The Cornish Guest House (22 page)

The others kept their doors shut most of the time, only emerging to brief her on a caller, go to the loo or just poke their heads in for a chat and to see how she was. Sometimes her work was quite stressful, because the elderly victims tended to need a lot of hand-holding, like little kids, really. Often they were in tears, but she was good at comforting them and liked to leave them in a better state than when they’d first spoken.

In between calls she was doing a good deal of online research, compiling lists of names and addresses, getting credit reference checks and marketing data. It was amazing how much you could find out about a person – their date of birth, where they banked, how much money they owed and what sort of things they liked to purchase. She’d had no idea. She typed up big lists and passed them to Luke, who’d distribute them round the team. There were others working for him, she knew, in different parts of the country, though she didn’t have anything to do with them, and Luke was always very encouraging about what she did.

‘You’re a star!’ he said sometimes, or, ‘What would I do without you?’ She liked pleasing him; his compliments made her work extra hard.

She had to pinch herself sometimes to convince herself that it was true, that she really was involved in his important, top-secret operation, even if only for a few weeks. Her! Loveday! On her first day, Luke had explained that HM was just a cover, that because of his financial expertise, the Metropolitan Police had asked him to assist their fraud unit on a special investigation into nationwide telephone scams, mainly targeting elderly, vulnerable people. Her head had swum, until he’d brought her down to earth.

‘It’s big, Loveday,’ he’d said solemnly, forcing her to focus, ‘really big and complex, spanning many continents. It’s going to take a long time to track them down because there are so many of them, and they mustn’t know we’re on their trail.’

Often, he said, bank staff themselves were involved in the fraud. Loveday could hardly believe that. It was crucial to secure the pensioners’ money fast, before it disappeared, and it was up to her to persuade them not to talk to anyone at their bank, because it might scupper the investigation.

‘The poor victims are frightened out of their wits,’ he’d continued. ‘They feel like they’ve been burgled in their own homes. And make no mistake, the scammers are very dangerous. They’ve got a great deal at stake. They know if they get caught, the police have the power to confiscate their homes, their property, everything they’ve built up over the years, and they’ll go to almost any lengths to stop that happening.’

Loveday had squealed, she couldn’t help it. Almost any lengths? They sounded terrifying, and the next thing Luke said had only made her more afraid.

‘I don’t want to scare you,’ he’d insisted, lowering his voice and doing just that, ‘but you must understand that idle talk could put not just you but your friends and family at risk, too.’

Loveday had found herself wondering if she should have got herself into this in the first place. She had visions of threatening-looking men with stiletto knives in their pockets, lurking in the shadows, waiting for a signal from the big boss to silence her for ever.

She’d been about to suggest that maybe she wasn’t the right person to help after all, but Luke had put a reassuring hand on hers. ‘We need you, Loveday, and I have every faith in you. You’ll be perfectly safe so long as you keep your mouth shut.’

‘I will,’ she’d promised, thinking that from now on she’d be far too nervous to spill any beans. She wasn’t generally known for her discretion, but Luke had put the fear of God into her and nothing on earth would make her blab.

It had taken her a while to process everything he’d told her, but later in the afternoon, when he’d been looking at one of the list of names she was compiling, she’d plucked up the courage to ask a question.

‘Why did you say yes – to helping the police, I mean?’ It had struck her that it would have been a good deal easier, and safer, to concentrate on his very successful business and leave the undercover work to someone else.

Luke had sat on the edge of her desk, swinging a trousered leg to and fro. He was wearing a crisp, white, open-necked shirt and slip-on shoes in soft, tan leather. He seemed to have this aura around him, she thought, and you could tell at a glance that he wasn’t just any old Tom, Dick or Harry.

‘I guess I wanted to put something back,’ he’d replied, gazing at her with eyes so blue that she thought she could drown in them. ‘I’ve done very well for myself, I’ve got everything I need – nice home, nice car, beautiful wife and son. But not everyone’s so fortunate.’ He’d sighed and shaken his head. ‘There’s a lot of suffering out there and I just thought, I’ve got the skills and the time. I could retire now if I wanted, but I wouldn’t fancy sitting around on my backside, getting on Tabitha’s nerves or playing golf all day, it’s not my scene. I’m good at what I do – I might as well put it to some use.’

Loveday had nodded, feeling humble and inspired at the same time. ‘You’re an amazing man.’ She’d hoped that didn’t sound childish, but it was true. Then, to her surprise, he’d leaned over and cupped her chin in his warm hand, gazing at her again with breath-taking intensity. ‘And you’re a very brave young woman.’

She’d never forget it. The feel of his soft skin, the whiff of expensive aftershave, those periwinkle-blue eyes fixed on hers. She’d felt giddy with pleasure and thought at that moment she’d do anything for him, anything at all.

‘I must be off,’ he’d said, rising suddenly and breaking the spell. ‘I’ve got a catch-up meeting with the fraud squad chief. You wouldn’t believe some of the stories he tells…’

And with that, he’d gone, leaving her alone once more.

Ahmed reappeared, jolting her back to the present, and told her to expect a call from an elderly gentleman.

‘He sounded pretty cut up. Do your best to calm him down.’

This time he patted her shoulder, before making his way back down the corridor to his own office. He was gorgeous, Loveday thought, really kind and supportive, like a big brother, almost, or an uncle. He didn’t dazzle like Luke, though. No one else did that. She pushed herself off the edge of the desk so that the chair swung round and round, making her giddy.

Ahmed and Luke had worked at the same call centre in Manchester years ago, selling mobile phone packages; she’d once heard them joking about it in the corridor outside.

‘You always won salesman of the month,’ Ahmed had laughed, ‘and I always came second, no matter how hard I tried. I only ever won when you were off sick or on holiday, you bastard.’

‘D’you remember how the prize was vouchers for crap shops?’ Luke had replied, laughing back. ‘Dunno why any of us bothered. I guess in those days we thought a watch from Argos was the height of sophistication.’

Loveday had felt herself blush because she’d been looking online at watches from Argos only recently. She’d thought there were some really nice fancy ones, if only she could afford them, and made a mental note not to buy anything from there again.

She was drifting once more. She’d never been such a daydreamer, not until she’d started here. Her phone rang once, twice, three times and she gave herself a mental shake, cleared her throat and picked up.

‘Metropolitan Police Helpline,’ she said in her most efficient voice. ‘How can I be of assistance?’

At first she couldn’t understand the caller fully because he was talking very fast, in short, panicky sentences like little gasps: ‘Over fifteen thousand pounds… savings account… cash card… robbed…’

‘Please don’t worry, sir,’ she soothed, imagining him at the other end, rocking backwards and forwards, scarcely able to think. Poor old bloke, it really wasn’t fair. ‘We’ll put it in a special police account for you. It’ll be quite safe.’

She could hear the relief in his voice and almost picture the fog in his brain starting to clear. She listened patiently while he went over the whole story with her, beginning way before the call, when he’d been taking his dog for a walk round the block, popping into the newsagent’s for his newspaper and a packet of soft mints. She didn’t mind; as far as she was concerned, it was all part of the service.

‘What a terrible shock,’ she said, when at last he’d slowed down. ‘Who’d have thought this was going to happen, eh? Well, thank goodness it’s been discovered before it’s too late and we can put that money away for you. Now, why don’t you read me those numbers?’

*

Some time later, over at Devon and Cornwall Police Headquarters in Exeter, Inspector Royce called a meeting to explain what had happened.

‘We’ve got a lady in Bideford who’s lost twelve thousand, a gentleman in Dawlish fifteen thousand, and two more women in Barnstaple – one ten grand, one forty.’

His colleagues raised their eyebrows. You could almost see their noses twitching, like hounds scenting a fox; they needed something to get their teeth into. They were part of a new, dedicated anti-fraud unit, and they had everything to prove.

‘We’re going to be seeing a lot more of this type of crime,’ Insp. Royce warned. ‘They’ve worked out there are more than your average number of retired people down here in the South West and pockets of cash.’

He told the team to ‘follow the money’, and they nodded in agreement. It was the only way. Problem was, a lot of accounts were set up using stolen identities, or bought off foreign students for a small sum before they left the country. Banks were supposed to look out for suspicious activity, but they didn’t do it.

‘First things first, we need production orders from the court and notices served on the banks. I want proof of identity used for the fake accounts, handwriting samples, telephone numbers, anything you can lay your hands on.’

Insp. Royce knew full well that the crooks would most likely have used unregistered, pre-paid mobile phones that they’d already chucked away, but it was still worth a try. He scratched his head. Experience told him the money would have been moved by the time they got there, too. It was probably at this very moment spidering out into numerous other accounts all over the country and abroad. Soon it would be invested in property, luxury goods, fake foreign businesses, you name it, and they wouldn’t have the resources to track it all the way.

But if they could just catch a few suspects, some of the small guys who’d allowed their accounts to be used for laundering purposes, get them in for questioning, that would be something. No point pretending Mr Big was the end goal. He’d be sitting pretty somewhere, enjoying his mansion and his fast cars. Bastard.

Insp. Royce sighed, wondering if his bosses wished they had left things to Action Fraud, the national, London-based clearing-house that normally dealt with these crimes. This special unit was already costing a fortune and so far they’d got precisely nowhere. Still, you had to be positive. Good, old-fashioned police work, that’s what was required, and who knew? One day someone, somewhere might make a mistake or cough.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he said, watching the young officers push back their chairs and spring to their feet. The older ones, all too aware of the obstacles, took their time.

‘C’mon, people,’ Insp. Royce went on, clapping his hands. Rallying the troops was an important part of the job. ‘Let’s get to work – and there’s a pint in it for the first one who brings me a proper lead.’

*

Liz held Robert’s hand as they waited to be called for the scan. Her bladder was full to bursting and she was feeling light-headed, because she hadn’t eaten for hours. She was half sick with nerves, too.

‘I hope they hurry up,’ Robert said, nodding to the young woman sitting opposite, her head resting on her partner’s shoulder.

Liz didn’t reply because she was frightened she’d say the wrong thing. He was so excited but the truth was all she could think was that something might be the matter. Everyone, from her GP to Pat to her father in London, had tried to convince her that there was no earthly reason why she shouldn’t have a healthy baby this time but, still, she couldn’t quite believe them. After all, lightning had struck twice with Rosie.

‘Eliza Hart?’ the nurse called, and she found herself springing to her feet, ready to bolt for the door.

‘Darling,’ Robert said, rising, too, and putting a comforting arm round her back. The closeness calmed her a little. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ he whispered, as the nurse ushered them into the darkened ultrasound room. ‘We’re going to meet our baby!’

As she lay back, allowing the female sonographer to rub chilly gel on her small, naked bump, she watched Robert stare eagerly into the screen, as if searching for some hidden truth. She couldn’t bring herself to do the same yet; she’d rather study his face for tell-tale signs.

The sonographer passed the probe over her abdomen and soon Liz heard a rapid drumming, like fairy feet tap-dancing on a wooden floor. Robert’s eyes were so wide that she almost forgot her anxiety and laughed.

‘There we are,’ the sonographer said comfortably, re-focusing Liz’s thoughts. ‘That’s baby’s heart.’ She took a few measurements and scribbled them down on a form. There was another pause while she moved the probe, then, ‘That’s the head.’ Robert seemed to be drinking in the image, his gaze never once leaving the screen. ‘There’s the shoulder, arm, the vertebrae, the bottom,’ the woman continued, before jotting down something else. ‘You’ve got an active one here, look! Did you see the toes wiggling?’

At that, Liz could resist no longer and turned to stare at the fuzzy picture. Her pale, ghostly baby squirmed a little before flicking its leg, as if to prove that he or she was very much alive, and she felt a surge of love so powerful that it threatened to blow her away.

‘Oh,’ she heard Robert say, ‘it’s so beautiful. There’s its fingers, and its nose. I wonder who it’s going to look like? Me or you?’

The sonographer, still busy making notes, chuckled. ‘Not the postman I trust!’ And Liz giggled, thinking of Nathan and the rumpus
that
would cause.

A shadow crossed her mind and the heaviness that had been weighing on her descended once more. ‘Is it all right? Is everything OK?’