The rumours were that it had come to a head the previous November. Later, when she was told her fate, Ed realized the gossip had been right: the boys’ club had closed ranks. She could imagine a coarse instruction coming down from someone among the top brass: ‘Get her wetting her knickers worrying about disciplinary sanctions, possible demotion, even dismissal. Leave her to stew, then sweeten the transfer with a promotion. Get her onside and bloody grateful to move.’
Ed hadn’t been grateful to move but she was onside and she intended to stay onside. Transfer out of the Met would happen; it wasn’t an option. If she wanted a career in the Force she would have to toe the line. Ed was ambitious. One day she’d be in a position to change things. The sense of injustice was no longer sharp but the issue still rankled and she was troubled by the feeling that leaving London would increase her loss. This made no sense but she’d lived her entire life in London and it was there where they had been together briefly before her son was taken from her.
The decision had been made in the past, but a nagging sense of guilt remained. Had she acted in his best interests or her own? Had she abandoned him? Ed had become adept at brushing those thoughts aside, but they frequently returned. The move from London wouldn’t increase their separation but somehow the logic she applied as a detective didn’t always work in her private life. As a detective she was focused and methodical. In private she could be impetuous but, like Piaf, she steadfastly refused to regret her choices.
This time it hadn’t been her choice but, as she saw it, her career in the Met had been put on hold. She was hurt, but she would be professional and make the most of her opportunities in the provinces. Ed rejected the idea that it was a fresh start, regarding her move to Canterbury as a brief hiatus, a chance to broaden her experience and expand her CV. Her new posting would begin on Monday. Until then, apart from her postponed meeting with Chief Superintendent Addler, her time was her own and she intended to cosset herself.
Ed dialled room service and then the hotel restaurant to reserve a table for dinner. With a sandwich and half a bottle of wine, she sat at her laptop looking for somewhere to live. The income from the house in London and her increased salary meant she could afford somewhere decent, central and with a garage for her new car. A couple of hours on the internet passed rapidly. Calculating that her meeting tomorrow morning with Addler wouldn’t last longer than an hour, she made three appointments for viewings in the afternoon. Now she could relax. Ed ran a bath and thoughts of work were banished by the warmth which enveloped her body. Later, she selected clothes for the evening: a grey silk top and a bias-cut skirt. You never knew who you might meet when dining alone.
Parked at the far end of Hollowmede, he watched Lucy leave her home and walk past the junction with Elham Road. Certain she was taking the footpath to Debbie’s, he drove round the block to check she entered her friend’s house. Thirty minutes later, the two girls were still inside and he was confident they were there for the evening. It would be two hours before Lucy left to walk home, plenty of time to swap his car for the van, eat and return to wait.
It was ten years since he had taken Teresa. She’d been the first and, he’d thought at the time, the last but he’d been thwarted; her parents had been clever. Teresa and her mother had gone abroad for a year. On their return, his baby daughter was with them. He’d thought he would care for her from afar but soon after their return there was a For Sale sign by the lamps at the entry to the Mulhollands’ home. The house was deserted. The family had disappeared and he’d been unable to trace them. After six years he’d changed. He wanted a son. He’d chosen Kimberley from a different social class but yet again he hadn’t been prepared for what happened, and it was four more years before he had the confidence to try again.
In retrospect, he realized the mistake he’d made moving from Teresa to Kimberley. Choosing from a different social class was good; overlooking the lack of religion had been bad. Kimberley had shown no scruples when she discovered she was pregnant. He’d resolved to do better next time but finding a churchgoing young woman proved difficult. Then he had a stroke of good fortune. By chance, he’d discovered that Lucy Naylor had a strong interest in religion. She didn’t attend church, but the more he observed her, the more he was convinced she’d be a good mother for his child.
Lucy would be the third, but now he was beginning to think she wouldn’t be the last. He had no fear of being caught. There were two risks. Lucy might not follow her usual route home or there could be people on the street when she did. If so he would terminate the mission. Termination would be a minor setback. The mission was his life’s work. There would be other opportunities. With sufficient time and money, success was assured.
He’d watched Lucy and Debbie for weeks. Neither had a boyfriend and they spent their free time together. Friday nights they went to the cinema in Canterbury or spent the evening at Debbie’s. When Lucy left to walk the quarter mile home she typically took the narrow path which linked their two roads. At the end of the path there was a triangle of grass across from the primary school. Tonight he expected Lucy to leave about ten. The area by the school should be deserted and he would be waiting.
Armed with a novel, Ed decided to have a cocktail before dinner. The hotel bar was a small room with some half-a-dozen barstools and as many tables. All of the tables were occupied. Ed sat at the bar and signalled to the barman. In keeping with the name on his badge, Gino was short and dark with a perceptible Italian accent and a friendly warmth conveyed by his relaxed smile.
Ed knew exactly what she wanted: something cool. ‘A gin martini with three olives.’
‘Perfetto!’
Gino placed a bowl of matchstick-thin cheese straws beside her novel and busied himself with the drink.
‘Something cool …’
The phrase sparked a vivid memory of her first meeting with Don. The meeting had been her undoing. Before she could switch thoughts, the scene was replaying in her head.
Manchester, a smart conference hotel, mid-evening; she’d chosen the smaller of the two bars. Ed was about to signal to the barman when Don appeared at her side.
‘What can I get you?’
As an opening gambit this was banal in the extreme, but Don was physically imposing. Faced with three nights away from London, Ed decided to play along.
‘I don’t normally drink with strangers …’
Immediately things improved. He’d known the words.
‘Something cool?’
It was a track on one of her father’s CDs. Who was singing … Julia … Julie …
‘Julie …’ she said.
‘… London,’ he said.
‘Julie London!’ they said together and laughed.
Two drinks, the pretence of a nightcap in his room and, before she’d paused to think, things had gone too far. They were both in over their heads.
The following night he confessed. He was a DCI at the Met, not just the Met but three floors above her at Bishopsgate. It was then he produced the two mobile phones. It didn’t take an ambitious DS to realize that DCI Donald ‘The Don’ Johns had done this before.
Manchester, Don and the mobiles had precipitated her downfall from the Met. Had she declined the mobile, perhaps she would have got away with a warning. Despite the ensuing catastrophe, she wasn’t bitter. Subliminally, her shoulders shrugged. She made decisions,