Saffina Desforges' ROSE RED Crime Thriller Boxed Set, Page 2

“I’ll ask you again. Inspector Rose, from the two previous occasions you have arrested and charged these young men, how many times have you secured a conviction?”

  The ceiling’s blemish continued to hold Red captive. She wondered how it had got there, so high up.

  The Judge glared at her. “You are trying my patience, Inspector. Please answer Counsel’s question.”

  Through clenched teeth, “None, your Honour.”

  Defence Counsel allowed the answer to hang in the air.

  Red could feel the Jury’s wary eyes on her. She was losing them.

  Defence Counsel moved in for the kill. “So third time lucky, is that what you’re hoping for, Inspector?” She addressed the Jury, not Red. “Three arrests. No convictions for the first two, and now suddenly no evidence in this latest attempt. Might I suggest this is, in fact, little more than a vendetta against the defendants?”

  “No.”

  “That, having twice been left with egg on your face, with two successive not guilty verdicts, you are now attempting to avenge your past failures?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Might I suggest this is nothing more than some trumped-up charge. That in fact there never was any evidence against the defendants?”

  Red felt her anger rise. “Give me a break.”

  “Might I further suggest –”

  “No you may not! For Christ’s sake, Pip! Whose side are you on?”

  “Inspector Rose!” The Judge lifted himself from his seat, eyes blazing. “You will leave the Court immediately.”

  Red cringed. “But Your Honour...” She cast a desperate glance at the jury. She’d lost them.

  “Immediately. One more word, Inspector, and I will hold you in contempt.” The Judge turned to the jury. “Members of the jury, you will disregard any and all testimony provided by Detective Inspector Rose.”

  Red bowed to the Judge, throwing a final look of disdain at Defence Counsel as she made her way to the exit, lips pressed together in a tight line to avoid a further outburst.

  Philippa Crichton-Ward QC smiled sweetly as she passed. Her back to the Judge, she mouthed a kiss as Red reached the door.

  Red returned a one-fingered salute.

  Chapter 3.

  Red felt the icy rain dripping uncomfortably down the back of her neck as she watched the first sods of earth fall on to the coffin with a thud as hollow as her heart. The incessant drizzle mingled with the tears running down her cheeks.

  Just another juggling act she’d have to get used to; balancing feminine emotion against hard-assed, tough cop image.

  As the coffin-lid disappeared beneath the sodden soil she stared hard at the clouds, lost in quiet reflection.

  “Guv?” A gentle hand on her arm snapped her back to reality.

  She looked round to see the others already making their way back to their vehicles. Red managed a smile at her colleague. “Sorry. Let’s go.”

  DS Hargreaves led the way across the wet grass, patiently awaiting an invitation to talk.

  Finally, Red gave her one. “I’m going to give the sandwiches a miss, Anna.”

  The DS stopped in her tracks. “But Guv, he was your...”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Red turned to engage her colleague. “That’s the only reason I’m here. Believe me, we weren’t close.”

  “Even so... They’ll be expecting you.”

  “I don’t want their tea, or their sympathy.”

  Anna searched her DI’s raw eyes. “If you ever need to talk, Guv.”

  Red forced a smile. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  Anna shrugged. “So, back to the station, is it?”

  “Drop me at home. I can’t face Taylor and Harris today. Not after this morning’s balls-up.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for that, Guv.”

  “You weren’t there, Anna. I blew it.”

  “They had a good brief.”

  Red cringed. “Tell me about it. The bitch.”

  Anna suppressed a wry smile. “There’s always next time.”

  Red slid into the passenger seat, shaking the rain from her cropped platinum hair. “And end up on a malicious prosecution charge? That would completely finish me.”

  Anna smiled her support as she edged the car away. “The DCI would never let that happen, Guv.”

  Chapter 4.

  “Her Majesty will see you now, Sir.”

  The Huntsman nodded, casting a furtive glance around the bar before downing the scotch in one and following the security guard past the blackjack tables to a discreet elevator door.

  The guard swiped a card and stepped aside to let the Huntsman pass. “If you press the gold button to your —”

  “I know the routine.” The Huntsman slipped the guard a twenty. “Have a drink on me.”

  “Why thank you, Sir. If I can —” The doors slid shut on the security guard’s proposal.

  The Huntsman stared silently at his reflection as the elevator rode to the seventh floor. The doors opened onto an empty corridor. He confidently turned left, walking the few steps to a heavy-set door.

  He smiled dutifully at the camera, a theatrical wave of the hand. “Open bloody Sesame.”

  The door’s bolts slid back. The Huntsman pushed it wide and paused, a customary hesitation before crossing any threshold. In his line of work he found caution improved life expectancy.

  The scene was familiar. A well-appointed conference room, the long, heavy oak table the centre-piece, drawing the eye to the white screen that comprised the far wall, perfectly reflected in an oval mirror opposite.

  A second door at the far end that he knew would be locked.

  The main door clicked shut behind him. An androgynous synthesized voice said, “Take a seat.”

  The Huntsman pulled the nearest chair out and seated himself towards the screen.

  “Facing the mirror, the voice said curtly.”

  “More stupid games?”

  “Just do it.”

  “This is beginning to piss me off, Queenie.”

  “Remind me again what it is that I pay you for?” The venom transcended the mechanical limitations of the voice.

  “Call me old-fashioned, but I like to see who I’m talking to; who I’m working for.”

  “That’s rich, coming from a mercenary.”

  “This isn’t the Congo.”

  “And I’m not some jumped up little Idi Amin wannabe playing toy soldiers. Face the mirror.”

  The Huntsman spun the chair round, scraping the floor. “Happy now?”

  The room darkened as on previous visits, the screen lighting up. An animated face-mask, projected onto the screen behind him, danced in the mirror above his reflection. He silently acknowledged the theatrics. She was good.

  “Now, what happened to the kid?” The mask’s mouth moved in time to the words spoken.

  “The plod have him. It’s a minor complication.”

  “Losing an arm is a minor complication. Losing track of the kid the day before a huge festival is more a major complication. Otherwise known as your balls on the block. Hmmm?”

  “I’ll sort it.”

  The mask danced in agitation in the mirror. “Oh, I know you will, darling. And you’ll sort Mickey, too. Mistakes like that will not be tolerated.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Nor was losing the kid. I’ll lose a small fortune if that snow isn’t pushed.”

  “I said I’d sort it. They can’t hold him much longer.”

  “And Mickey?”

  “I still need him.”

  “You might. I don’t. He’s a loose cannon.”

  “You chose him, Queenie.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  The Huntsman shrugged. “So get rid of him.”

  “I was thinking you might do just that.”

  “My fee was for one hit only.”

  “So that’s why they call you mercenaries... Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you are recompensed for any inconven
ience.”

  “It’s not about the money, Queenie. You approached me with one job, yet somehow I’ve become your errand boy.”

  “You offered. I didn’t ask.”

  “I said I’d show the kid the ropes.”

  “You obviously didn’t show him very much.”

  “That was Mickey’s fault.”

  “As I said, a loose cannon. And there’s the small matter of the missing five?”

  “Point taken. How do we get the kid back?”

  The mask chuckled. “Unless you have some bizarre plan to storm Battersea Police Station single-handed I suggest we just wait ’til he’s bailed.”

  “And then?”

  “Entirely up to you. You and Mickey are the only faces he knows.”

  “He won’t say anything.”

  The mask quivered. “Let’s hope not. Now, there’s another small matter that has come to my attention.”

  The Huntsman stiffened in his chair. “And?”

  “Inspector Rose?”

  “Ah...”

  “Rumour has it you sent her a little gift?”

  “What of it?”

  “I’m paying you to deal with Andrews.”

  The Huntsman shrugged. “My methods are not your problem. Andrews is on borrowed time, don’t worry.”

  “And Inspector Rose?”

  “Bog off.”

  The mask stopped dancing, the expression menacing. “I’m sorry?”

  “Bogof. Buy one, get one free. Rose won’t cost you a penny extra.”

  The dancing mask broke into a smile. “You know, I’m beginning to warm to you.”

  Chapter 5.

  Red closed her eyes, the warmth and power of the shower’s spray coaxing knotted muscles into submission. She allowed herself to relax a little, the powerful jets of water invisible fingers, massaging her head and neck, carrying away the nauseating stench of grief.

  The eulogies from the funeral taunted her. A loving husband and devoted father, always there to lend a hand if needed. A tragic loss to the family. A sad loss to the community. Sorely missed.

  “Like a hole in the head.”

  Red smiled at her own words. “First sign of madness,” she added, just to ram the message home.

  Why in hell did it hurt so much? She studied the shower cream aimlessly. He’d rejected her, turned his back on her. On her new family. Everything. Too bigoted to even try to come to terms.

  She felt a new wave of tears well. With only her reflection in a steamed-up mirror on the far wall for company, she let them flow.

  “I’m gonna miss you, Dad,” she conceded quietly. “But you’re still the biggest ass-hole on the planet.”

  The bathroom door clicked open.

  “Cass?”

  Red instinctively wiped away the tears. “In here, babe.”

  She rubbed a window in the condensation on the shower glass, watching her partner remove a suit jacket, hanging it carefully on the hook before rolling up sleeves. A smile parted Red’s lips at the welcome distraction of company. She turned for the shower cream, lathering it between her fingers, soaping it over her skin.

  Red didn’t look around when the shower door pushed open. She felt soft hands slide over her back, then around the naval, rising slowly to embrace her breasts.

  “Hey, babe. I’ve missed you.”

  “Me too.” The fingers caressed, then paused. “How was the funeral?”

  Red sighed. “Done and dusted. Let’s not talk about it.” She covered her lover’s hands with her own. A gentle squeeze.

  “I should have been there with you.”

  “He wasn’t your dad.”

  “For you.”

  Red clutched her partner’s hands. “He would have been turning in his grave before they’d finished filling it in.”

  “If it had been any other day…”

  “Please? Just leave it?”

  Red felt her partner’s lips on the back of her neck. She relaxed. “So how was your day?”

  “Oh, you know. Just another victory for justice.” A kiss to the neck. “Sorry, Cass.”

  Red turned, brushing a lock of hair from her partner’s face. “Have you any idea how much shit I’m in with the Super?”

  “If you will treat the Court with contempt.”

  Red tugged at her partner’s hair, pulling her forward, a mimicked Minnie Mouse voice. “Your Honour, DI Rose is trying to frame my ever-so-innocent clients. Please throw her out of Court and dismiss the case.”

  “You fell for the oldest trick in the book, Inspector. That was my easiest Not Guilty in a long while.”

  “Supposing they attack another old lady.”

  “But Inspector, they were found not guilty. It must have been someone else.”

  “You really are one evil bitch, Philippa Crichton-Ward, Q.C.” Red held her partner at arms’ length. “Anyway, let’s not talk shop.”

  Pippa ran a tongue over her lips in anticipation. “Now on that I can concur.”

  “Oh, Pip... I need you.” Red pulled her partner forward, resting her lips on Pippa’s. The taste of cherries and mint. “How about you step in here and we’ll see if you can’t get me off?”

  Pippa arched an eyebrow, already unbuttoning her blouse. “I think I’ll need to examine the evidence very carefully, Inspector.”

  They heard a distant door slam.

  “Mum? Cass? I’m home!”

  Red winced, smiling an apology as Pippa reluctantly slid buttons back into holes. “Is it that time already?”

  Pippa shrugged. “Just as well. I’ve got a ton of briefs to get through before the morning.”

  Red pecked her on the lips. “The only briefs I want you getting through are mine, later.”

  Pippa glared. “Cass, you really are an animal sometimes.”

  Chapter 6.

  “Any homework?”

  Jack didn’t look up. “Done it at Granma’s”.

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Duh. It’s homework?”

  Red let out a slow sigh. “Maths? English?”

  “It’s called numeracy, Cass.” Jack diverted his eyes from the phone long enough to manage a patronizing smile. “Numeracy and literacy.”

  “Same thing. So how was your literacy homework?”

  “Okay.”

  “Numeracy?”

  “Okay.”

  “How was your nan?”

  “Okay.”

  “Any idea when Ella will be back?”

  “Okay.”

  Red put down her cup. “Have you heard anything I’ve just said?”

  “Okay.”

  “I bought an iPad yesterday.”

  Jack’s thumbs stopped twitching. “You did? For real?”

  “No, but at least it got your attention.”

  Jack scowled. “That’s not funny, Cass.”

  “Nor is being ignored when I talk to you.”

  Jack struggled to look apologetic. “Sor-ry.”

  “So who’s so interesting you have to text them non-stop?”

  “Just a friend I made on the bus.”

  Red waited expectantly. “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Have they got a name?”

  Jack shrugged. “Darren.”

  “Nice kid?”

  Jack shrugged again. “I guess.”

  “Cool,” said Red.

  “Cool?” Pippa struggled through the door with a pile of legal folders, sending them sliding across the table as she sat. “Has Deimante turned the thermostat down again?”

  Jack scowled at his mother. “Any biccies, Mum?”

  Pippa tutted loudly. “Biscuits, Jack, for goodness sake. I really need to talk to your English teacher.”

  “Any biscuits, then?”

  “Did your grandmother not make you tea?”

  Jack was too preoccupied with his texting to answer.

  “Jack’s made friends with a boy he met on the way to school,” Red cut in.

  Jack set his p
hone on his lap with a frustrated sigh. “I haven’t made friends. I’ve just been texting him, that’s all.”

  Red suppressed a smile. “Looked like you were writing a book to me. What do you text about?”

  “Stuff.”

  “What sort of stuff?”

  Jack shrugged. “Just stuff.”

  “I remember doing stuff at school too.” Red nudged Pippa. “Bet Mum did too. Right, Pips? All kinds of stuff. Behind the bike sheds.?”

  “Cass, don’t be so vulgar.” Pippa untied the ribbon on a legal folder. “And please, don’t call me Pips! Now, if you don’t mind, I need to concentrate.”

  Jack looked at Red as he addressed his mother. “Now you know how I feel, trying to text someone and Cass is yakking.”

  “Jack! Manners. Apologize to Cassandra at once.”

  Jack grinned at Red. “Sorry.”

  It wasn’t very convincing, but Pippa was too engrossed in a document to notice.

  It was Red’s turn to shrug. She said, “Why not invite him to tea?”

  Pippa looked up briefly from her folder. “Invite who?”

  “Jack’s new friend.”

  “I only met him this morning. He doesn’t even go to my school.”

  “All the more reason then,” Red persisted. “It will do you good to make some new friends.”

  “Really?” Jack looked hopefully from Red to Pippa. “Mum?”

  From behind a folder, “Fine by me, darling. I’ll give your grandmother a call later and arrange it.”

  Red reached out a hand, pushing down the legal folder to engage Pippa’s attention. “I meant here. With us?”

  Jack stopped in mid-text, looking from Red to Pippa and back. A smile spread across his lips. “For real?”

  Consternation rippled Pippa’s calm features. “Jack, be a darling. Five minutes? I need to discuss some legal issues with Cassandra.”

  Jack looked despairingly at Red. “It was worth a try, Cassandra.”

  Red waggled a disapproving finger at the boy. “I’m on your side, remember? Say hi to Darren for me.”

  Pippa let loose as the door closed. “Oh God, did you say Darren? Well that’s final then. They can be friends at his grandmother’s. End of.”

  “Pips, you’ve got to let go a bit.”