The Accidental Warrior Page 2

  “Annie, it’s Harriet, is this a convenient time?”

  “Harry, how lovely to hear from you. Yes, of course. You’ve been on my mind, haven’t heard from you for a while. What’s up?”

  “How do you know anything’s up? I’ve not said anything yet.”

  “You forget I’ve known you an awful long time, I can tell by the tone of your voice, and besides I can hear you sniffing.”

  “You can?”

  “Yep. Now, why do you sound so sad?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, it’s just, everything’s such a mess. Annie, I didn’t ring to burden you with my problems, I just wanted to hear a friendly voice.”

  “What are friends for, if not to be here when things get tough? Come on, grab another tissue and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Thanks, Annie, but I don’t actually know where to start; I just feel really low.”

  “Yes, but you aren’t the sort of person to get down without good reason, so what’s going on?”

  “Um, one lunchtime about six weeks ago, I popped back home to pick up some clothes for the dry cleaners. As I ran upstairs I thought I heard a giggle. The door to our bedroom was slightly ajar so I went to investigate. I popped my head round the door frame and, and, oh …”

  “Hey, Harry, stop. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  “No, no, I need to tell someone. I’ve been going mad trying to make sense of it all. So, there’s my naked husband shagging some tart in our bed.”

  “Bloody hell, Harry.”

  “I know, but it was my reaction which scares me the most. I still can’t believe I’m capable of such rage. I feel totally ashamed.”

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t need to.”

  “It still seems a bit surreal. You see, I just began to scream…”

  “Yes, and I’d say: Well done you.”

  “But then I launched myself at him. By now he was standing by the foot of the bed clutching a pillow to his bits. And…”

  “It’s okay. Take a deep breath. Take more time, if you need to.”

  “So, I ran at him… and punched him in the chest as well as the face.”

  “What did he do?”

  “That’s just it, he did nothing, said nothing, not once did he try to protect himself, just stood there naked still clutching the bloody pillow with tears rolling down his cheeks. This only seemed to fuel my rage. Then as suddenly as it arrived, the fury subsided, and I ran to the bathroom to throw up. When I came out he’d gone to his parents. I found a note in the kitchen.”

  “Well, it sounds as if he got off lightly.”

  “Not really Annie, I made a real mess of his face; the first of the bruising was visible even before I’d thrown the last punch…”

  “Well, I’d say he deserved it.”

  “No, no, he really didn’t. What he did was wrong, yes, it broke my heart. But my reaction was out of order. I’ve spent the best part of my adult life trying to be the best police officer I can be, striving to make a difference to people’s lives. For God’s sake, I even spent five years on the Domestic Abuse Unit, dealing with men and women who suffered terribly at the hands of their partners and now I’m as guilty as those I helped to prosecute. I feel so embarrassed, so mortified by my behaviour. How can I honestly continue as a police officer? In truth, I think the only way forward is to confess to my current boss Chief Inspector Derek Wynn…”

  “No, no, you bloody don’t, stop this now! Stop beating yourself up. You reacted the way you did because your world fell apart around you. Nick could easily have put an end to it, but chose not to. Don’t do this, please.”

  “I just don’t know…”

  “I’ll let you into a little secret, Harriet Lacey: you are human, and as such you have foibles and faults and flaws just like the rest of us. None of us are perfect. It’s that we learn from our mistakes that’s important.”

  “I suppose.”

  “What has Nick said about what happened?”

  “We’ve not talked about it.”

  “What, not at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about the children, are they okay?”

  “Thankfully, they seem remarkably indifferent. They know Nick and I have had a fight, but they don’t seem too stressed by it, they probably assume things will blow over. Our lives have been rather dislocated recently. I’ve been working punishingly long hours and had most of my rest days cancelled. Nick’s situation has been less intense but has still resulted in some long shifts. It came to a head when Ben and Amelia came to us to say they’d had enough of waiting in the cold to be picked up long after everyone else had gone home, of being palmed off on family friends, of late-night meals and the lack of instant help with their homework. It was their suggestion that they de-camp to Nick’s parents during the school week. So now they flit backwards and forwards between addresses depending on who’s around.”

  “Your kids are smart and self-confident.”

  “They are, but believe me they still have their moments.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I went to see Nick today.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it’s been a shit day; I got told this afternoon that with immediate effect I’m to leave the incident room I’ve been working on all these months, for another. Only problem is that this room is headed up by Nick.”

  “No way, no way, they can’t do that, can they?”

  “Annie, they can do what they like, it actually happens quite a lot.”

  “What, estranged couples being expected to work together?”

  “Yes. It is mean and insensitive, but we are basically expected to be professional about it and get on with it.”

  “I find that really, really disturbing.”

  “Anyway, as I mentioned, I went to see Nick. My desire to find out why I’d been moved outweighed my reluctance to speak with him, just, but as it turns out, although angry at the decision, he didn’t seem to know any more than I did. It was hard though. I couldn’t look him in the eye; a couple of times I felt myself getting emotional and I felt nauseous throughout. But I did it.”

  “Well done girl.”

  “Annie, I just don’t know if I have the strength to take up this new posting. I look in the mirror and I don’t recognise the woman staring back at me. I’ve lost sense of who I am. I’m finding it difficult to cope. Little things I usually take in my stride seem overwhelming.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought I had it sussed: two lovely children, a handsome and successful husband, a career that made a difference. I saw myself as a smart professional woman in control of her life. But now when I look in the mirror I just see a tired, frumpy, broken face staring back, a woman who has to deal with daily gossip and innuendo and who doesn’t have a clue whether she can be bothered to claw her way out of the big black hole that is threatening to engulf her…”

  “Oh Harry, my darling, please don’t cry. I’d no idea you were so down. You need to listen to me very carefully: you are smart and professional. A truly beautiful woman with an incredible smile. Astonishingly caring and bright, and witty too. And you are today’s news; next week, someone else will be the focus of the gossips.”

  “Thank you, Annie, I’ve got myself into quite a state.”

  “Harry, you are the strongest woman I know. It seems to me you could really do with some time to yourself. It would help you to come to terms with what’s happened, give yourself some time to get your head together.”

  “I really don’t think I can. What about the children? My new job? And poor old Dad? I’m so worried about him, and Mum is exhausted. His condition is deteriorating. No, I really can’t.”

  “Harry, you can make as many excuses as you like, but you can’t carry on as you are. The children are fine with their Dad and his parents, the job can wait a week and you are unlikely to be much help or indeed comfort to your parents in this state.”

  “Okay, okay, I su
bmit. Thank you for listening to me and for being there for me.”

  “You’re most welcome, now go and take care of yourself. You will soon bounce back, you know.”

  Harriet sat in the dark and thought about her situation, mulling over her conversation with Annie. It didn’t take her long to realise that Annie was right, she did need time to consider her life.

  She reached again for the phone.

  “Hello?” said a familiar male voice, clearing his throat.

  “Sir, it’s Harriet. So sorry to ring you at home and so late on a Friday evening…”

  “It’s not a problem, what can I do for you?” Derek Wynn spoke softly, almost as if he’d picked up on Harriet’s vulnerability. Harriet blushed in the darkness.

  “Well, as you are still technically my line manager, is there any chance I can take a few days’ leave? I need to get my head together and sort out some personal issues before I start Operation Chapel.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. I’m happy to authorise it. I’ll tell Nick I’ve tasked you with a sensitive piece of work and I can’t spare you until it’s completed. I’ll tell him that you’ll be starting Chapel a week on Monday. How does that sound?”

  “That’s great, thank you so much.”

  “See you in a week,” he said kindly.

  CHAPTER 3

  A fortnight earlier

  Kate Squire’s focus was a doorway to a non-descript grey building opposite. In the early morning chill, she rubbed her hands together and waited.

  An hour later, she emerged from the shadows the moment she spotted the white Range Rover Sport drive off. Kate moved quickly and soon her battered grey Golf was following at a safe distance. After several miles, the Range Rover turned left off the High Street, but just as Kate approached the lights, they turned red.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, you’re joking, bloody hell!” she shouted, slamming her hands on the dashboard.

  When the lights changed again, the vehicle was nowhere to be seen. She drove up and down several residential roads, but there was no sign of it. She was perspiring, the sound of her racing heart deafening in her ears.

  “Where the hell are you, Cleo? Come on, where are you?”

  A minute or two later, Kate’s Golf turned into Highland Avenue, announcing its presence with its noisy exhaust. She knew she should get it fixed. Spotting the stationary Range Rover, she parked and leapt out of her car. But she was unsure where to start her search. She guessed she did not have much time, she was sure Cleo was there to kill.

  Her best chance must lie in concentrating on the houses on the same side of the road as Cleo’s car, but would Cleo really be so arrogant as to park her car close to the scene of the crime? The street was empty, there was no-one to ask. She ran from house to house peering through front windows, hoping against hope she would find the one she was looking for. Her search was becoming farcical. A post van pulled into the top of the road.

  Kate ran towards the unsuspecting postman. Breathless, she managed to gasp, “Really sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where Professor Martin Grey lives please?”

  “Number 42, love, the one with the green door.”

  “Thank you,” shouted Kate over her shoulder as she sped towards the house.

  Cleo’s car was indeed parked outside. Kate rang the doorbell and hammered on the door. She peered into the front window, but it was dark within. She could see no movement. Flustered, she ran back to the road, then back to the house. Not willing to give up yet, she pounded the door. Looking around for inspiration she spotted a stone tortoise in the flower bed. Picking it up, she glanced around before stepping into the porch and striking the glass panel in the door. It cracked; she struck it again and again until she’d made a large enough hole to safely put her hand through. Feeling for the latch she managed to flick it up into the open position before trying the handle. To her immense relief, the door opened.

  “Hello, anyone there? Hello, Professor Grey?” There was no reply. The hallmark of an expensive perfume hung in the air, heavy notes of jasmine and rose. It did not take her long to locate the Professor in his office, at the back of the Edwardian town house.

  He was tied to a chair. Kate rushed across. Kneeling at his feet she looked for signs of breathing but there were none. Placing her fingers on his neck she felt for a pulse; his skin was still warm to the touch. Trembling now, she tried over and over, but she couldn’t find a pulse. Breathless, she grabbed the Professor by the shoulders.

  “Wake up Professor. Please wake up! Fuck! Fuck.” Cleo had thwarted her.

  Kate sat with her back against a bookshelf. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Poor Professor Grey, what a waste of life, what a tragedy. Opening her eyes, she surveyed his wrinkled features. His neatly cut white hair, his freshly shaven face, save for a few long hairs lining the top of his cheeks. As she stood up she spotted his reading glasses resting on the desk. Glasses he would never have use for again. She felt her stomach tighten.

  “Oh God, what do I do? This is such a mess.”

  Hastily untying the Professor, she laid him out on the floor, closing his eyes and placing his hands on his chest in the age-old tradition. As she adjusted his tweed jacket, she detected something hard in the left breast pocket. Cautiously, she slipped her hand inside and pulled out an old pocket tape recorder. Examining it closer, she stopped the tape and re-wound it, before pressing ‘play’.

  “I knew immediately I saw you that it was fruitless to struggle. You are very clearly in your prime. I’m no match for your youth,” said a male voice, which Kate assumed was the Professor, although they had never met.

  There was silence. “I know why you’re here. To an extent I’ve been anticipating this day.” Still no response.

  “Antiphanes wisely once stated, ‘The quest for riches darkens the sense of right and wrong’.”

  “Who the hell is Antiphanes? And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” snapped a woman’s voice. Cleo.

  Seemingly undaunted, the Professor replied, “Antiphanes was an ancient Greek dramatist. I will leave you to ponder the meaning of his words, but let’s just be clear, what you are about to do is profoundly sinful.”

  There was a short pause before he continued. “I know why you’ve come, I’ve asked too many awkward questions, ruffled too many feathers, and become a nuisance that must be silenced. It’s no good shooting me that dark look with those luminous green eyes. I don’t scare easily. And a word of warning or maybe even wisdom. I advise you to think long and hard about what you are doing. Though I suspect from your poise I am by no means your first victim. I doubt, however, it’s possible to persistin this line of work without it taking its emotional toll. Unless of course you truly believe in the justness of your cause or you are just emotionally immature. Is that what you are, emotionally immature?”

  “Shut up, will you? Just shut up! You know I’m trying hard not to listen to you. You are by far the most annoying man I’ve come across in a long time.” There was real menace in Cleo’s voice.

  “To take the life of an innocent man is to commit the ultimate sin. No doubt you will be handsomely rewarded for your efforts. But you will never be free from your murderous actions. They will haunt you and gnaw at your conscience for the rest of your life.”

  “That’s enough!” Cleo yelled. This was followed by a loud shout from the Professor, then some muffled sounds, which Kate could not make out. She wondered perhaps if Cleo had put her hand over the Professor’s mouth to silence him.

  But Professor Grey wasn’t finished yet; in a much-subdued voice he began to describe his predicament. “There’s a strange numbness coursing through my body, it started in my fingers and toes but it’s quickly spreading to my legs and arms.” Then silence. Kate noted little emotion in his voice, his analytical mind appeared to have kicked in.

  Just as Kate was about to stop the tape, the Professor started to talk again. “The numbness is moving at an alarming rate. My chest is tight; it’s ge
tting much harder to breathe. I’m having difficulty focussing now, my vision is becoming blurred, I really can’t catch my breath…”

  There was to be no further dialogue from the Professor, just a series of laboured noises which, Kate guessed, were the Professor’s last strenuous efforts to breathe.

  It was a few minutes before Kate felt able to resume; the recording had left her flushed and tearful. She turned to the man now lying at her feet.

  “I promise you, Professor, I will do my utmost to get you justice. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

  As she turned to leave, she hesitated for a moment, before kneeling at the Professor’s side and tenderly kissing his forehead.

  Placing the tape recorder in her jacket pocket, she left via the patio doors at the back of the house; the garden gate led to an adjacent road.

  Predictably, there was no sign of the Range Rover when Kate reached her car. She drove off, only stopping when she was some distance from Highfield Avenue. Flushed and shaking, she made a call on her mobile.