Deep Cover Read online

  Ian learned that many of his colleagues had been working undercover for months, trying to set up a meeting with Tod Lancaster, who had been known to the drug squad for several years as a major dealer. Despite strenuous efforts so far they had not been able to pin anything on him. Several couriers and dealers lower down the chain had been apprehended and convicted, but Tod remained at large, seemingly untouchable, running strip clubs throughout the UK as a front for his lucrative drug dealing. An undercover officer named Jenny, known to the staff at the club as Tallulah, had recently started working as a waitress at a strip club in Soho from where Tod ran his drugs empire.

  The next stage in the current plan was outlined at the first briefing Ian attended. Jenny was to introduce Ian as her boyfriend and a potential bodyguard for the boss. If Ian was accepted, he would be as close to the action as anyone could be. In addition, introducing him at the club as Tallulah’s boyfriend would offer her some protection from sexual predators at the club.

  ‘I can take care of myself,’ Jenny retorted when the plan was announced.

  She was a dark-haired girl in her twenties, who looked as though she packed a lot of muscle into her small frame. Despite her initial reservations, she agreed it was a good plan to try and introduce Ian to a role that would take him close to the centre of Tod’s operations. With detailed inside information, it was possible that a major drug dealer would be busted. A great deal depended on Tod accepting Ian as a bodyguard.

  Jenny looked Ian up and down appraisingly. ‘He’ll do,’ she conceded. ‘Smarten yourself up a bit, and you could pass yourself off as a first-rate thug.’

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ Ian grinned.

  ‘You understand what’s at stake?’ Jack asked.

  Ian nodded. ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘Remember to behave like a member of the public any time you’re out on surveillance. That means you merge into the scenery and don’t do anything to get yourself noticed. Never carry your warrant card or phone, or anything else that could identify your real identity if things go wrong and the villains you’re watching decide to check you out. That means you have to buy tickets when you use public transport, even if it means losing a target you’re following. Get into the mindset. Protecting yourself is your priority. Once your cover’s blown, you’re no use to us, and you’ll most likely end up with bullets for brains, or worse.’

  Ian nodded, silently wondering what could be worse than being shot in the head.

  4

  The door was opened by a small, greasy-looking man with black hair, who looked as though he had not shaved for a few days. He started back on seeing Geraldine’s identity card.

  ‘This is about Pansy, isn’t it?’ he said in a hoarse whisper, lowering his head as he spoke and peering up at them from beneath wispy eyebrows. ‘That girl’s a slut. Was it one of her punters complained? Nothing would surprise me where she’s concerned. Oh, we know exactly what she is. There’s nothing you can tell us about her that we don’t already know, and if you’re trying to find her, we can’t help you. Why would she tell us where she is? We don’t want anything to do with her in this house. And that’s all I’ve got to say to you, so you can piss off.’

  He seemed reluctant to talk about the dead woman, as though he was ashamed of being associated with her, or perhaps he was uncomfortable with the police visiting his home for another reason. He hesitated to give them his name, but he must have realised there was no sensible reason for withholding information they could easily obtain without his co-operation, so he told them he was called Steven Baring, and he worked at a local MOT centre.

  ‘Can you tell us anything at all about Pansy?’ Geraldine asked, taking a step forward.

  ‘Why? What would I know about her?’ he snapped, glaring at them. ‘I never even met her. What’s she got to do with me?’ His voice rose in sudden suspicion. ‘What has she been saying about me? Whatever it is, it’s all lies. She’s a lying cow, that one. Go on then, what’s she been saying?’

  ‘I’m afraid she’s not saying anything any more,’ Geraldine replied gently. ‘She died three days ago.’

  ‘Died? Pansy died?’ His eyes widened as he registered what he was hearing. ‘You mean she’s dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, I can’t say that’s a surprise. You know the kind of life she lived. So how did it happen? Was it drugs or the drink?’ He lowered his hoarse voice. ‘Did she do herself in? Nothing would shock me about her.’

  Briefly Geraldine explained where Pansy’s body had been found, and her stepfather had enough humanity to look shocked.

  ‘The poor little slut,’ he said. ‘Still, she had it coming. Have you got the bastard who did her in?’

  ‘And what makes you think anyone “did her in”?’ Geraldine asked quickly.

  He shook his head. ‘I was speaking in general terms, you know. But it stands to reason, doesn’t it? Someone must have done her in.’ His eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘If she died of natural causes, you wouldn’t be here asking questions, would you? Anyway, whoever it was, I hope you find him soon.’

  He could have been bluffing, but Geraldine was inclined to believe he had not been involved with his stepdaughter, either in life or in death.

  ‘We’d like to speak to her mother now,’ she said, taking a step forwards.

  Steven made a move to close the door but Matthew was too quick for him and had his foot over the threshold before the door shut. Forcing a smile, Steven let them in.

  ‘Sandra?’ he shouted. ‘Sandra, where are you? The police are here.’

  ‘The police?’ a shrill voice replied. ‘What do they want? If they’re here about Pansy, you can tell them to sling their hook. I don’t know where she is, and if I did know I wouldn’t tell them. Oh, hello,’ she said, appearing in the hall and catching sight of Geraldine and Matthew. ‘Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,’ she added, addressing Matthew with a sly grin. ‘I wonder what you get up to in your free time.’

  Her attempt at flirting was pathetic, given her bleary eyes and prematurely wrinkled skin. A cigarette butt lodged at the corner of her chapped lips sent up a very fine thread of smoke. She let it drop and ground it out with her heel on the floor which was pitted with burn marks.

  ‘Give it a rest, Sandra,’ Steven snapped. ‘No one likes to be spoken to like that by an old woman like you, and certainly not the police.’

  ‘Oh sod off,’ Sandra replied, giving him a good-natured cuff on the shoulder. She scowled at Geraldine. ‘What are you lot after, then? If you’re looking for Pansy, I don’t know where she is, and I don’t want to know. I haven’t heard from her for seven years, not since she tried to foist another baby on us. Remember that one, Steve? The stupid bitch got herself banged up again and expected us to pick up the pieces for her. Like hell we were going to be caught out like that again. Selfish cow. She’s full of lies, that one. Always lying. Soon as she opens her mouth another one pops out. Lying comes easy to some people. She lies all the time, even to me, her own mother.’

  ‘Pansy’s dead, Sandra,’ Geraldine said gently, interrupting the tirade. ‘I’m sorry to bring you sad news.’

  ‘Sad? What’s there to be sad about?’ Sandra asked, evincing no surprise at all. ‘It’s good riddance, if you ask me. I don’t suppose anyone’s going to miss her. And don’t expect me to foot the bill for her funeral either,’ she added with a sudden glare. ‘That bitch cost me enough as it is. She’s not getting a penny more out of me.’

  There was no point in dragging out the visit. ‘We just wanted to inform you in person about your daughter’s death.’

  ‘Yes, well, now you have so you can leave us alone with our grief,’ Sandra replied. ‘Good riddance,’ she muttered under her breath as Geraldine turned away.

  It was not clear if she was referring to Geraldine or Pansy but, either way, it made no differenc
e. Geraldine wasn’t bothered about having Sandra’s good opinion. Back in the car, Geraldine and Matthew drove in silence for a few moments, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

  ‘Some mother,’ Geraldine said at last.

  ‘Some daughter,’ Matthew replied.

  ‘What a family,’ Eileen remarked when Geraldine reported back to her. ‘Did you believe her when she said she had no contact with Pansy?’

  Geraldine shrugged. ‘I can’t see any reason why she would lie about it.’

  Eileen nodded. ‘It’s certainly true that she took in Pansy’s daughter ten years ago and refused to look after her son, who would be seven now, which implies a deterioration in their relationship over the years. But beyond that, we have only the mother’s word for what happened between them.’

  Geraldine nodded. They couldn’t ask Pansy. She wondered what her own mother might have said about her after she had given Geraldine away for adoption. Her only living link with her birth mother had been her twin sister Helena, but now they had lost contact thanks to Ian’s intervention. She knew he had only arranged for Helena’s identity change to protect her and Geraldine from a violent drug dealer. But she couldn’t forgive him for parting her from her sister.

  5

  The peace of the woods was broken by a distant hum of voices, and through the trees he could make out a distant gleam of cars. The unusual activity up ahead could mean only one thing. He cursed under his breath even though he wasn’t surprised to learn the dead woman must have been found so soon after he had left her there. Having made no attempt to conceal her body, he had known that someone was bound to come across her sooner or later. It didn’t really make any difference when it happened. A night in the snow would have washed away any slight trace he might have left behind, but he had been careful. The gloves he had been wearing were concealed inside a takeaway food carton in a litter bin in the centre of town. Even if they were discovered, which was highly unlikely, they wouldn’t be linked to a dead body found lying in the woods a few miles away. He was confident no one would ever connect him to the body of a stranger lying in the woods.

  There was a saying that murderers always returned to the scene of their crime, but this wasn’t a murder scene. The woman had not been killed in Acomb Wood. She had died in the entrance hall of Thomas’s house. Of course he returned to the hall every day, but not because he had murdered anyone. The woman’s death had been an accident. After he had disposed of the body, the first couple of times he had walked into the house a spasm of nausea had gripped his guts, and he had half expected to see the dead woman’s painted face leering up at him, her arms and legs splayed out in clumsy disarray. But he saw no such sight, because of course her body was no longer lying on his hall carpet. He knew exactly where she was, because he had put her there himself. After a couple of days, he was able to enter his house without trembling, and smile at his wife as though nothing untoward had happened. He was never going to reveal his secret, and no one would ever know about it.

  He was not sure why he had come back to the wood. He just wanted to take a look at her, as if to reassure himself she was really dead. In a half waking doze that morning, before he was fully awake, he had imagined her recovering consciousness in the woods, clambering to her feet covered in mud and twigs, and staggering to the road to flag down a passing car. The thought of it made him feel sick with fear.

  Now that he was in Acomb Wood, he hesitated to go closer. Through a gap in the trees he could see the top of a vast white tent and wondered if that meant the police suspected foul play. He didn’t know whether a tent like that was always erected over a dead body regardless of how the person had died, or if such forensic investigations were reserved for murder victims. Almost against his will, he felt drawn towards the tent. He had to find out what was going on. It was an impulse stronger than a mere spirit of enquiry. There was a practical reason for his curiosity. He needed to find out how much the police had discovered. He was so focused on the tent and its gruesome contents he almost failed to notice a uniformed police constable standing guard by a tape stretched across the path.

  ‘The footpath is closed to the public, sir,’ the young police officer piped up. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to turn back.’

  Thomas’s initial irritation was rapidly overwhelmed by fear.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he replied, flustered.

  The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Questions might be asked about why he was there in the woods, so close to where a dead body had recently been found.

  ‘I was miles away, just letting my mind wander, going for a walk. It’s beautiful in the woods at this time of year.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘I didn’t notice the police tape.’

  Claiming to be oblivious to the police presence struck him as sensible. It made him sound innocent, if somewhat unobservant.

  ‘That’s all right, sir. It’s unusual for a public right of way to be blocked,’ the police officer replied.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is. I haven’t been for a walk here for a long time,’ he added.

  He was aware that he was being rash talking to the police at all. He had been an idiot to return to the woods. Having managed to find a bookkeeping job with a small local business, he should have been seated at his desk in the office, quietly checking the payroll for the month. Instead, he was risking everything by talking to the police. To begin with he had said the woods were beautiful at this time of year, and now he was contradicting himself by saying he hadn’t been there for a long time. He knew he ought to stop talking, turn around and walk quickly away, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  ‘What’s going on here anyway?’ he enquired. ‘Is there a reason for the path being closed?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation, sir.’

  ‘Investigation, eh? That sounds serious. What happened? Was someone attacked here?’

  The constable stolidly repeated that he was not free to talk about the situation. Thomas hesitated, but he was afraid of persisting for fear of alerting suspicion. He tried to think what an innocent man might do in these circumstances, and concluded that such a man would probably do just as he was asked, and turn back without evincing much interest in what was going on.

  ‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘But it all sounds very mysterious.’

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ the constable replied with infuriating stoicism. ‘I’m just doing my job, sir.’

  ‘So there’s no way I can go on?’

  ‘No, sir. The footpath is closed, sir. Do you live locally?’

  Involuntarily, Thomas edged away. He had overstepped the mark, and the policeman had started asking questions. As Thomas spoke, tiny puffs of mist flew from his lips and hung for an instant in the air before dissipating. He wished he could vanish as inconspicuously.

  ‘Not far from here. Well, thank you, and keep up the good work,’ he replied, as he turned on his heel and strode away.

  Terrified he had overdone his enthusiasm to discover what was happening, he expected to hear footsteps pounding along the path behind him and to feel a hand on his shoulder. It was all he could do to stop himself from breaking into a run. With an effort, he kept walking at a steady pace, away from the police officer and his tape, and the white forensic tent which covered the location where a dead body had recently been discovered. If the police wanted to know what had happened to the woman, they could have asked Thomas, instead of sending him packing. But as he walked away, Thomas was too agitated to enjoy the irony of the situation.

  Back in his car, he sat behind the wheel for a few moments, shaking uncontrollably. Pulling himself together with an effort, he started the engine. He had already taken a detour to the woods on his way back from work. If he wasn’t home soon, his wife might start to wonder where he was, and he couldn’t afford to arouse her suspicions. Even a good-natured woman like Emily would never forgive him for
bringing a whore into their home and hiding her dead body in the woods. When he thought about what he had done, he couldn’t believe his own audacity. Only when he reached home did he remember that Monday was the night Emily went to her book club.

  There was a note propped up on the kitchen table. His first name had been typed on white paper, cut out, and stuck on a white envelope. Puzzled that Emily had gone to so much trouble, he tore the envelope open, glancing expectantly at the oven as he did so. But the note wasn’t telling him about his dinner. It wasn’t even from Emily, although she must have found it and put it on the table. For a moment he stared at it, too shocked to move. The message was very simple and printed so there was no way of identifying the sender. The police would have been able to check for fingerprints or DNA, or traced where the envelope or glue had been purchased. He had no access to such sophisticated search processes, and it wasn’t the kind of evidence he could take to the police. He felt himself shaking as he read and reread the message: I SAW WHAT YOU DID.

  6

  A bloody hand rose in greeting from across the table as they entered the room. Behind her, Matthew coughed and Geraldine smiled in sympathy. A pungent smell of antiseptic never satisfactorily masked the foul stench of blood and decay in the mortuary. Not for the first time, Geraldine wondered at the plump pathologist choosing to work with the dead rather than the living. His jollity seemed out of place in the mortuary. Framed in wisps of ginger hair, Jonah’s pale freckled face greeted her with an infectious grin. With his ugly pug-like features, she could imagine him being bullied as a child at school and becoming a recluse, yet his cheerful nature hardly suggested a man with a tormented past, and she knew he was married and had teenage sons.

  ‘Hello,’ he called out, peering across the cadaver at Matthew. ‘Who’s this fine fellow? It makes a change to see a new face in here that’s capable of independent motion.’