The Crime Tsar (36 page)

Shackleton looked at him, took in the gold neck-chain, rings and bracelet. The stale smell of cigarettes.

‘I can't do that. I'd kill her.'

The tattooed man could respect that. He nodded.

‘No jury'd convict you. What a bitch.'

With no further glance at Jenni he wandered off, satisfied with his world and his wisdom.

‘What did he want?' Jenni asked. Sharp, glittering.

‘Coins … for the cigarette machine.'

If Tom Shackleton had been accustomed to using the word symbiosis he might have found it useful when he tried to find some reason for their staying together.

Jenni maintained her silence until they were installed in the Hotel Sobrino in one of the more picturesque back streets of Barcelona.

The room's long windows opened on to black wrought-iron balconies which Jenni declared ‘sweet' in her first utterance since the jacket incident. This was Shackleton's cue to return to normal – punishment over.

They passed the day sightseeing with Jenni being caustically funny about every sartorial mistake they saw. On this level they enjoyed each other's company and they certainly enjoyed the admiring looks they drew.

By mid-afternoon of the second day all Tom wanted to do was get away from her, find a bar and get drunk. But that would have only caused more violence, more abuse.

‘Would you like to go out for dinner?' As always his tone was conciliatory.

‘Later. I'm going to have a rest. Why don't you go out? Find a bar. But –' She smiled her gentlest smile at him. ‘Don't get drunk. And, Tom …?'

He saw the glint of danger again.

‘Take your jacket.'

And don't forget to leave your balls on the bedside table.

She went on to the balcony and watched until he was down the narrow road. He didn't look up. She then went back into the pleasant white bedroom and sat on the edge of one of the mahogany beds.

‘Tom, don't forget. Twin, not double. I can't bear you sweating and snorting in all that heat.'

She picked up the phone and dialled Lucy's number. Gary answered
after eleven rings. Jenni always counted the amount of rings. Nine was usually her limit.

‘Gary, darling. How are you? Sorry, silly question. Is Lucy there? Thanks …'

She heard him call to Lucy. Probably liquidising something for his tea, Jenni thought. Poor Lucy – she'd treat her to a day at the Sanctuary when they got back. Not that a day's beauty treatment was going to make huge inroads into Lucy's problems.

‘Hello, Lucy. Everything all right? I'm just phoning to let you know our number here. You will phone, won't you, if anything happens … Like what? Well, nothing really, but Tamsin, Tamsin and little Kit, said they might drop in to have supper with Jason if he's about, and you know the chaos they can cause. The kitchen will look like a nuclear-testing zone.'

Lucy laughed because it was expected.

‘But do feel free to call… And you won't forget to do a big clean, will you? I shall be checking under everything when I get back, so no slacking, eh?'

Jenni's idea of light affectionate banter had Lucy grinding her teeth. She wanted to say their son had come back and ransacked the house before setting fire to Jenni's wardrobe but she just said, ‘Fine. No problem. Have a lovely time.'

After she'd hung up Jenni sat for a while. She felt jumpy and oddly fearful. There was a cure for that, a medicine she had found pleasurably easy to acquire in the loos of good restaurants. She reached over and picked up her handbag, a neat square of expensive leather discreetly stamped with the name of a designer never considered by the women guided by mass magazines. This designer never allowed himself to become a one-season must-have.

She slid her hand into it and pulled out her powder compact. Under its disc of translucent dust was a tiny paper envelope. Inside it a comforting amount of cocaine. She knew it was a stupid risk to bring it but no sniffer dog could have detected it past the industrial amounts of perfume she was wearing. Besides, her husband was a chief constable: nobody stopped him.

Jenni prepared it, taking pleasure in her new skill, and took a 50 Euro note from her purse. She rolled it up and inhaled the drug through it from the polished surface of the coffee table. The numbing effect of the fingered powder on her gums was still her favourite
sensation, a prelude to the flood of confidence that followed. She cleared away the evidence and prepared for dinner.

Prepared for the next few crucial days.

It didn't take long for Lucy to find the transmitter once she started the big clean, but she had no idea what it was so she dusted it and put it back on the shelf.

It wasn't until breakfast the next day she thought of it again and mentioned it to Gary. Just in passing.

He was immediately interested.

‘Bring it over,' he said.

‘I can't do that. I don't even know what it is. It might have something to do with the security.'

Gary was amused.

‘What, a burglar alarm in a cupboard? With all that stuff they've got? No chance.'

Lucy shrugged. But Gary didn't let it go and eventually she picked up her keys and went across the road to fetch it. She tried not to look at the photograph of Tom on the side table in the hall. As she had been trying not to think about him since her dismissal. But with distance she was beginning to convince herself she had misinterpreted what he said and how he'd said it. Maybe when he got back things would be all right between them again.

She handed the transmitter to Gary. He turned it over, examining it with disbelief, feeling he was a bit player in a Bond movie. He knew exactly what it was – the books he absorbed in large print from the library were full of spies and the hardware of espionage. He'd long since given up struggling with the literary novel, its convolutions further removed from his own reality than even SAS mavericks saving small African states. Gary almost laughed.

‘It's a transmitter. A bug. Was this the only one?'

‘I don't know. I haven't looked for any others.'

His hands couldn't grip it and it fell to the floor.

‘Gary … be careful. You'll break it. Are you sure it's a bug?' She felt silly using such a B-movie word.

‘I think so. I watched a documentary about MI6 a couple of weeks ago and they used this sort of thing.'

Lucy picked it up looking for a clue as to its use. All she saw was a
small black box with a bit of black rubber sticking up from one side. She wanted it to be tiny and made of space-ship metal, small and sexy.

‘Maybe it's theirs. I don't know, a memento or something from Tom's time with … sorry.'

She saw Gary's expression and knew he thought she just wanted an excuse to speak to Shackleton. She changed tack.

‘You could speak to them. You know what it is.'

Gary nodded.

‘Yes. All right.'

Lucy dialled the number, reading it off the teddy-bear-decorated pad by the phone.

‘Hotel Sobrino
¡buenos dias!
'

Lucy always froze when calling abroad. It was something about the single rings and the abrupt confidence of the people that answered.

‘Er … hello. Mr Shackleton, please. Room one two six.'

‘
Ciento veintiséis. Gracias, Señora
.'

Again the single rings. Three rings. Then Tom's voice with that quiet, three-syllabled ‘Hello'. Her heart did what hearts do. Or was it her stomach? She handed the phone to Gary.

‘Tom? It's Gary, Lucy's found something in your house …'

Shackleton put down the receiver. Jenni was in the shower. He didn't move when she emerged swathed in white towels.

He looked middle-aged and saggy out of his immaculate suits and uniforms. Slightly foolish. His passivity irritated her even more now they were alone together with nothing to distract them. But they were here for the image of their marriage, the golden couple. Two people who'd got through life never beached or wrecked on the rocks of endless intimacy.

‘What's the matter with you?'

Jenni thought it must be his neck or his stomach or another nameless ache, the debris of stress and age. Jenni felt if she never showed sympathy his symptoms would eventually give up and go away. Or he'd stop demonstrating the pain in front of her.

‘That was Gary –'

She cut him off.

‘On the phone? Why didn't you call me? What did he want? Is everything all right at home?'

‘Lucy found a transmitter while she was cleaning.'

Jenni was controlled. She picked up a brush and gently teased it through her wet hair.

‘What are you talking about?'

Jenni listened with satisfaction as her husband, in full Chief-Constable mode, phoned his deputy, arranged for the house to be minutely examined by the special operations unit.

Jenni turned on the hairdryer.

‘Is it serious?'

‘Of course it's bloody serious.'

Good, she thought. About time too. What had Lucy been doing not to find it for so long? Stupid woman.

‘Does this mean we'll have to go home early?'

‘Yes.' He picked up the phone again. ‘Turn that thing off – I can't hear.'

Jenni wasn't remotely annoyed but saw her opportunity. She slammed down the dryer knocking an ashtray on to the tiled floor where it shattered.

‘You always spoil everything. You bastard! You apology for a husband! We've never had a break you haven't ruined. Don't try and change the tickets on the phone, you'll only cock it up. Go down to reception. Get them to do it. Go on! Get out! Get out! Leave me alone.' She was screaming now, pleased with the effect she was creating.

As usual he quailed and collapsed under her expert attack.

‘Jenni, calm down. Stop shouting. All right, all right, I'll go. Just calm down.'

She didn't let up until he'd gone and closed the door behind him. Immediately she went to the phone and pressed the numbers of Carter's home. Eleri answered quickly; Jenni was tearful, a small voice of vulnerability in her ear. Eleri was immediately solicitous.

‘… and she found some sort of transmitter. A listening device. Oh God … Someone must have got into the house. It makes you feel so awful, violated …'

Eleri tried to calm her, unsure why Jenni had called her.

‘Well … you could have them too.'

Like mice, thought Eleri.

‘Yes, I suppose we could, but I don't see why.'

Jenni wanted to scream: ‘You stupid great pregnant cow, your husband's a fucking chief constable, that's why.'

‘Why? Eleri, Geoffrey's going to be the Crime Tsar, Tom's going to be head of the largest and most controversial police force in the country, they're both higher profile than most politicians. Don't you see? Anyone from MI5 to the
News of the World
could have planted them. And after what Geoffrey said on television, well, they'll be watching him now, won't they? God knows how long they've been there. We've had workmen in the house so many times this year.'

‘Oh … funny you should say that, we've just had replacement windows –'

‘Were you there all the time?'

‘Well, no … the next-door neighbour let them in sometimes.'

Jenni knew when to stay quiet. Let thought do the work.

Eleri's baby-soaked mind was slow but finally she said, ‘I'll have a look, Jenni, really. I promise. But your friend might have made a mistake. We should wait and see. I'll tell Geoffrey when he gets home but he's terribly busy today and I've got to take Alexander to see his new school. They do conductive education and we've waited ages to get him in …'

Jenni wanted to scream at Eleri's hormonal serenity but she kept calm and rang off. She would have to wait, bide her time and wait.

She was too tightly wound up to relax; she needed a release. What to do. Where was Tom? She felt as if small claws were scrabbling round the inside of her skull. She could hear them scratching. It was difficult to breathe. She felt a wave of panic. She needed more of the magic white powder but had none left. She had had a couple of little handmade envelopes in her dressing table at home but had made sure they were gone before they left for Spain. If the house were to be searched for any reason while they were away … Jenni smiled. Two of her pills and a large vodka might take the edge off her craving. She poured the drink, swallowed the pills and dialled the Gnome's direct line.

‘Jenni, what an unexpected pleasure. How are you?'

One of the new girls came in with his coffee. As she turned to go he noticed she didn't shave her legs. He briefly wondered about her armpits. Laziness or naughtiness?

‘Robbie, I'm so sorry to bother you. We're in Spain and Lucy just rang to say –'

The story tumbled out and the Gnome listened. He really didn't have the time for this but he had rather a soft spot for Mrs Chief
Constable. She had been so deliciously disgusted by him. He rarely revisited the scenes of his triumphs but he rather liked the idea of dipping into that particular honeypot again.

‘… and poor Eleri's expecting so I don't want to alarm her, but I'm afraid with the business of the siege and Tom and Geoffrey being so high-profile – I'm sure you understand, I hope I'm not being paranoid but well… I'm so sorry to drag you in but Tom's not here and I'm dreadfully worried.'

He reassured her and promised he'd look into it but she could hear in his voice he wasn't quite convinced.

‘Robbie, thank you. I'm so grateful.'

‘Oh, you will be, you will be.

‘And, Robbie …' Did she dare? ‘There was something else.'

His silence invited her to go on.

‘I've visited the Carters' house a lot lately and … well, this is very difficult, I think Geoffrey Carter may be … may have … Oh God, Robbie, I don't know how to say this but I think you may find more than bugs in the house. I really can't say any more.'