So Say the Fallen (Dci Serena Flanagan 2) (28 page)

‘Hello,’ Mrs Bailey said. ‘Would you take a cup of tea?’

‘No, thank you,’ Flanagan said. ‘I don’t want to use up any more of your time than I have to. Do you mind if I sit down?’

‘Not at all,’ Mrs Bailey said. ‘Go ahead.’

Flanagan took the armchair, and the Baileys sat on the couch, both watching her with a mix of curiosity and worry. She readied her notebook and pen.

‘As I said, I wanted to ask you about your daughter, if you don’t mind.’

The Baileys looked at each other, then back to Flanagan.

‘Ask away,’ Mr Bailey said, that knot of caution still on his brow.

‘She was a pretty girl,’ Flanagan said, indicating the picture over the fireplace.

‘Aye, she was,’ Mrs Bailey said, a sadness in her voice. ‘She was gorgeous.’

‘How was she as a girl?’ Flanagan asked. ‘Was she well-behaved or did she give you any trouble? Was she sociable? Was she shy?’

‘She was a good girl,’ Mrs Bailey said. ‘She was a wee bit shy, I suppose, but she had plenty of friends. The teachers always liked her at school. She loved school, so she did.’

‘So never any problems,’ Flanagan said.

‘No, never.’

‘I’m curious, then, what happened later on? Why did she become estranged from you?’

Mr and Mrs Bailey looked at each other again, then back to Flanagan.

‘What do you mean?’ Mr Bailey asked.

‘I know there was a falling out when she was older,’ Flanagan said. ‘That she got into some trouble later on. Can you tell me about that?’

They stared at her. Tears welled in Mrs Bailey’s eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mr Bailey said. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Flanagan said.

‘Our Roberta’s dead,’ he said, a waver in his voice. ‘She died in March 1993. Meningitis. Two other children at her school died around the same time.’

Flanagan’s skin prickled. Her mouth dried.

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘You’re right. I must have made a mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

She reached for her mobile phone, saw there was still no signal.

‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ she said, ‘do you think I could use your landline?’

47

‘This is good coffee,’ DCI Conn said, raising his cup to her.

Roberta smiled and said, ‘I can’t take credit. The machine did the work.’

‘Still, it’s very good,’ Conn said. ‘Thank you.’

He took a sip and set the cup on the black granite. She sat opposite, on the other side of the island, nursing her own cup. Conn looked tired, stubble darkening his jawline. The other police officers had left more than an hour ago, but he had remained, going through the wardrobe and drawers in the back room, looking for God knows what.

He was a tall man, not bad looking, though he had a meanness about him. The kind of man who enjoyed petty victories, held on to anger at every small defeat. She could read men that way, always had done, a talent she’d developed when she was barely a teenager. How easy it had been to manipulate the boys with their crude and simple impulses. And they never grew out of it. They never learned to let their brains do their thinking. Even the smartest of them. When everything was stripped away, they were all the same, from the highest to the lowest, animals whose sole drive was to rut with her.

And here she was, alone with this man. He wore a wedding band, but she had noted how he toyed with it, sliding it from knuckle
to knuckle. And how he glanced at her body, thinking himself sly and unnoticed. It would be so easy to take him, just move closer, fingertips, delicate butterfly touches, let him feel the heat of her.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

She snapped back into the moment. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You were smiling,’ he said.

‘Was I?’ She let the smile spread, felt it light up her face. He couldn’t help but reflect it back to her. ‘I was just thinking about something,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just a memory.’

He nodded, smiled once more, and took another sip of coffee.

‘You’ve been very kind,’ she said. ‘I hardly knew you were here today. Very professional. Not like that Flanagan woman.’

Conn cleared his throat. ‘Well, she has her own way of doing things.’

Roberta saw the way he bristled at the name, the tightening of his jaw. She caught a scent, followed it.

‘She was so . . . hard,’ she said. ‘Do you know what I mean? And rude. What’s the word? Abrasive? Yes, abrasive, that’s it.’

He gave a shallow smile, looked at her, looked away. ‘I can’t really comment.’

She saw the angle, honed in on it.

‘Call me old-fashioned,’ she said, ‘but women in jobs like that. They overcompensate, don’t you think? They think they have to out-man the men. It makes them bitchy and mean, doesn’t it?’

He shrugged, laughed, raised his hands in a motion of surrender. ‘If I said that out loud to anyone, they’d have me off on one of those equality awareness courses.’

Got him, she thought.

‘I’m glad you’ve taken over,’ she said. ‘I feel better having you around, Brian. Can I call you Brian?’

She reached across the worktop, almost let her fingertips brush his.

‘I suppose,’ he said, his cheeks reddening, his eyes flicking to her and away, over and over.

Like a schoolboy, she thought. So easy.

Reel him in or let him go?

Conn’s mobile phone chimed, making the decision for her. What might have been relief broke on his face as he reached for his breast pocket. He looked at the display and said, ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’

‘Of course,’ she said as she drew her hand back to her side of the island.

He brought the phone to his ear and said, ‘DCI Conn.’

She heard a metallic voice, words she could not discern.

‘Yes, I’m at the Garrick house now.’

His features slackened. He looked at her, eyes blank, then looked away again.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Give me twenty minutes, half an hour.’

When he hung up, she asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

He lowered himself from the stool, slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘Fine, fine,’ he said. ‘They need me over at the church is all. There’s something they need me to see. Thank you for the coffee. I can let myself out.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said as he hurried out of the kitchen.

She listened to the front door open and close, the bark and rumble of an engine. As it faded, a cold finger touched her heart.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing.’

Yet the chill remained. A warm bath would help. Yes, she thought, a soak to wash the day away. She finished her coffee, set the two cups in the sink, and made her way upstairs. In the master bathroom, she plugged the tub, turned on both taps, adjusted until the temperature was just so. Added a generous dose of bubble bath.

She went to her bedroom, into the walk-in wardrobe, and selected a nightdress and gown, brought them out and laid them on the bed. As she set about unbuttoning her blouse, she glanced up at the wall over the antique dresser.

The child stared back down at her.

Roberta crossed the room, took the picture from its hook. She opened the dresser’s top drawer, placed the picture inside, and slid it closed again. Her hand against the wood, she held the drawer in place as if the image of the child might try to climb out again.

‘Now be quiet,’ she said.

48

Flanagan knocked on Purdy’s office door and entered without waiting for an invitation. She found Conn pacing the floor, Purdy sitting behind his desk. DS Murray sat in the corner, his arms folded across his chest. They all looked to her as she closed the door behind her.

‘When do we bring her in?’ Flanagan asked.

Conn and Purdy exchanged a glance.

‘Not tonight,’ Purdy said.

‘Why not?’

‘All we have right now is the suspicion – suspicion, mind – of identity theft. The best we could do is some sort of fraud, and even that isn’t straightforward.’

Flanagan approached the desk. ‘She’s been ghosting for years. Surely that’s enough to arrest her on.’

‘In itself, yes,’ Purdy said. ‘But is that really all you want her for? Ghosting on its own will be a minor offence. It’s what she did with the identity that counts, not just that she’s used it.’

‘So what do we do?’ Flanagan asked.

‘We wait,’ Purdy said. ‘First of all, we need to find out who she really is. Let’s hope that Isle of Man account can tell us something. If there’s a name attached, we reference that back to the credit reference agency, find any other accounts connected to it. We’ll
have to go through the Attorney General’s Office, but we should have that information some time tomorrow morning, maybe afternoon, and young Murray here will go through it. Then we can look at her history under the fake identity. Any bank account she has in the name Roberta Bailey or Garrick is a financial fraud, even more serious if she’s taken out a credit card or a loan.’

‘Come on,’ Flanagan said, ‘we’re not taking her for credit card fraud. Two people have died.’

Now Conn spoke, raising himself to his full height. ‘Hang on a minute.
We’re
not taking her for anything. This is my case. Any involvement you have from here on will be simply as a courtesy for your work up to now.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Flanagan said. ‘If I hadn’t kept digging, you’d be wrapping it all up now with no idea she wasn’t who she said she was.’

‘I’d have found out,’ Conn said. ‘Sooner or later.’

‘Bollocks.’ She turned back to Purdy. ‘Sir, I request that you speak with the Assistant Chief Constable and ask that this case be reassigned to me.’

‘No,’ Purdy said, shaking his head. ‘Not going to happen.’

‘Sir, please, I—’

‘I said no, and that’s final.’ He raised a finger before she could protest again. ‘But I’m not freezing you out. You will provide any assistance needed to DCI Conn, and I will personally make sure the ACC and the Chief Constable know how much you contributed to the investigation. If that’s not good enough for you, then you’re welcome to step aside.’

Conn put his hands on his hips, placed his body between Flanagan and Purdy. ‘Sir, with respect, I don’t need any further
assistance from DCI Flanagan. I have all the materials I need, and I feel DCI Flanagan would be more hindrance than help at this stage.’

Purdy gave him a withering stare. ‘DCI Conn, Brian, listen very carefully. Are you listening?’

Conn swallowed and said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Don’t be a dick. I’m offering a workable compromise. For Christ’s sake, show some intelligence and take it.’

Conn took a step back. Flanagan noticed the flush on his cheeks. Murray put a hand over his mouth to hide a smirk.

‘Yes, sir,’ Conn said.

‘Good,’ Purdy said, nodding. ‘Now, I want the three of you to bugger off home, get some sleep. We’ll have the new information by late morning, and I expect you to come up with a plan of action between you. A way to prove she killed those men. Get whatever you can on this woman, whoever she is, and bring her down. I want her in custody by tomorrow evening, the day after, at the latest. With any luck we’ll get a confession out of her, but only if you have enough evidence to put in front of her. I want nothing done half-assed, no acting on nothing more than a feeling.’ He pointed at Conn and Flanagan in turn on those points. ‘Understood? Now piss off, the lot of you.’

Flanagan, Conn and Murray left the office without speaking. Out in the corridor, Purdy’s door closed, Flanagan and Murray held back while Conn strode towards the stairs.

‘He’ll try to freeze me out,’ Flanagan said. ‘I’ll need you to keep me up to speed. Tell me what he won’t. Okay?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Murray said.

She put a hand on his arm, squeezed, a gesture of thanks, and left him there.

Flanagan slept poorly that night. The children were in bed by the time she got home, the dinner things cleared away, Alistair once again sitting at the kitchen table working through a stack of essays. She took the plate of food he’d left in the fridge for her, blasted it in the microwave, and ate it opposite him. They said nothing beyond the greetings they’d exchanged when she came in.

His nightmares woke him in the small hours, and she pretended to be asleep as he climbed out of bed and left the room. She rode the waves of the soft burble from the television downstairs, in and out of sleep, dreams and disorientation, spectres and shadows in the darkness. Eventually she gave in and reached for the lamp on the bedside locker.

Still scared of the dark. Strange how the fear grew when she felt under pressure, became less containable. She pulled the duvet up to her chin, closed her eyes, and tried to find the rhythm of the waves once more.

In the morning, Alistair and the kids had only started breakfast when Flanagan left for the station. She arrived a few minutes after eight and went straight to the temporary office that had been allocated to Conn. He and Murray sat there, each hunched over a computer.

‘Nothing yet,’ Conn said. ‘I’ll call you when we’ve got what we need.’

‘I can stay,’ she said. ‘Help go through whatever you get.’

‘That won’t be necessary. I’ll call you when I need you.’

Murray looked up from his computer, met her gaze, then looked away again.

‘All right,’ Flanagan said. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

So she waited. Nine o’clock passed, ten, eleven, then twelve. She tried to fill her time by working through the mound of Public Prosecution Service files Purdy had asked her to review, but her concentration lagged. Every time the phone on her desk rang, or her mobile, she grabbed at it, hoping and expecting. Every time she was disappointed.

As the minute hand on her watch dragged close to the six, her mobile rang once more. She looked at the display. DS Murray.

‘Yes?’ she said.

‘Ma’am, can you come to DCI Conn’s office right now?’

‘Yes,’ she said, and hung up without waiting for a reply.

She knocked on Conn’s door less than a minute later. Murray opened it, and she looked past him to see he was alone.

‘Where’s Conn?’ she asked.

Murray stepped back to let her enter. ‘He went out. That’s why I needed you to come now, while he was gone.’