A Vicky Hill Exclusive! (11 page)

It was clear from Pete’s authoritative tone he meant business and had experience with children. His words were a mix of cajoling, underlined with the unspoken threat of a jolly hard smack should his command be ignored.

Topaz reluctantly got to her feet and actually
winked
at Probes. His face remained impassive but I knew what was going on. She’d already sold me up the river. What lay ahead in the nook was pure formality.

Barbara whisked up the blind and unlocked the front door. One woman dressed in a red headscarf had her nose pressed against the glass. These locals were like vultures.

As Topaz sauntered towards the exit, she blew me a kiss. ‘Don’t forget our date tonight. Seven o’clock sharp!’

I was speechless. Date? I was not a lesbian! Fortunately Pete missed the sexual innuendo, being too preoccupied with picking up his lighter that he’d dropped on the floor. Nerves, obviously.

Topaz paused at the door. ‘Oh! And one more thing, Vicky, don’t forget to tell the nice policeman about your American friend who drives that lovely black Porsche.’

Horrified, I glanced quickly over at Probes, who was studying the framed scoops hanging on the wall. He seemed not to hear.

Barbara bundled Topaz off the premises, where she was promptly engulfed by a bloodthirsty mob, shouting hopefully, ‘Has someone been stabbed? Is anyone dead?’

‘Tony! Edward!’ Pete barked. ‘Get back upstairs. Christ! You’ve already wasted half the bloody morning.’

Probes waited patiently as the others dutifully trooped out of reception.

Pete turned to me. ‘Vicky, take the officer into the nook. It’s private.’

I let that one go. The walls were as thin as a sheet. No doubt he wanted to eavesdrop on my conversation. He needn’t have worried. I had far bigger problems at the moment than Pete’s shady business deals – my freedom, for one.

‘Please follow me.’ I led the way. My knees felt like jelly.

We entered the nook. Even though the ashtray had been emptied, the smell of stale cigarettes remained a permanent aroma. I pulled the star-spangled curtain closed behind me and gestured for Probes to take a seat. My mouth felt dry. No doubt Dad must have felt like this each time the police dragged him off for questioning. I had no idea what Topaz had said about me before I arrived. It was little wonder that suspected criminals demanded a solicitor be present during interrogations. Someone had to field the awkward questions. Someone had to know when it was timely to use a standard catchphrase, such as ‘You don’t have to answer that.’ Luckily, one of my favourite after-dinner games as a child had been Quiz the Copper. As long as I controlled the interview, all would be well.

I regarded my young opponent shrewdly. With any luck he could still be in that idealistic phase – common to new policemen – eager to believe all were innocent, until proven guilty.

I began with my first question. ‘Can I make you some tea?’

‘No thanks. I’m on duty.’ Probes removed his helmet and carefully put it on the table. His hair was a brilliant shock of copper curls. I wondered what he looked like naked.

I perched on the corner of the desk so I’d sit higher than he – another psychological power strategy. ‘You’re new to the area, aren’t you?’

‘New to Gipping but not new to the force, Ms Hill,’ Probes said firmly. He took a pencil out of his top pocket and flipped open his notebook. ‘Shall we start?’

‘Great!’ I tried to sound enthusiastic. ‘What time did the alarm go off?’

Probes regarded me with surprise. No doubt my chutzpah had thrown him off balance. ‘We got the call just after two-oh-five a.m. Why?’

‘Good. Was there any sign of a break-in? Damaged locks? Broken windows?’

He flipped through his notebook. ‘No, but—’

‘Excellent. So no harm done?’

‘Someone had thrust a mop in the old workings.’

‘Amateurs. Interesting.’ I gave a knowing nod. ‘Probably a childish prank.’

‘I hadn’t considered—’

‘Anyone see the Barker brothers run off?’ It was a safe bet. Their names appeared often enough in the newspaper. The three young teenagers were always in trouble for vandalism and petty theft.

‘Barker brothers?’ Probes tapped the end of his pencil on his front teeth. ‘Barker . . . Barker . . . name rings a bell.’

‘Live on The Marshes housing estate. Call themselves the Swamp Dogs,’ I said dismissively. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll hear about them soon enough once you’ve lived—’

‘I
have
heard of them.’ Probes frowned. ‘They’re serving time in Plymouth for stealing a tractor.’

Blast!
Probes seemed more in the know than I realized. ‘Oh, you mean the
ringleaders
.’ I lowered my voice. ‘Actually, officer, word on the street is that the Dogs have a couple of new recruits. Could be one of them cutting their teeth.’ This was distinctly possible. The youth of Gipping were an unemployed, angry bunch.

‘Gipping Constabulary is looking for someone with . . . street knowledge, Ms Hill.’ Probes looked hopeful. ‘Perhaps you’d like to act as our informer?’

‘Of course. Be delighted.’ I blanched.
Over my dead body!

‘Going back to last night,’ Probes continued. ‘Topaz Potter, the young lady from the cafe, described the offender quite clearly.’

I felt light-headed. Who had Topaz identified running from the building – the American, or me? The wretched copper’s bland expression gave nothing away.

Surreptitiously, I pinched the inside of my thigh – pain never failed to induce clear thinking. I couldn’t allow Probes to gain the upper hand.

‘Dear little Topaz.’ I chuckled. ‘Such a vivid imagination. With all due respect, you should take everything she says with a pinch of salt.’

‘Really?’ Probes inspected his notebook again. ‘Are you saying you
weren’t
with her?’

‘What day are we talking about? I pop in and out of the cafe all the time.’

‘Miss Potter said the alarm was keeping you both awake. I quote . . .’ He referred to his notebook, reading in a monotone voice. ‘
Vicky and I are frightfully modern girls, officer. We like to experiment, and the loud ringing was putting us off!
’

Topaz’s nerve and imagination were staggering! She was clearly infatuated with me. I’d have to let her down gently. But right now, her schoolgirl crush could save my bacon.

‘Naughty Topaz,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘To be honest, officer, I’m new at this girl-to-girl frolicking. I’m not quite sure it’s for me – yet – so I’d rather keep it quiet, if you don’t mind.’

Probes’s cool demeanour was finally rattled by my brazen admission. He turned a lurid shade of beetroot and dropped his pencil under the table. Emerging moments later, he gave me an appraising glance that implied more than a passing interest in lesbian scuffles. Men! Mum was right. They were all perverted voyeurs.

He cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure. ‘Was it your idea to use the mop?’

In all the excitement of portraying myself as Topaz’s lover, I’d forgotten the entire point of the lie. Had it all been for nothing? Had I just pandered to Probes’s fantasies at my own expense?

‘Yes.’ I shrugged. ‘The alarm went off unexpectedly. It put us completely off our stride. I didn’t know what else to do.’

Probes bit his lip in anguish – or restrained lust. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘I got the mop from Topaz’s kitchen. I ran across the street and thrust the mop into the bell ringer. It stopped. The police arrived.
We
went back to bed.’

Probes silently scribbled my confession into his notebook. He shut it and got to his feet. ‘Tampering with an alarm could be seen as a criminal offence,’ he said sternly. ‘But we’ll overlook it this time.’

I was euphoric. Topaz’s predatory designs had given me a cast-iron alibi.

‘Those old workings occasionally go off, and it’s hell to disconnect them.’ Probes picked up his helmet and tucked it under his arm. ‘Pretty clever idea, using that mop. I’ll be off.’

I shook his outstretched hand – glad that Dad wasn’t there to see me touching a copper. Probes’s grip was firm, sending an unexpected and delicious tingle straight to my nether regions. I couldn’t help reassessing his sexual potential – policeman or not. Could this seemingly emotionless young copper be an insatiable lion in the bedroom?

‘Oh! Just one more thing.’ Probes frowned. ‘That American friend of yours? The one Ms Potter mentioned? The one with the Porsche?’

‘Friend? Porsche?’ I suppressed a moment of panic. I
knew
it was too good to be true. I was a victim of a
Columbo
moment.

Columbo
was Dad’s favourite TV show from the seventies. He’d downloaded the entire series onto DVD – pirated, obviously – and encouraged Mum and I to study Lieutenant Columbo’s psychological approach to questioning. It was astounding just how Columbo got his suspects to confess to their crimes using the casual afterthought of ‘just one more thing’.

Probes’s right eye blinked rapidly, several times. Was he even affecting Peter Falk’s signature optical affliction? ‘Ms Potter said you knew him.’

‘Me? A friend with a Porsche?’ I laughed rather too loudly. ‘Do
I
look like someone who has a friend with a Porsche? I don’t even have a car.’

Probes’s stare was so intense I had to look away. ‘Ms Potter was most insistent—’

‘In fact, I don’t even have
parents
!’ With a whimper of grief, I sat down and buried my face into my hands.

The curtain flew open, startling us both. Pete hurried to my side. ‘Goddamit! What’s going on? Have you upset her?’ He flung his arm around my shoulder, supposedly in an attempt to give comfort. His breath stank of cigarettes.

‘Jesus, Vicky! Are you an orphan?’ Pete glared at Probes, who seemed genuinely mortified. ‘I had no idea.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ Probes looked miserable.

‘Well, you know now,’ Pete barked.

‘It’s not his fault,’ I said. ‘I don’t like to talk about it.’

‘You’d better go.’ Pete nodded at Probes.

Probes opened his mouth as if to reply, then snapped it shut. He slipped out through the open curtain, looking crestfallen. For a fleeting moment, I even felt a bit sorry for him.

Pete sat down and pulled me roughly to his chest. His arm crushed my left breast. ‘Poor Vicky,’ he crooned, deliberately rubbing his elbow across my bosom. ‘You should have told me.’

‘I’m all right, really.’ I pushed him away. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘The cops are insensitive jerks,’ Pete exploded. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

Pete gripped my arm and propelled me out of the nook. I was grateful to be back in the safe fluorescent glare of reception. The nook was claustrophobic and gave me the creeps – especially when I was actually in the presence of one.

Pete looked at his watch. ‘Bugger! We’re going to be late! Meet you out front in five minutes. I’ll get the wheels.’

‘Meet me? Why? Where are we going?’ I was alarmed. There was no way I wanted to be alone with Pete, especially not in his old van. ‘I’ve got an awful lot to do today.’

‘It’ll have to wait.’ He hurried out of reception. Frankly, I was nervous. Probes’s questions were child’s play compared to Pete’s volatile temper.

Where was Annabel? Weren’t she and Pete supposed to be at The Grange conducting the obituary interview today? What if she had found Brian and he had told her he’d given the coroner’s report to me – the girl with
cool
eyes.

As I waited for Pete outside, it was hard not to reflect on life’s ironies. I had escaped interrogation and arrest by the Gipping Constabulary, only to face probable molestation by my boss and the very real possibility of being fired.

I was at a crossroads. There must be some way to turn this tricky situation around to my advantage. Would I be forced to consider sacrificing my body to keep my job? Or even worse, sleep my way to a front-page placement line by line? Up until now, I had never fully understood the temptations that Annabel faced in her quest for fame and fortune. It seemed so easy to acquiesce and be done with it. Mum said it only took ten minutes of pandering to make a man happy. I could do that, couldn’t I?

Pete’s van appeared around the corner and screeched to a halt in front of me. He threw open the passenger door. ‘Hop in, luv!’ Decision made, I got in.

T
he front seat of Pete’s old blue van was littered with discarded food cartons from Mr Chinkie’s Chow and various parts of a Mr Potato Head toy.

‘Kids!’ he grumbled, sweeping the debris into the foot well.

I gingerly sat down and pulled on my seat belt. I assumed Pete had children although he never mentioned them. It made the ordeal ahead even more sickening.

Pete slammed into gear and we sped off down the High Street in the direction of the moors. I felt nauseous, although I was unsure if it was Pete’s driving – he drove like a lunatic – my nerves, or the fact that the car was rapidly filling up with cigarette smoke.

I grabbed the door handle. ‘Can I open a window?’

‘Doesn’t work, luv,’ said Pete.