Catching the Ice Queen Page 8

  ‘Your witnesses agree with your statement, Detective Constable,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing linking you to Sylvie Dean and the investigation is closed.’

  A burst of relief went off in her head and it took Robin a second to hear the murmurs of approval from around her. Lionel Goode smiled, a proper, honest-to-goodness smile, and shook her hand. ‘Well done, Robin,’ he said in a low voice that only she could hear. She managed to smile back. Across the room Lara shot her a secret smile and then turned away.

  ‘Right,’ their boss was shouting to get everyone to be quiet, ‘this is what we know to date.’ He didn’t get any further before the door banged open and Mac Mackenzie rushed in. His face was white and his hands were trembling.

  ‘What is it?’ the DCI’s voice was sharp.

  ‘It’s Pruitt.’ He gulped. ‘He’s been found hanged in his cell.’

  It was late by the time she left the station. The death of Pruitt had shocked everyone and she still didn’t know whether to believe that he’d actually taken his own life or – no, he must have done, the alternative was too bad even to contemplate.

  ‘I thought he was acting weird earlier on,’ Mac had said for the hundredth time, sitting clutching a mug of hot tea while they tried to take his statement. ‘I’d been down to check on him twice this shift, you can see it in the logs.’

  ‘Yes, we see that, Mac.’ Goode had been very patient with him.

  ‘And on the CCTV, you can see on the CCTV that I went in there and then Constable Hitchens went in when I was on my break.’ He’d pointed a trembling finger at the screen. The black and white image showed the PC walking back up the corridor, towards the camera. His lips moved and Mac suddenly jumped in with: ‘He says That bloke’s crazy. That’s what he said.’

  Bolton looked at him. ‘Didn’t know you could read lips, Mac?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Lots of things you don’t know about me. Nobody ever asks, do they?’

  Robin, sitting at the back of the room taking notes, suddenly felt that there was something else about CCTV that had cropped up in this case. She frowned, but her tired brain couldn’t place it. The DCI crooked an eyebrow, inviting her to speak, but she shook her head. Maybe it would come back to her later. In her pocket, her phone buzzed. She knew that would be another text from Mickey asking if everything was ok. She hoped that this whole performance hadn’t pissed off her only two friends in the town.

  Despite Mac’s shocked ramblings they managed to get his statement, and then the case was handed over to a shift drafted in from a neighbouring police service. Robin could see the tall, gangly man still talking compulsively as he was escorted downstairs ready to be driven home.

  ‘What a bloody mess, eh.’ DCI Goode loomed up beside her desk as she was packing her bag. He looked her over. ‘How are you? Not an easy morning, but it’s best to get that sort of thing over with as quickly as possible.’

  ‘I know, sir. And I’m fine.’

  He snorted. ‘You wouldn’t tell me even if you weren’t. By the way, your friend Mickey was very insistent that you were too honest to do anything wrong.’ He smiled, crinkling up his eyes in a way she had rarely seen before. ‘Fortunately I agreed with her. Goodnight.’

  Robin watched him go, and then wrestled her phone out of her pocket. She had two voicemails, which she listened to as she slowly walked back down the stairs and out of the station. The first was from her landlady, Sue, rather hesitantly explaining that she needed to speak to Robin about something, and the second was Mickey, anxious about whether Robin was ok. Sue she could catch when she got home, but she took a moment to tap out a quick reply to her friend as she stood by her car, and pressed send.

  When she looked up, Lara Black was standing in front of her. She jumped.

  ‘Sorry.’ The woman held up her hands in apology. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘No problem. I’m glad to see you –‘

  ‘Oh?’ Was that a little brightening of her expression?

  ‘Yeah, I wanted to thank you again for rescuing me this morning. It really was very kind of you, and I’m embarrassed that I let myself get into that state in the first place.’

  ‘Right.’ The shutters seemed to come down again. Robin couldn’t make the woman out: one minute she was warm and relaxed, and even a bit flirty, and another she was cold and closed-off. It’s like she can’t make up her mind how to behave with me. She decided to take a gamble.

  ‘And… well, thanks for the hug. I needed it.’ Robin held her breath; was this going to make her rush off in a panic again? It seemed that her luck had changed, because she saw a little smile cross Lara’s face.

  ‘Pleasure.’ They stood for a moment in expectant silence. Then the senior officer shook herself and went on: ‘I meant what I said about feeling bad about how I treated you at the funeral, and making it up to you.’ She shuffled, and Robin was astonished to realise that she was nervous. ‘I, er, wondered if we could exchange phone numbers? I have something in mind by way of a proper apology –‘ Shut up, brain, thought Robin before her imagination could run away with her. ‘-but it will take a week or so to organise. Could I let you know when it’s set up?’

  ‘My mind is boggling! You don’t have to do anything special, though.’

  ‘I’d like to. If that’s ok with you?’ There was that flash of nervousness again.

  ‘It sounds great. I love a surprise.’ Robin grinned, trying to be reassuring. Her heart soared to see a smile spread across Lara’s face in response. Then her phone beeped in her hand, making them both jump. ‘It’s my friend Mickey,’ feeling the urge to explain, ‘she and her girlfriend were with me last night and were contacted by the DCI today.’ She watched anxiety and then relief wash across Lara Black’s face, before being tucked away again behind that enigmatic smile. ‘Um, why don’t you type your number into my contacts and I’ll send you a text with mine. Ok?’

  She handed over the mobile and felt a brush of cool fingers as Lara took it. She found herself wondering what those fingers would feel on her skin, and was grateful that the yellow glare of the car park’s sodium lights hid her blush.

  ‘There you go.’

  Robin took back the phone and quickly sent a text back. A faint chirrup sounded from the woman’s bag. Behind them the door banged, releasing a gaggle of young constables in the midst of a noisy conversation. When she looked round again Robin found Lara was already retreating.

  ‘I’ll let you know when it’s ready.’

  ‘Ok, thanks.’

  And she was gone, swallowed up by the shadows. Robin shook herself, suddenly feeling cold and tired, and turned to her car.

  Chapter 9

  It had been too late to speak to Sue by the time she’d got home, and so Robin wasn’t surprised to find her landlady in the kitchen when she came down to get some breakfast the next morning. Sue looked nervous, hovering about and fiddling with the arrangement of plant pots on the windowsill. Robin made herself an instant coffee before speaking; she had slept like the dead but was still feeling shattered after everything that had happened yesterday.

  ‘Everything ok, Sue?’ she asked, after swallowing a big mouthful.

  ‘Oh yes!’ The little woman’s face told a different story. Robin put down her cup and went over.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s just the house,’ she blurted, catching hold of Robin’s hand and squeezing it. ‘We’ve decided to put it on the market now.’

  ‘Oh. I thought you were going to wait until the summer?’

  ‘We were, but then Derek’s son is an estate agent and he said the best time to sell is Spring, and if we’re going to get it online before the Easter holidays we need to crack on now.’ Having said this in a rush, she drew breath. ‘And so the photographer is coming today, but I can put him off because we didn’t manage to speak yesterday to let you know about it…’

  Robin hastily inventoried her room. ‘No, it’s fine, everything’s quite tidy and feel free to shove things
in the cupboard if you need to.’

  Sue’s kindly face was crinkled up in concern. ‘I just haven’t closed my eyes all night because everyone’s saying that the house will probably sell quickly, and I am sorry, Robin, because it means that you’ll need to find somewhere to live much sooner than we’d thought.’

  That thought had just occurred to Robin too, and her heart sank to her boots. She managed to smile. ‘Really, it’s fine, Sue, not a problem. I’ve been looking at a few places already and there are lots of possibilities.’

  Her landlady brightened at this lie. ‘Oh, I am so pleased to hear that! You’ve been a lovely tenant and a friend and I hate the thought that you’ll be inconvenienced.’

  Robin gave Sue a gentle hug. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. And this is a really exciting time for you and Derek! Does this mean that you’re going house-hunting yourselves?’

  She leaned against the kitchen counter and smiled and nodded as Sue launched happily into an explanation of exactly what she and her boyfriend were looking for, and what appointments they’d already made for viewings. Under the anxiety of where she was going to live, Robin now also recognised a sadness that she didn’t have anyone to share such hope-filled dreams.

  She drove to work assuming that, if nothing else, she’d be distracted from her plummeting mood by being privy to the latest twists in the murder case. Unfortunately, the DCI had decided to not to invite her back in, and had loaned her to an on-going fraud investigation instead.

  ‘It’s for your own good, Robin,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Just in case Sylvie decides to contact you again. And besides, you’ve got the best head for figures in the team. Keith can hardly add up enough to fiddle his expenses.’

  She’d half-laughed, and appreciated the effort he was making.

  If only DC Robertshaw had a sense of humour, she found herself thinking later as her temporary boss explained something for the hundredth time. He seemed to think she was dense, or untrustworthy, or both, and had apparently set the unit’s brace of forensic accountants to watch over her every move. For the next week, Robin not only had the joy of spending all day poring over company records and finances but she could feel the watchful glares of Tomas and Lydia burning into her back the whole time she was doing it. She’d never been so bored and so annoyed in her whole life.

  ‘Cheer up, Tweetie,’ said Keith Bolton, stopping by her desk on the way out to interview an informant for the now moribund Operation Ice Queen, ‘you get to put your feet up while we run around getting nowhere.’

  ‘Yeah.’ And she was grateful to still have a job. ‘Anything new on the case?’

  He shook his craggy head. ‘Nah. All sewn up tighter than a nun’s knickers. See you later.’

  ‘See you.’

  She watched him go, and then with a sigh turned back to the spreadsheet on her screen. Her phone beeped.

  Why do people call you Tweetie?

  She stared at the text. The contact was ‘LB’. After a blank moment Robin realised that this must be how Lara Black had entered her own details into the phone the other day. She fought the impulse to look around to see where she was. Instead, she typed back:

  It’s because a robin is a little bird. Tweetie Pie is the only little bird the station wits could think of.

  Her phone chirruped.

  Aha, makes sense now.

  Robin bit her lip, and then daringly typed:

  Do you have any nicknames?

  There was a long pause and she thought she’d gone too far but then she realised it was just the length of time DCC Black needed to type her reply.

  Iceberg, ice queen, ball breaker, nut cracker, stasi girl, eva braun… you get the picture.

  Shit. There was serious venom about some of those. Robin felt a rush of anger that anyone could call their colleague names in such an abusive way. She tapped quickly:

  Anybody who calls you things like that is an arsehole. What I meant was, what do your friends call you?

  There was an even longer gap, and then the one word reply:

  Lara.

  ‘Ahem.’ Robin looked up to find the accountants staring at her. ‘Did you finish that analysis?’

  ‘Er, sure, I’ll email it across now.’

  They turned away, leaving her feeling like a kid caught writing notes in class. Despite that she hastily sent a final message:

  Got to go. But glad I get to call you my friend.

  She set the phone on her lap and snatched a glance when it buzzed.

  Ditto.

  By Thursday she thought she’d seen enough spreadsheets to last her a lifetime. Was this really what the financial crimes division did all day? She was sure she’d been asked to look through some of these files earlier in the week, so was she just on busy-work or did they all waste their time like this? She was looking longingly across the CID room when DCI Goode slammed down the phone and shouted:

  ‘There’s been another murder!’

  She half rose from her chair, already primed to rush out and start investigating, but DC Robertshaw frowned and stabbed his finger downward. Seriously? He’s treating me like a kid on detention!

  ‘Sir,’ she said, trying to be calm and also simultaneously trying to listen a muttered conversation happening on the other side of the room. ‘I need to check with DCI Goode about what he wants me to do, given these new developments.’

  ‘No, constable, you don’t.’ Her temporary boss wrinkled his lip in scorn. ‘You need to sit there and get on with the tasks assigned to you.’

  ‘Listen up!’ Bolton was now booming to an excited throng of detectives, ‘looks like Sylvie’s been keeping herself busy. Her accountant, Graham Barlow, was just found with a single gunshot wound to the head in the lock up garages behind Parson’s Avenue.’

  ‘What about the gun?’ someone asked.

  ‘None found. Sylvie must have decided to hang onto this one, for some reason.’

  ‘Sullivan. Sullivan!’ She looked round, realising she’d tuned Robertshaw out completely. His weaselly face was annoyed. ‘Have you finished reviewing that balance sheet?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And the emails from the insurance company?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Was he going to let her go? Her toes starting tapping desperately under her chair. He looked at Lydia and Tomas and they shared a sour smile. What’s that about?

  ‘Well, I’m not satisfied you’re working to a suitable level.’ What? ‘Do them all again.’

  She caught the other two accountants snigger at each other and then turn to watch her closely for a reaction. Fuck you all, she thought as set her face into a mask of calm. Behind her, the rest of CID thundered out to start investigating.

  Calmly, oh so calmly, Robin settled herself in her chair and opened her laptop.

  The rest of that week fell into a boring pattern: she’d work on the company spreadsheets all day and spend all evening visiting ever-more depressing rooms in flat shares. There seemed to be some hidden rule of the Universe in operation – where the room wasn’t too bad then there would be something awful about the other tenants that would put her off, or the other renters would be quite nice and the room would be shocking. She’d got her hopes up on Thursday evening to find a nice, not-too-outrageously-expensive place round the corner from Sue’s house, but her dreams of moving in were dashed when the landlord turned up.

  ‘Hey, there!’ he’d said with a grin, swaggering over to her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other flat mates cringe. ‘Now who might you be?’ He leaned in, confidentially. ‘I offer discounted rents to beautiful girls, you know.’

  She smiled, and leaned towards him, seeing expectation and delight blooming in his eye. ‘I’m Detective Constable Robin Sullivan, sir, nice to meet you.’

  Needless to say, the viewing came to an abrupt halt at that point.

  The following morning she was taking a sneaky look at the ‘Rooms to Let’ pages of Gumtree when her phone beeped. It was a text from Lara.
>
  What are you reading? It’s making you look sad.

  She smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her, and after a moment’s thought she typed:

  I’m looking for a new place to live. Not much available!

  Self-consciously she tucked a long strand of her hair behind an ear and sat up a bit straighter.

  Do you live by yourself?

  Now that was a loaded question. Robin swallowed and thought hard about what to reply. She probably didn’t mean for that to sound so flirty, she reasoned in the end, and tapped in:

  Yep, just me! Not even a cat.

  Robin waited for a response, nervously chewing her lip. But nothing came, and when she took a quick look round the room a moment later she could tell that DCC Black wasn’t there. She blew out a huge breath, and went back to work.

  And under all this boredom and uncertainty the idea of leaving this job and starting again at something else – whether that was her brother’s restaurant or a different project entirely – stuck in her mind like an irritating splinter. She was honest enough with herself to recognise that a lot of her feelings were a desire to escape: escape the dread that she now associated with the CID room and escape the side-long looks that many of her colleagues continued to give her. Mac Mackenzie, now returned to work after a period off with stress, still wouldn’t look her in the eye. Only DS Keith Bolton, huge, sweating, grumpy, and diabolically un-politically correct, still treated her like she was a member of the team.

  He shambled over to her when she was sitting by herself in the canteen one lunchtime, reading the ‘Accommodation’ section of the local paper.