills his family and torches his factory.'

‘How did they get on to you, Sir?' Kate asked, fastening her seat-belt. She was in the rear of the car taking Neville to Selly Oak. So was Graham but there was a seat's width between them and as far as she knew he was keeping his eyes as steadfastly in front as she was. Not that she would avoid eye-contact should it arise: that would raise Neville's interest, benign or otherwise. Almost certainly otherwise.

‘A SOCO, by name of Bob. One of those serendipitous things. He heard about the siege in the canteen, remembered the name from a conversation with you, and contacted Fraud. Who contacted me. Teamwork, Kate. Speaking of which, I trust the postponement of the meeting about the squad will not cause you any undue alarm.' Considering the drama unfolding in the suburbs, his tone was remarkably even.