The Price of Failure (9 page)

She was at home. She was wearing a print frock that moulded her body with subtlety. ‘Come on into the other room.'

‘I can't stay…'

‘You're not rushing off before you've arrived.' She tucked her arm around his. ‘Not after I've spent so long hoping against hope that you'd come.' She moved slightly so that his arm was more firmly against her body. ‘I don't suppose you've any idea of how a pair of broad shoulders restores courage.'

Even through the sleeve of his jacket he could feel – or his imagination assured him he could feel – the swell of her breast. He said hurriedly: ‘I've just dropped by to tell you an engineer will be along some time today to reinstal the alert unit.'

‘That's all?'

‘As I had a look at security arrangements yesterday, there's no point in my checking them again. The home security officer will be…'

‘That's all?'

‘What are you getting at?'

‘It didn't cross your mind that it would be nice to see me again?'

‘I…' He stopped.

‘You?' she said mockingly.

‘I'm here on duty.'

‘Which precludes any thought of pleasure? There, I've embarrassed you.'

‘No,' he said stiffly.

‘You mustn't be thought to be paying a compliment to a lady or she might get the wrong impression? I'm not going to admit what kind of impression I have of you or you'll become very bigheaded.'

‘I must move on.' He tried to free his arm.

‘I'm sorry, but you mustn't.' She pulled his arm more tightly into herself. ‘You're not leaving until you hear what's happened.'

‘Another phone call?'

‘Are you suddenly in less of a rush?'

‘Have you had another obscene telephone call?'

‘Shall we go through?' She uncoupled her arm, crossed the hall and went into the sitting room.

He hesitated, then followed her, unable to prevent himself wondering if under her flirtatious manner there was a warmer, more sincere emotion.

‘Champagne?'

‘Nothing, thanks.'

‘Has anyone ever told you that sometimes you can be an absolute bore?'

‘Virtually everyone.'

‘Then it's time you proved virtually everyone is wrong.' She turned and left the room.

He'd given her the message that was the reason for this visit and so, convinced that her reference to some further development was a lie, there was nothing to prevent his leaving and every reason for his going. He stayed.

She returned and put the salver down. ‘Will you be butler?'

‘I said I didn't want anything.'

‘Butlers buttle and then stand and watch.'

He opened the bottle of Veuve Clicquot and filled one glass. He hesitated, heard her chuckle, filled the second one.

She wound her arm around his, held the glass to her lips. ‘Whom do we drink to?' Her deep blue eyes gazed directly into his, her lips were slightly parted.

‘Peace and goodwill to all mankind.'

‘And what do you wish all womankind?'

‘That's your toast.'

‘Then I'm going to be really selfish. Never mind the rest of womankind, let's drink to us.'

He pulled his arm free, slopping a little champagne as he did so. ‘Have you received another obscene telephone call?'

‘No.'

‘Then what's happened? If anything has.'

‘Don't you ever relax?'

‘When I'm working, I work.'

‘How committed! How commendable! How bloody boring!' She crossed to the settee, sat. She patted the cushion by her side. ‘Come and show me what you're like when you're just a teeny weeny little bit less committed.'

He sat on one of the armchairs.

‘So I have to set the scene?' She picked up a large brown envelope with her left hand, stood, crossed to sit on the arm of his chair. Her left breast rested against his cheek. He shifted until his head was clear.

‘Are you comfortable?' she asked ironically.

He didn't answer.

She emptied her glass, reached across him to put it down on the table on the far side of his chair. For several seconds, he could feel her soft warmth. This time, he did not move.

‘I'm not certain whether to show you.'

‘Show me what?'

‘Mine, if you'll show me yours.'

‘Show me what?'

‘What came in the post this morning. The problem is, you get embarrassed so easily.'

‘What was in the post?'

‘It won't upset you?'

‘How the devil do I know until you tell me what it was?'

‘A touch of temper?'

‘Look, if you're not going to tell me…'

‘But I am. After you've refilled our glasses.'

‘Did that envelope in your hand come in the post this morning?'

‘How very clever of you to deduce that.'

‘Cut it out, will you. What's in it?'

‘I said, I'll show you when there are more bubbles in our glasses.'

He refilled their glasses, remained standing. ‘What's in it?'

She sipped champagne. ‘I'm not going to show you anything all the time you stand there looking like a boy bear that's been climbing over barbed wire and slipped.'

He sat and she snuggled up against him. She dropped the envelope on to his lap.

One end had been slit with a knife and he drew out several glossy six-by-eight photographs. They could not have been more explicit and for once the performers looked as if they were enjoying themselves. The leash about his self-control slipped.

‘Do you think that couple are double-jointed?' she asked, indicating the most athletic of the performers. She slid off the arm of the chair on to his lap. ‘Wouldn't you think that something simpler would be more fun as one wouldn't have to concentrate so hard on not breaking anything?' She nibbled his lip. ‘Are you a missionary or a cannibal?' She kissed him and her tongue slid between his lips and began to dance a samba …

*   *   *

She stepped out of the shower and began to dry. Poor bastard! He'd looked like a St Bernard in mourning as he'd left.

13

Carr entered the CID general room. Atkin, as usual, speaking before thinking, said: ‘My God, you look like a man who's had a night to forget!'

‘Shut up,' said Buckley roughly.

Belatedly, Atkin recognized his faux pas. ‘I only…' He trailed off into silence.

Carr sat at his desk. The previous day, he'd not returned to the station after leaving the flat, but had phoned in to report that he'd suddenly been taken ill. The previous evening, and seemingly for much of the night, he'd suffered mental hell. And what had added further self-contempt had been the fact that one small part of his mind had been remembering, not with contempt, no, but with awed boasting, the breaches of those few barriers which Gloria had always asked him to observe.

The internal phone on Buckley's desk buzzed. He lifted the receiver, listened, called across to Carr. ‘The skipper wants a word in his room.'

Wyatt was wearing a polo-neck sweater that looked as if it had been knitted by someone who'd been given the wrong measurements. ‘How are you feeling today?'

‘Not so bad.'

‘Are you sure you should have come in?'

‘It's probably only a touch of the flu and like you said, that's no excuse for being off duty.'

‘That was the old days when sergeants had to take the rough with the smooth. If I catch it, I'll have words with you … I imagine you didn't visit Gloria last night?'

That's right, push the knife in deeper, Carr thought bitterly. ‘I managed to find Mrs Simpson and get her statement. Don't suppose it will help.'

‘That's Cumbria's worry, not ours. Did you get as far as the Varney woman?'

‘Yes.'

‘I still have trouble in believing it wasn't Wolf making that last call. It's asking for one hell of a coincidence for one heavy breather to tune in just as the previous one has closed down.'

‘According to the vicar…'

‘I read your report. But if he was doing his job properly, he'd have been concentrating on the unseen, not the seen.'

‘Whatever, right now I reckon we have to accept that Wolf didn't make that call … There's something more. When I saw Miss Varney, she showed me what had arrived in the morning post. Eight porno photos.'

Wyatt sat back in the chair. ‘I'm beginning not to like the sound of things. Any accompanying comments?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Where was the letter posted?'

‘I…' Carr became silent.

‘You're not saying you never checked? Let's have the envelope and find out.'

‘I … I forgot to get it from her.'

‘I just don't believe this!'

‘Sarge, the flu was making me feel lousy.'

‘Addling your brains, more like. Strewth, if the Old Man ever gets to hear about this, your nuts will be in the grinder. Were the photos rough action?'

‘Couldn't have been rougher.'

‘So she was shocked and disgusted?'

‘I suppose so, but by the time I arrived she must have got used to them.'

‘You're making it sound like you and her don't share vibes … You'd best collect the photos and envelope and ask her for a set of prints for comparison.' He reached across the desk to pull across four folders, read the identifying labels and selected one. ‘House in Felstone. Alarm goes on the blink, owners gets in touch with the company which installed it and does the servicing, robbery that night. That's the third job with the same pattern, so even a DC with addled brains ought to be able to work out where to start looking.'

*   *   *

The telephone on the wall of the canteen rang and a PC at the nearest table answered it. ‘DC Carr!' he called out.

Carr stood and crossed to the phone.

‘Love, it's Gloria. I've been lucky and managed to borrow a mobile, so I don't have to try and get someone to plug in a phone for me … Is something the matter?'

Had woman's intuition led her to guess the truth? ‘Why should anything be?' he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.

‘You didn't come to see me last night. I'm sorry to fuss like this, but I've been worrying.'

‘I wasn't feeling too fit and as there's been a lot of flu around, I reckoned I might have caught it and ought to stay away from you.'

‘But if you've got flu, you shouldn't be working, you ought to be home, in bed.'

‘When I woke up this morning I didn't feel any worse, so I decided it couldn't be flu. And we're short-handed with people off sick and away on courses.'

‘When will you have the sense to put yourself before the work?'

‘There's no call to worry.'

‘I do worry … You don't sound right.'

‘I'll survive.'

‘I'm telling you, you'd better!'

‘How are things with you?'

‘One of the specialists stopped by for a chat. He said that if everything goes along as it is now, I don't have to worry. I wish…'

‘You wish what?'

‘That he didn't try to jolly me along so. It makes me think that either he reckons I'm a fool, or he's lying.'

‘It's a tradition with doctors to think women fools. It bolsters their egos.'

‘I know I shouldn't keep becoming so terribly depressed, but I can't help it. I promise you, I really can't.'

‘D'you think I don't know that?'

‘But it's so unlike me. The trouble is, it's so difficult to forget what's happened before.'

Was memory the greatest cross a man had to bear?

‘Are you still there?'

‘Of course I am.'

‘Fed up with my moaning?'

‘Just wishing I could do something to help.'

‘What do you think that talking to you now is doing? It's like suddenly seeing sunshine … The woman on the switchboard said she thought you were in the canteen and it sounds that that's right. What's for lunch?'

‘Shepherd's pie or beef stew. I chose the pie because sometimes it's edible.'

‘Poor darling. Missing home cooking?'

‘Almost as much as you.' One could be a hypocrite even when telling the truth.

‘When I'm home, I'll do a chicken Kiev.'

‘Followed by a chocolate mousse?'

‘It's a promise … I must ring off now because it's so expensive over a mobile and the man who lent it to me won't let me pay. If you're not feeling up to it, for goodness sake don't bother to come here tonight.'

‘I'll be along.'

‘Goodbye, my darling.'

He replaced the receiver on its wall mounting.

*   *   *

He was cooking breakfast on Wednesday morning when he heard the postman push the mail through the front-door flap. He spooned fat over the two fried eggs to solidify their tops, used a fish slice to transfer them on to two slices of buttered toast, turned off the gas under the coffee machine which was hissing, set the plate on the kitchen table, poured out a mug of coffee. He then went through to the hall and picked up the four letters which lay on the floor.

Back in the kitchen, he sat on the stool, ground salt and pepper on to the eggs, speared the first of these with the knife so that the yolk ran out over the toast. As he ate, he added milk and two spoonfuls of sugar to the coffee. He checked the mail. A letter to Gloria from Swansea – her great aunt; closing on ninety but still able to write a firm hand – and a second one which he thought was from her friend who dated back to their schooldays. A brown envelope with a second-class stamp was almost certainly a bill and was best left unopened for the moment. Finally, a large plain envelope with his name and address in awkward capitals, as if written by a child. He opened it. Inside was a single photograph. Initially, he accepted that this was of a highly pornographic nature, but it took him a couple of seconds to recognize that the man, face grimacing with passion, was he.