Death's Privilege (16 page)

Sarah sneaked in and sat at the back corner nearest the door, so as not to disturb the other eighteen officers who’d arrived on time, books open and pens ready. Joel turned around and smiled from the front row.

‘Let’s start by opening it up, what burning questions do you have? And I don’t mean just about arsons.’ The officers murmured a laugh. A sideline as a stand-up hadn’t been part of the sergeant’s achievement list. He stood in front of a whiteboard on wheels, holding an uncapped blue pen and waiting for questions. A flurry of hands shot up into the air. People asked about the likely question split, hoping to spend the final evening focusing on the biggest topics, as well as the possibility and expected dates of any re-sits and what happened if you were sick on the day. Others asked about various nuances of the law and police procedure. A long discussion about PACE clocks ensued. The conversation became distant and, as her attention flagged, she found herself doodling on her A4 pad rather than taking anything in. Terms like ‘relevant clock times’ and ‘PACE extension procedure’ were repeated over and over in a conversation that sounded like it was happening further down the hall rather than all around her.

‘Sarah?’ The tutor sergeant stood over her. She’d fallen asleep.

‘Sorry, Sarge.’ She sat straight. ‘Long shifts at the office.’

‘Ah yes, the fast trackers have already been posted. This is what you have to look forward to students, the long hours and hard life of a detective.’ A slight derogatory tone suggested he wasn’t a fan of the programme and the sniggering from the other students suggested they agreed. ‘There’s still time to change your minds.’

They continued discussing the ins and outs of various police procedures, the confusion around when the law sees a seventeen-year-old as an adult and when it sees them as a child, and the specific intent required to prove a grooming offence. Sarah felt a little lost throughout it all. She’d put in the hours: hours staring at the textbooks, making notes in a variety of colours, looking over charts and tables, mind maps and flow diagrams. They'd all stayed on the page, refusing to sink in, and if they had, refusing to be recalled. She had questions but didn’t know where to start, so didn’t raise her hand to ask.

At the end of the class, the sergeant wished them luck and went through the procedure for the day: be at the training centre at 12:20—ten minutes before the start time—have their warrant cards, two pens and a positive attitude. Sarah headed for the door as soon as she could.

‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ Joel called from behind her. She reluctantly waited for him to catch up. ‘Where you rushing off to?’

‘Bed and as soon as possible. Need to hit the books hard for tomorrow. I had no idea what half of that was about.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine on the day. I was the same in college; I nailed the ones I was sure I’d fail and flunked the rest.’

She doubted that. He’d organised the Enderson file perfectly and she imagined his revision notes were just as meticulously prepared.

‘A few of us are heading out for a drink. Like a last supper to calm the nerves before tomorrow. Come along, if you can stay awake. I left a message with Dales about it.’

‘I can’t, I’ve got to get my head down.’

Joel smiled and raised his eyebrow. ‘Then this will be a perfect nightcap. Come on, you need a break sometime. It’ll do you good.’

‘I really can’t. I’ve got to pick the kids up and hit the books. There’s a lot going on at home too.’

‘Okay. Maybe next time?’

‘Yeah, maybe next time.’

Sarah waited outside the school gates with the other parents. She’d parked quite a walk away. All the closer spots were taken and she didn’t want to add to the awkwardly parked vehicles that were almost blocking the road. Collecting the girls herself had been a rare treat since she’d started at Mavenswood and, even though the looks on some of the other parents’ faces suggested they’d disagree, Sarah was enjoying the experience. The doors opened and children rushed towards the gate. Two teachers stood by the entrance, ushering the kids towards their parents and, no doubt, keeping an eye out for anything untoward. Sarah remembered her school days. She’d walked home on her own plenty of times, played in the park on the way back and didn’t consider any of it in the slightest bit unsafe. That’d had all changed dramatically in a single generation. Sarah knew that fear of child abductions had risen dramatically, while the instances of stranger abductions hadn’t much changed at all. It didn’t stop her being a little overprotective though.

Sophie came out first and Ellie followed closely behind. Sarah waved, but they couldn’t have seen. They approached the school gates and one of the teachers, a woman in her fifties in a mauve dress, stopped them and looked over at the crowd of parents. Sarah waved again. The girls waved back and the teacher leant down towards them and pointed over to her.

‘Hi, girls. How was school?’

‘Hi, Mum,’ they said in unison.

Sarah held her arms out. ‘Hugs for your mum?’ The girls came in for a big cuddle.

They walked to the car. Sophie explained all about her science class. Ellie kept quiet. The girls sat in the back and belted up. Sarah pulled away and looked at her daughters in the rear-view mirror.

‘How was school, Ellie?’

‘Mrs Leyton didn’t know who you were.’

‘Mrs Leyton?’

‘Mrs Leyton at the gate. She didn’t recognise you because you don’t collect us very much.’

‘I’d really like to be there more, but it’s not always possible.’ Sarah tried to make eye contact with her daughter through the rear-view mirror, but Ellie was looking out of the window.

‘She thinks Aunty Heather is our mum.’

I don’t care what she thinks.
‘Well, that’s because she doesn’t know the situation. Aunty Heather has been very kind and she loves collecting you from school.’

‘And we get to play with Susan and baby Geoffrey,’ said Sophie. ‘Mum and Dad have very important things to do.’ Sophie scowled at her sister.

Sarah stopped at the red lights and ratcheted the handbrake on. She turned to look at the girls. ‘It’s not that. Well, it is, work is important, but you’re the most important thing in our lives. More than work, more than anything else.’

‘More than ice cream?’ asked Sophie.

‘Hmmm. That’s a tough one. Yes, more than ice cream.’

‘More than TV?’

‘Definitely more than TV.’ Sarah realised this dynamic could go on for the whole journey and Ellie was still sitting in silence, looking out of the window. The lights changed and she continued driving home.

‘We understand,’ said Soph. She whacked her sister on the arm, which still didn’t prompt a response.

Dales still had an affection for drugs work. He’d not worked on a drugs unit for over ten years, but the buzz of a drugs bust had never left him. Picking his target, running surveillance, finding out every intricate detail before crashing through the doors of the den exhilarated him. Major Crime hadn’t ticked the boxes in the same way. Tracking down murderers and serial rapists had its appeal; the severity of the crime made bringing them to justice all the sweeter. But drugs, drugs were where his heart was.

The Drugs Unit had been renamed the Proactive Crime Team. This was in part due to dwindling officer numbers leading to the Drugs Unit and the Burglary Squad having to amalgamate, and due to the DCI refusing to publicly acknowledge Mavenswood had a drugs problem. When Dales heard about the name change, long after he’d left the unit, he’d felt a little of his legacy had been changed with it. Proactive was just another way of sounding busy, he’d thought.

Sergeant Headsten of the PCT was in his late twenties. His deep chest and thick torso made it look like he was wearing a covert stab vest under his shirt. ‘The legendary DS Dales. Here about Dibbles?’

'Legendary is just a polite way of saying old. I’m after the surveillance photos. Dibbles was dealing back in my day. Didn’t realise he was still active.’

‘He plays a background role now. His runners feed the cash up the chain and he counts his profits while keeping his hands clean. Makes him a hard man to trap.’ Headsten passed Dales a yellow file marked CONFIDENTIAL. ‘Looking for anyone in particular in there?’

‘Sally-Anne Moretti?’ Headsten looked blank. ‘She used to run with him years back. Hasn’t put her head above the parapet for a while, but we’ve just connected her to a drugs supply and a dead body. Claims she’s not using, but don’t they all.’ Dales opened the file and flicked past the cover sheet. Dibbles looked straight at him from a photo clipped to the top corner. He looked old. His gaunt face told the story of a life of drug abuse. The grey hair above his ears was all that remained on an otherwise bald head. The eyes never changed. Dales remembered seeing those eyes: startled as his door went in, cocky as they interviewed him and crying as his sentence was read.

‘Not ringing any bells.’

‘Who’s he knocking off?’

‘We’re not sure. He’s dealing to a few women, but there’s nothing to say he’s associating with any. We’re hoping this operation gives us a little more info. We know where he is, and we’re just finding out where his crew are dealing from. Once the picture’s built, we’ll hit his address. We go in half-cocked without the package being ready and we’ll be starting again from scratch.’

Dales knew how it worked. It was a long, meticulous process. The general perception of a Drugs Unit, or whatever they wanted to call it, was of meathead Neanderthals smashing in doors and dragging out scumbags. That was only part of it. The weeks leading up to the warrants involved countless hours of surveillance, both from static observation points and foot follows. Informants were used to work out delivery times and locations prior to deciding when and where to strike. One wrong move and months of work could be blown in a split second.

‘What’s the address like?’ Dales wanted to be involved. Reading through the pages of intricate information on Dibbles, he almost forgot he was here for the photos concealed in the A4 envelope at the back of the bundle.

‘Semi-detached house with a PVC door that leads into a small porch. To the left of the door as you look at it is a bay window with PVC double-glazing. This is where the punters go to get their drugs. We watched it for three hours the other night and saw ten deals take place. Still don’t know when the deliveries arrive, but most of the activity is going on Wednesday nights.’

Dales put the file on the desk and opened the envelope. ‘When were these taken?’

‘Four nights back. They’re the most recent ones, but we’ve got others going back weeks if you need them.’

Dales opened the envelope. The quality of the shots were far better than he’d have been able to take with the basic tech he’d had in his day. The angle of the photos suggested the observation point was across the road, a few doors down and on the second floor. Headsten wouldn’t be allowed to tell him the exact address and Dales didn’t ask. The first five photos were males he didn’t know. The sixth was a user he recognised. He raised the photo up. ‘He still at it?’ Headsten nodded. Dales continued. Number eight was a female with a grey hood up. He looked at the photo closely. Her figure was different, but the clothing made it hard to tell beyond any doubt. ‘Any ideas who this is?’

‘No name, but we have a better shot from the previous week.’ Headsten unlocked the filing cabinet beside his desk and pulled out another white envelope. He showed Dales a shot of the same woman, in the same clothes. Dales was satisfied it wasn’t Moretti.

The ninth photo was no one he knew. The tenth stopped him. Wrapped in a long dark jacket, with one hand in his pocket and the other trying to hold down the peak of his driver’s cap, was Eric Semples.

Sixteen

The day of the exam was designated leave. Sarah had to be at the exam centre, a sports hall near Mavenswood train station, by 12:20. The delayed start gave her the chance for a decent breakfast and to get her head together prior to sitting down and trying to recall any scraps of legislation she’d studied in the past few weeks. It also gave her the chance to talk to Mark about those bank details. Although she’d woken up with the best intentions,
I want to get it out in the open and clear my head
soon became
let’s just have a nice breakfast and deal with it after the exam.
She’d play the quiet wife and let him be the devoted husband for a little while longer.

The smell of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen. She sat at the breakfast table, watching her husband standing at the hob preparing breakfast and wondering where he had been last night, now that ‘just another late one at the office’ was no longer the first reason she assumed.

‘Late one last night? I didn’t hear you come in.’

Mark came over with the pan and shuffled two thick-cut bacon rashers and two fried eggs on top of her wholemeal toast.

‘Ended up at a strip club. Our after-work habits are getting out of control.’

‘Where?’ It wasn't the answer she expected.

‘Out in Rhystown.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know that was your thing.’ Sarah hadn’t ever worried about that sort of thing. Watching women dance on a stage had an unthreatening emotional distance about it. Although she wouldn’t go as far as defending the practice, she accepted strip clubs, pornography and the like was something men had to do from time to time, before coming back to their regular lives. In moderation, it was fine. Her opinion had conformed nicely with the idea that the man she’d married wasn’t the cheating sort. That idea was no longer such a snug fit.

‘Meh. A lot of fuss for nothing, really. Expensive fuss at that. Started out as a joke, then we just decided to do it.’ He piled a small egg tower on his fork and looked pleased with himself when it all made it into his mouth. ‘Ready to smash the exam?’

‘I’m ready to turn up. After that, nothing’s guaranteed.’ Sarah stabbed a slice of salty bacon with her fork.

‘The final investors meeting is on Friday. I’ve added it to the calendar app. I’ve got a work lunch today, but will be finished in time to collect the girls.’