Power on Her Own (23 page)

‘Fresh? In the car park?'

‘All right. Fresh-ish. But I'll have a quick shower and turn in, if it's OK with you.' It was the travelling, she supposed. To Devon and back. As if she'd been in some time warp.

It was a nightmare, she told herself. She was having a nightmare. She wasn't buried alive, maggots already crawling over her. She was alive and having a nightmare. She must wake herself up.

The scream continued after she woke. Hers. But as she forced herself to stop, another continued, wild, desperate. Terrified she might have an attack, her heart was pounding so hard, she was on her feet and dragging at the bedroom door before she realised she could hear Maz's voice, calm, kind. ‘Mummy's coming! Only one of your dreams, love. Wake up! Only a nightmare!'

Only
! My God, was there anything worse? Kate padded downstairs to start cocoa for anyone who might want it – she certainly did! It was bad enough having them at her age, when in the warmth of the kitchen she could analyse them away. But for Jenny, a kid, just knowing the terror was as real as anything in ‘real' life – that didn't bear thinking of.

‘You all right?' Colin peered at her. ‘Here, I'll make you a coffee.'

‘Thanks. No, not a night on the beer or anything. My landlady's kid had a series of nightmares.'

‘Series? One's bad enough!'

‘Twelve-thirty, one-thirty, and – just for good measure – four-thirty. Poor little mite.'

‘Poor little Kate, by the look of you.'

‘Oh, I just gave up. Actually, I've started a one-woman hunt for that safe-house, Colin. And what better time to crawl round the streets of suburbia than five?'

He glanced about him. ‘What are you on about? Oh, some of you may be able to manage on Thatcher-rations of sleep – I need my eight hours before my brain gets into gear. And I went clubbing last night. In Manchester.'

‘And you say you haven't got stamina! Hey, you can join my football team.' She too looked around. No one in the office. ‘Look,' she said, dropping her voice, ‘I ought to tell Graham what I'm up to. Why don't you come along when I tell him? What have I said?' She stared. Her hand gripped his forearm.

Colin put his arm round her, steered her to the corner of the office. ‘Sit.' He remained standing, so he could see over her head. ‘You obviously haven't heard. No, don't look like that. Nothing major. You know that motorway pile-up – Wednesday, was it? – on the M6. Well, Graham was in it. No, no!' He took her hands. ‘Nothing serious, I promise. Listen – would I lie to you? It's just bruises. He was trying to get someone out of a car when someone hit about five cars back. So most of the impact was absorbed by the other vehicles. But even though it means him having to spend a few days with Mrs H, he's got to take time off.' His voice changed. ‘So put your dosh in the envelope, there's a good girl. And – Good morning, Sir!' He straightened.

Kate got to her feet, turning as she did so. ‘Morning, Sir.'

Cope nodded. ‘Tell you what, Power. If you want to do something useful, you can drop the envelope round to the DCI.'

She nodded. ‘What d'you want me to buy, Sir?'

‘For fuck's sake, how should I know? Just give him the money!'

She looked at Colin, who took her cue. ‘I wondered about a book, Sir,' he suggested. ‘I know he likes walking – maybe –'

‘Got that, Power? Get the man a book on walking. And drop it round. But maybe first you'd better grace us with your presence in the Incident Room. There's been another development. If you're interested, that is.'

He stomped off. Colin held Kate back. ‘The trouble is with Cope, you never know what his motives are. Does he think going to see Graham is a penance? Or does he suspect you like Graham and relishes the prospect of your being at the receiving end of Mrs H's ire?'

‘Ire? That's a very literary word! Sort of thing I came across in Shakespeare once. Colin, if you hear anything else –'

They were by the door. No, Cope wasn't lying in wait for them. She stopped. ‘I'm not having an affair with him, Colin. Hang that on the grapevine, will you, and hang a few fairy lights round it, just so everyone sees.'

The development was small, but Cope was right to regard it as serious. A paperboy from Hockley had told his teacher he thought a man had been following him during his evening round on Wednesday. Kate and Colin were to go to the school to do a repeat of Monday morning's activities. No argument with that. Nor with the news that surveillance was now extended to this school. Yes, it had been scaled down at the first.

Kate and Colin set off. The brightness of the recent days had been replaced by a steady drizzle. The windscreen wipers smeared screen-washer backwards and forwards, with little effect.

‘Time you got some new blades,' Colin said. ‘And putting this through a car-wash wouldn't do it any harm. Come on – there's one over there.'

‘No. We might miss assembly. On the way back – promise.'

They watched the giant rubber rollers gear themselves for action, and braced themselves for the noisy impact.

‘A bit more work for someone there,' Colin said, releasing his seat belt and stretching. ‘Ever thought of applying for training to work with kids?' He skewed round in his seat to look at her.

The car started to shake under the blue and red rollers.

‘Oh, I always thought of it as Women's Work,' Kate said dourly. ‘In any case, I'm not sure I could hack it. Jenny's nightmares are bad enough. Dealing with kids who've been raped or buggered – no, that's too tough for me. Give me a good clean murder any day. Or a spot of fraud – now, that could be interesting.'

‘Take years off your life – just think of the paperwork, Kate, and all those years the trials take.'

‘With the inevitable “not guilty” verdict, because the jury can't understand all the evidence. OK. You've convinced me.'

‘In any case, it'll be desk work for you, won't it? This accelerated promotion scheme – you're not destined to spend the rest of your life legging it round the streets. You'll be organising the rest of us.'

‘I could end up like Cope!'

‘Hardly. He was never going to be a star. Someone thought you would be, though. Inspector within the next two years, eh?'

‘I doubt it. Not the way things are going. I need to put in a spot of study, Colin. And that means having a room to do it in. Hell! I just want to get my house straight. Live in it. I'm sick of camping.'

‘You and me both, sweetie!'

Clutching a card signed by everyone she could find – from Selby to the women on reception – a gift-wrapped set of Wainwright's
Walks
and a potted plant, Kate presented herself at the Harveys' front gate. The house was in the sort of residential area she rather aspired to: no problems parking your car when you had a double garage – no doubt the one that had housed her mattress – and a wide fancily-bricked area in front of the house itself There were some token winter pansies in terracotta pots. She'd rather expected Graham would be a lush lawn man: perhaps the back garden would be more inspired. In any case, this wasn't the time of year any garden would be at its best. Except she fancied some shrubs, even in her tiny patch, to give all-year colour.

She pushed open the gate, shutting it carefully – if at some peril to her gifts.

The house itself was probably late eighties: built for status. Why two people should have decided they needed so much space – Graham had never mentioned children – was beyond her. But the trouble was, of course, that houses tended to get nicer as they got bigger. Like cars. Except at least you could now buy a snazzy small car, like hers. She'd like a house that was the equivalent of a sixteen-valve Fiesta one day.

The doorbell chimed rather pretentiously. Why was she so judgmental? It wasn't as if she'd made any particular effort for the visit. Just her usual working clothes – today, given the gloom of the weather, a skirt and waistcoat in a rather nice dark red which set off her hair, come to think of it. A dark jacket. And yes, she had taken extra care with her make-up.

Movement behind the frosted glass: prepare to meet the dragon.

If she was a dragon, Graham's wife looked remarkably human. She was about Kate's height, dark-haired, though hers was beginning to go grey. Her skin was startlingly clear, setting off good regular features: a classic English rose. She'd age as well as Cassie, with bones like that. She was slimmer than Kate – yes, slender to the point of thinness – and neatly dressed. Her skirt was a good deal longer than Kate's, but not fashionably long – reaching that unkind spot where the calf is at its thickest. And she wore a twinset.

Kate smiled: ‘You must be Mrs Harvey. I'm one of Mr Harvey's colleagues. DI Cope's sent me to –'

‘To pester my husband. Well, I can tell you now, he's not at all well.'

Couldn't she see the armful of presents, for goodness' sake?

‘I've brought a card from the squad. And these.' Kate nodded at her armful.

‘You'd better come in. You can have five minutes. This way.' Mrs Harvey paused: Kate realised she hadn't wiped her feet, and proceeded to do so, with some fervour, before following her through a square hall into a long living room.

‘Come into the lounge,' Mrs Harvey said, over her shoulder. ‘I'll get him.' She disappeared through another door – perhaps one to the kitchen.

Kate looked around her. Careful good taste in here: the carpets, suite, curtains and wall-paper all co-ordinated. An expensive looking Afghan rug held the whole lot together with a pattern of the rather acid blues and pinks of the rest of the room on a deep red ground. Kate felt covetous. Her house was too small for anything other than plain carpets, plain walls. She hovered. She hadn't been invited to sit, and yet to look at the pictures might be construed as prying. She looked anyway: English landscapes, too pretty for her taste. On the hearth and on what looked like a home for a CD collection were some dried flower arrangements, the sort of thing that came out like the foundations of bonfires if she tried them. These looked like those in the glossy magazines she avoided even at the hairdressers.

‘Kate!'

The voice came from that other door. She turned. Involuntarily she stepped towards him. Graham's face was puffed to a caricature of itself, with two lovely black eyes. There was a raw-looking bruise down his right cheek.

As if to give her time, he smiled: ‘You should have seen the others.'

‘That'll teach you to pick on someone your own size,' Kate said. The presents grew awkward in her arms. ‘We had a bit of whip round for you.' She realised that Graham had left the door open, that Mrs Harvey was somewhere behind it. Perhaps she was making tea.

Graham reached for them.

She could see how blood-shot the right eye was. ‘Whatever happened?'

‘There was this pile-up. Mid-afternoon, Wednesday. Broad daylight. You'd expect the fog to have cleared by then. But just north of Stafford – yes, I was nearly home! – it came down like a hand. I mean, I was cruising at seventy – no problem. Anyway, I saw the crashes in front. I managed to get on to the hard shoulder, call for assistance. I was trying to help this teenager in a beat-up old van when there was another series of crashes. And the car behind shunted into this kid's van.'

‘Is he all right?'

‘I managed to get him out before the fires started. And a few others. Didn't realise I was hurt until the meat-wagon people told me to get in.' He took the pot plant. ‘This must be terribly hard for you, Kate,' he said, his voice gentle. ‘After –'

After Robin. After her own injuries. That was what he meant. She straightened and passed him the books. He looked around helplessly. This was not a room you just dumped things in.

‘Is there a mat we could put that plant on?' Kate asked. ‘Or the hearth –?'

But the marble of that was polished. No, not even a newspaper she could spread.

‘Maybe the kitchen,' he began.

‘Your five minutes are up, I'm afraid.' Mrs Harvey had materialised. ‘Doctor's orders, dear. You know what he said.'

‘Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't realise.' Kate was still holding the card. ‘I'd forgotten this. Look after –'

‘I'll look after him, all right.' Mrs Harvey took the plant, sniffing disparagingly. Or perhaps it was just to see if there was any scent. Not with hot-house azaleas, though. There never was.

Kate headed for the door. Graham followed. She turned: ‘I could do with some advice. There's a major problem at work.'

‘Well, you'll just have to solve it without him, won't you?' Mrs Harvey said. ‘Can't you see he's sick?'

‘I'll be in on Monday,' Graham mouthed.

She opened her eyes extra wide, pulled a face: would he be fit?