Part One Hundred And Thirteen
After her fairly harrowing interview with Jo, John and George, Karen went back to work, trying to keep everything smoothly ticking over, and attempting to curtail the swollen imaginations of most of her inmates. Sylvia was outraged because every con who had heard about Fenner was over the moon.
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, eh Miss?" Julie Saunders had said, and Karen had been forced to hide a smile. But when she left her desk that afternoon, she knew that there was only one thing she could do. She had given Lauren's name to Jo, and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before Lauren's identity as Fenner's killer was put in to the hands of the police. Above all, Karen needed space from this situation. No longer could she maintain the outward indifference with Yvonne that had kept her going for the last week. Driving over to Yvonne's, Karen knew that putting a temporary hold on their relationship was only the beginning.
Yvonne looked pleased to see her when she opened the door, and Karen felt the nagging weight of guilt, constantly reminding her of what she'd done that morning. When she moved in to the hall, Karen said,
"Yvonne, we need to talk." Seeing that this was definitely something serious, Yvonne led the way back to her lounge.
"Drink?" She said, gesturing at the bottle of scotch on the small sideboard.
"Yes please," Said Karen, knowing that she was going to need it. When they were seated on the sofa, Karen didn't beat around the bush.
"I had quite an interesting little interview this morning," She began, finding some slight amusement in the fact that she knew she was starting to talk like George. "I was called to the chambers of Mr. Justice Deed, where he, Jo Mills and George Channing, thoroughly questioned me as to my part in Fenner's death."
"You what?" Asked Yvonne, totally stunned.
"Yes, not the most enjoyable hour of my life," Replied Karen. "George at least, was utterly convinced that it was me who'd killed Fenner. I don't think I've ever been put through anything so legally harrowing in all the time I've worked both for the prison service and the NHS."
"Did you manage to convince them it wasn't you?"
"I'm still walking free, so yes, I did. But I am not, repeat not, going through anything like that again for something that wasn't my fault." Yvonne was quiet. "I can't do this any more, Yvonne," Karen continued, "I just can't keep up the facade." Yvonne looked worried.
"You're not going to grass on her, are you?" Karen gave her a wry smile.
"No. What would be the point? Besides, wouldn't I be signing my own death certificate in doing such a thing?"
"I can't believe you just said that," Said Yvonne, sounding more hurt than Karen had ever heard her. "This is you we're talking about. You're absolutely right in thinking that grassing up my daughter isn't something I'd ever be able to forgive, but giving you a dose of the Atkins treatment isn't something I'd be likely to consider."
"I'm sorry," Said Karen, truly mollified, "I don't seem to have a sense of judgment that's in tune with everyone else's at the moment. Which is why, I need some space."
"From me you mean, from us?"
"Yes. Yvonne, this is the last thing I ever wanted to do, but I need to sort out how I feel about a lot of things. When I saw you cleaning that gun, I was forcefully reminded of the lengths you would still go to in order to protect what's yours. I don't know if I can handle being involved with someone who can so easily revert to some of her old ways."
"I had to do that!" Yvonne protested vehemently.
"I know," Replied Karen gently, "And as weird as it sounds, I understand why you had to do it. But it's not something that I think I can be around. I thought all my dreams had come true when we realised which team we were batting for, but I can't quite get my head around the rest of it. I need some time away, to find out if I can come to terms with that side of you."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Yvonne said quietly, and Karen could hear the tears threatening to appear. "I'm sorry that you've had to go through this as well, and I'm sorry that you've got to do this. Just, promise me one thing. Promise me that when you make your mind up, you'll let me know, because I ain't going anywhere." Reaching forward to give Yvonne a strong, warm hug, Karen said,
"I promise," and after giving Yvonne one last, lingering kiss, she stood up and walked out of the house, away from something that had, for a short time, given her so much happiness.
She drove home, feeling utterly desolate. Yvonne hadn't really deserved that, but Karen knew that she couldn't keep sleeping with Yvonne, at least certainly not for the moment. Was she jumping before she was pushed, she didn't know. She just prayed that the police never got hold of her name as the source of the identity of Fenner's killer. Picking up a copy of The Evening Standard on her way home, Karen was greeted to the sight of a picture of Fenner, one they'd obviously obtained from Fenner's personnel file.
"I hope you know what I've just done for you, you bastard," Karen found herself saying to the picture as she let herself in to her flat. God, that really was the first sign of total insanity, talking to a newsprint picture of one's rapist. She flung the paper on the sofa, with Fenner's picture facing upwards, as if to remind her why she'd just added an extra bit of misery to Yvonne's already overburdened shoulders. Seeing the message light winking on her answerphone, she pressed the button, only to be greeted by John's voice.
"Karen, it's John Deed. I simply wondered how you were after this morning. I'll try you again later." Thinking that some control over the situation wouldn't do her any harm, Karen read the number on her caller display that had accompanied the message, and rang him back.
"John Deed?" Came the relaxed yet professional masculine tones.
"It's Karen Betts," She replied. "You called."
"So I did," He said, sounding pleased to hear from her. "How are you?"
"I've had better days," She said, sitting down on the sofa and turning the paper over so that she wouldn't have to look at Fenner's face. "I've got a wing full of inmates who couldn't be more pleased at the untimely death of one of their officers, even though for some of them it will mean a few less turning of blind eyes and privileges. I spent most of the morning being interrogated by someone who could audition for the KGB," At which point John couldn't help grinning, "And I've just ended what promised to be the best relationship I've ever had, and in doing so, made Yvonne even more miserable than she already is."
"That's sudden," Commented John.
"What was I supposed to do," Karen said disgustedly. "I've landed her daughter in more trouble than she'll know what to do with. I could hardly go on sleeping with her under those circumstances. But, you didn't phone me to hear about my bloody awful day."
"Well, partly I did," He said, his liking for this outspoken, down to Earth woman not in the least abated. "But there is one other matter that still requires some attention, that of why you chose not to tell anyone." Karen went quiet for a moment.
"Does this absolutely have to be now?" She asked, knowing that another round of questioning would finish her off altogether. "Because I really don't think I've got the energy for it. I'll take George on any day you like, but twice in one day is asking a little too much." John laughed.
"You're forgetting that I was once married to her, so I know exactly where you're coming from, though you certainly gave her a fair run for her money. I was impressed."
"I bet part of you enjoyed that, didn't you," Said Karen, unable to keep the small smile out of her voice.
"It did hold a certain attraction," He found himself admitting, "But the next round won't be with either Jo or George. I'm not planning to take what you tell me any further, unless I am presented with something that I am by law obliged to pass on. I would simply like to understand." Tangling with the fiery Ms George Channing was one thing, thought Karen, trying to maintain her defences in battle with this man, would be quite another.
"Okay," She said carefully, "Though quite what I'm letting myself in for, I don't know."
"Come and see me after court on Wednesday afternoon," He said, "But try to leave the armour behind, because I don't think you'll need it."
All day on Wednesday, Karen couldn't help agonising about the impending interview. On Monday, she hadn't been given much notice, and therefore hadn't had time to worry too much about what was coming. But today was different. She kept coming up with questions that John might ask her, and spent too much of her time attempting to construct plausible answers. The Police had been in to see Grayling on the Monday, and had been crawling over the whole place ever since, talking to all and sundry about Fenner's popularity with his fellow officers. They'd expressed a perfunctory interest in Karen, mainly because of her tentative rape allegation, but she hadn't held their attention for long. Di and Sylvia had unhelpfully both suggested that an ex-con might be to blame, though the police had dismissed this possibility as very unlikely. That's all they knew, thought Karen in disgust. When the clock finally wended its way round to the time she had to leave, she stood for a while, staring at her self in the mirror in the Ladies', taking particular care over making up her face. Even after a hard day's work, argumentative strategy wasn't the only area in which she could give Georgia Channing a run for her money. Splashing on some perfume, and pulling a brush through her hair, she at last felt strong, capable, as if she could hold her own in the verbal fracas she was about to walk in to.
When she walked through the doors of the ancient court building, it was almost deserted. But then, it was after five in the afternoon, long after the court had adjourned for the day. She climbed the marble staircase, and traversed the long, endless corridor to John's chambers. She knocked lightly on the sturdy, oak door, and he called,
"Come in." When she pushed the door open, she saw that he was seated behind his desk, thumbing through an enormous dust-covered tome, and clearly immersed in paperwork. He looked up and smiled.
"Hello," He said, standing up and moving towards her. "How are you?"
"I love my job more than any other job I've ever done, but a combination of riotous inmates and unco-operative officers do take their toll."
"Would you like a drink?" He asked, which was the most welcome question she'd had all day. Pouring them both a scotch, he said, "Have you always worked in the prison service?"
"Only for twelve years or so," Said Karen, sitting down on one end of the sofa. "I was a nurse before that."
"What made you move from one cash-strapped organisation to another?"
"The money's better," She said succinctly. "And I suppose I came in to the job with the same naivete as every other officer who thinks they can make a difference."
"And do you?" He asked, handing her the glass.
"Not really," She replied dully, "Change, or at least real, significant change, requires financial backing and political interest that most cabinet ministers simply can't be bothered to support. So, we muddle through with what we've got, which results in overcrowding, an increase in re-offending rates and a serious shortfall in any form of rehabilitation."
"Well, if they keep appointing cabinet ministers like the current Secretary of State for Trade, then nothing will ever get better." He joined her, sitting at the other end of the sofa. Spying an ashtray on the coffee table, Karen lit up.
"I'm sure I know far more women who smoke than men," Said John, a slight note of teasing in his tone.
"I do give up periodically," Karen replied.
"That's what both Jo and George keep telling me," He said, "But I don't seem to see any sign of it."
"The last time I gave up was before I was raped. Mark, the man I was seeing at the time persuaded me that giving up was a good idea, but I don't seem to have had any great incentive since."
"Tell me why you didn't inform anyone about Fenner's death," He said, knowing that they had to revisit this sooner or later. Karen took a long drag and said,
"I was so shocked when Lauren said that's what she'd done. I had absolutely no idea that she was thinking of doing something like this, and neither did Yvonne. I think she felt like she was being forced to revisit that part of her life which she thought she'd left behind. Lauren didn't look entirely sane, as if she was high on something, but she wasn't."
"That's what killing does for some people," Said John quietly, "It's almost a sexual arousal for some of them."
"It was obvious she'd shot him, but other than that, I really don't know what happened," And John could see that she was telling the truth. "I'm not sure how much more I can tell you, without implicating Yvonne, which isn't something that even I'm stupid enough to do." John stood up and began pacing.
"I'll save you the trouble," He said. "If I know anything of Yvonne Atkins' reputation, she probably disposed of as much evidence as possible, which almost certainly included the cleaning and getting rid of the gun."
"Spot on," Said Karen dryly.
"Are you seriously telling me that you watched her do all this?" he asked, the level of incredulity exponentionally increasing.
"What was I supposed to do?" Asked Karen, her voice rising to keep up with his. "Whilst I realise it isn't much of an excuse, I think I was in shock. As far as I knew, Yvonne had left all reminders of her former life behind, the day she left Larkhall." This wasn't strictly true, but Karen wasn't about to split hairs. "When I eventually returned home that night, I must have looked at the phone a thousand times, desperately wanting to tell you, or Jo or George, anyone, but I couldn't. Yvonne needed me to at least make the pretence of being strong for her, which partially meant not landing her daughter behind bars. As Yvonne said to me on Monday, giving her daughter's name to the police isn't something she'd ever be able to forgive, and I'm not in a hurry to give Yvonne an excuse to get herself a life sentence. She assured me that even if I did do something like that, she wouldn't be likely to consider giving me a dose of what she calls the Atkins justice, but I didn't and don't want to give her a reason to even think about it."
"Which very neatly brings me to my next point," John said, leaning on the edge of his desk, facing her. "I'd have thought, considering the recent trial you were involved in, that you might have been once bitten twice shy with regards to an Atkins."
"Really," Said Karen bitterly, "And I suppose that you've never, not once in your whole life, made the wrong decision regarding another woman. I suppose that it's been your well-deserved privilege to always sleep with the right person, to never become involved with someone who has at the very least some sort of criminal intentions." His face was a picture, the eyes moving rapidly, and a clear realisation crossing his profile.
"Have I struck a chord?" Karen couldn't help asking. John rolled his eyes at her.
"You've got a level of sarcasm to rival George's," He said, "But to answer your question, yes, I did once become emotionally and sexually involved with someone who almost managed to get me arrested. Lady Franchesca Rochester, separated wife of Sir Ian Rochester." Then, seeing a look of vague recognition on Karen's face, he said, "Yes, the insufferable civil servant from the Lord Chancellor's Department who attempts to derail me at every turn. He wasn't amused when I had an affair with his wife, but it didn't last. However, after a year or so away from her, we met by chance, and things began getting interesting again. Through numerous protestations to the contrary from her, I discovered that she and her cousin, who she was also sleeping with, were living off the proceeds from a soft porn empire. The part which almost put me in a cell, was an off shore account in my name, holding yet more proceeds from lap dancing clubs and various other such enterprises. I of course, knew absolutely nothing of this account, and luckily for me, it was speedily proved that I had nothing to do with it. So yes, I have been there and done that, and am not in a hurry to repeat the experience." Karen stood up and began walking round this stately yet comfortable room.
"That sounds pretty similar to me and Fenner," She said, eventually standing in front of one of the tall windows with her back to him. "His act was so convincing," She said bitterly. "Time and time again he managed to make me believe his never-ending stream of stories. He'd always make his act all the more believable by saying, you know I love you, don't you Karen, and it always worked." John could hear the bitter threat of tears in her voice, and he had an urge to comfort her, but he simply listened. "You know, he even came out with that old line after he'd raped me."
"How did you feel when you found out he was dead?" John asked, gently approaching her, but keeping George's intrusion of her personal space on Monday in mind.
"I don't know," Said Karen, still keeping her face averted from him, now that the tears were coursing down her cheeks, the tension of the last ten days finally catching up with her. "I knew I ought to feel relieved, that he could never do what he'd done to me and countless others, to anyone, ever again. But it's not quite as simple as that, is it. Much as I'm loathe to admit it, I did love him. Once, before Virginia O'Kane was killed and before I discovered he was sleeping with Maxi Purvis, I loved him, and I can't forget that. I should hate and despise him, considering everything I know about him. But even now, even after everything that's happened, there's still a part of me that remembers what it was like to love and to be loved by him." John very carefully laid a hand on her shoulder, and when she didn't resist, he turned her round to face him. He was seeing the vulnerable side of Karen Betts now, the side of her that needed holding, comforting and looking after. Ever since he'd read the precise details of her rape allegation, he'd wondered if this might not be the reason why she was so hesitant to pursue a case against Fenner. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to retreat, he put his arms round her, giving her the feeling of a drowning swimmer who has suddenly found a rock they can cling to. She hated letting her guard down in front of him like this, but his hard, warm chest provided a safe, solid presence that told her it was perfectly okay to cry. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, and briefly thought that she was the quietest woman to cry that he'd ever met.
"That's what you were so desperate to tell me when I came to see you last week, wasn't it," He said quietly. She looked up.
"Do you have any idea just how much I wanted to?" She said, attempting to calm down. "But then they do say that the urge to confess is uncommonly strong, even when all the confession is likely to do is to bring no end of trouble down on one's head." He smiled, thinking of the many times he'd been forced to confess his infidelity to either Jo or George. When her tears eventually dried, she stayed close to him, taking an enormous amount of comfort from being held by him. When she finally moved away from him, she said,
"I'm sorry, that isn't something I usually let anyone witness."
"You should," He said gently, "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"And I've got mascara on your shirt," She said, gesturing to the tell tale black streaks.
"It won't be the first time," He said, looking down at the offending marks. A little while later when he walked out with her to her car, Karen felt lighter than she had done since Fenner's death. She felt like she'd manage to eradicate some of the disease that had been inside her for far too long. As he watched her unlock the car door, he said,
"Would you like to have dinner with me?" She looked up, only slightly surprised.
"Yes, that'd be nice," She said, sliding behind the wheel. Agreeing a time to pick her up on Friday evening, John watched her drive away, feeling that initial, inexorable excitement that always preceded a conquest.
After her fairly harrowing interview with Jo, John and George, Karen went back to work, trying to keep everything smoothly ticking over, and attempting to curtail the swollen imaginations of most of her inmates. Sylvia was outraged because every con who had heard about Fenner was over the moon.
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, eh Miss?" Julie Saunders had said, and Karen had been forced to hide a smile. But when she left her desk that afternoon, she knew that there was only one thing she could do. She had given Lauren's name to Jo, and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before Lauren's identity as Fenner's killer was put in to the hands of the police. Above all, Karen needed space from this situation. No longer could she maintain the outward indifference with Yvonne that had kept her going for the last week. Driving over to Yvonne's, Karen knew that putting a temporary hold on their relationship was only the beginning.
Yvonne looked pleased to see her when she opened the door, and Karen felt the nagging weight of guilt, constantly reminding her of what she'd done that morning. When she moved in to the hall, Karen said,
"Yvonne, we need to talk." Seeing that this was definitely something serious, Yvonne led the way back to her lounge.
"Drink?" She said, gesturing at the bottle of scotch on the small sideboard.
"Yes please," Said Karen, knowing that she was going to need it. When they were seated on the sofa, Karen didn't beat around the bush.
"I had quite an interesting little interview this morning," She began, finding some slight amusement in the fact that she knew she was starting to talk like George. "I was called to the chambers of Mr. Justice Deed, where he, Jo Mills and George Channing, thoroughly questioned me as to my part in Fenner's death."
"You what?" Asked Yvonne, totally stunned.
"Yes, not the most enjoyable hour of my life," Replied Karen. "George at least, was utterly convinced that it was me who'd killed Fenner. I don't think I've ever been put through anything so legally harrowing in all the time I've worked both for the prison service and the NHS."
"Did you manage to convince them it wasn't you?"
"I'm still walking free, so yes, I did. But I am not, repeat not, going through anything like that again for something that wasn't my fault." Yvonne was quiet. "I can't do this any more, Yvonne," Karen continued, "I just can't keep up the facade." Yvonne looked worried.
"You're not going to grass on her, are you?" Karen gave her a wry smile.
"No. What would be the point? Besides, wouldn't I be signing my own death certificate in doing such a thing?"
"I can't believe you just said that," Said Yvonne, sounding more hurt than Karen had ever heard her. "This is you we're talking about. You're absolutely right in thinking that grassing up my daughter isn't something I'd ever be able to forgive, but giving you a dose of the Atkins treatment isn't something I'd be likely to consider."
"I'm sorry," Said Karen, truly mollified, "I don't seem to have a sense of judgment that's in tune with everyone else's at the moment. Which is why, I need some space."
"From me you mean, from us?"
"Yes. Yvonne, this is the last thing I ever wanted to do, but I need to sort out how I feel about a lot of things. When I saw you cleaning that gun, I was forcefully reminded of the lengths you would still go to in order to protect what's yours. I don't know if I can handle being involved with someone who can so easily revert to some of her old ways."
"I had to do that!" Yvonne protested vehemently.
"I know," Replied Karen gently, "And as weird as it sounds, I understand why you had to do it. But it's not something that I think I can be around. I thought all my dreams had come true when we realised which team we were batting for, but I can't quite get my head around the rest of it. I need some time away, to find out if I can come to terms with that side of you."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Yvonne said quietly, and Karen could hear the tears threatening to appear. "I'm sorry that you've had to go through this as well, and I'm sorry that you've got to do this. Just, promise me one thing. Promise me that when you make your mind up, you'll let me know, because I ain't going anywhere." Reaching forward to give Yvonne a strong, warm hug, Karen said,
"I promise," and after giving Yvonne one last, lingering kiss, she stood up and walked out of the house, away from something that had, for a short time, given her so much happiness.
She drove home, feeling utterly desolate. Yvonne hadn't really deserved that, but Karen knew that she couldn't keep sleeping with Yvonne, at least certainly not for the moment. Was she jumping before she was pushed, she didn't know. She just prayed that the police never got hold of her name as the source of the identity of Fenner's killer. Picking up a copy of The Evening Standard on her way home, Karen was greeted to the sight of a picture of Fenner, one they'd obviously obtained from Fenner's personnel file.
"I hope you know what I've just done for you, you bastard," Karen found herself saying to the picture as she let herself in to her flat. God, that really was the first sign of total insanity, talking to a newsprint picture of one's rapist. She flung the paper on the sofa, with Fenner's picture facing upwards, as if to remind her why she'd just added an extra bit of misery to Yvonne's already overburdened shoulders. Seeing the message light winking on her answerphone, she pressed the button, only to be greeted by John's voice.
"Karen, it's John Deed. I simply wondered how you were after this morning. I'll try you again later." Thinking that some control over the situation wouldn't do her any harm, Karen read the number on her caller display that had accompanied the message, and rang him back.
"John Deed?" Came the relaxed yet professional masculine tones.
"It's Karen Betts," She replied. "You called."
"So I did," He said, sounding pleased to hear from her. "How are you?"
"I've had better days," She said, sitting down on the sofa and turning the paper over so that she wouldn't have to look at Fenner's face. "I've got a wing full of inmates who couldn't be more pleased at the untimely death of one of their officers, even though for some of them it will mean a few less turning of blind eyes and privileges. I spent most of the morning being interrogated by someone who could audition for the KGB," At which point John couldn't help grinning, "And I've just ended what promised to be the best relationship I've ever had, and in doing so, made Yvonne even more miserable than she already is."
"That's sudden," Commented John.
"What was I supposed to do," Karen said disgustedly. "I've landed her daughter in more trouble than she'll know what to do with. I could hardly go on sleeping with her under those circumstances. But, you didn't phone me to hear about my bloody awful day."
"Well, partly I did," He said, his liking for this outspoken, down to Earth woman not in the least abated. "But there is one other matter that still requires some attention, that of why you chose not to tell anyone." Karen went quiet for a moment.
"Does this absolutely have to be now?" She asked, knowing that another round of questioning would finish her off altogether. "Because I really don't think I've got the energy for it. I'll take George on any day you like, but twice in one day is asking a little too much." John laughed.
"You're forgetting that I was once married to her, so I know exactly where you're coming from, though you certainly gave her a fair run for her money. I was impressed."
"I bet part of you enjoyed that, didn't you," Said Karen, unable to keep the small smile out of her voice.
"It did hold a certain attraction," He found himself admitting, "But the next round won't be with either Jo or George. I'm not planning to take what you tell me any further, unless I am presented with something that I am by law obliged to pass on. I would simply like to understand." Tangling with the fiery Ms George Channing was one thing, thought Karen, trying to maintain her defences in battle with this man, would be quite another.
"Okay," She said carefully, "Though quite what I'm letting myself in for, I don't know."
"Come and see me after court on Wednesday afternoon," He said, "But try to leave the armour behind, because I don't think you'll need it."
All day on Wednesday, Karen couldn't help agonising about the impending interview. On Monday, she hadn't been given much notice, and therefore hadn't had time to worry too much about what was coming. But today was different. She kept coming up with questions that John might ask her, and spent too much of her time attempting to construct plausible answers. The Police had been in to see Grayling on the Monday, and had been crawling over the whole place ever since, talking to all and sundry about Fenner's popularity with his fellow officers. They'd expressed a perfunctory interest in Karen, mainly because of her tentative rape allegation, but she hadn't held their attention for long. Di and Sylvia had unhelpfully both suggested that an ex-con might be to blame, though the police had dismissed this possibility as very unlikely. That's all they knew, thought Karen in disgust. When the clock finally wended its way round to the time she had to leave, she stood for a while, staring at her self in the mirror in the Ladies', taking particular care over making up her face. Even after a hard day's work, argumentative strategy wasn't the only area in which she could give Georgia Channing a run for her money. Splashing on some perfume, and pulling a brush through her hair, she at last felt strong, capable, as if she could hold her own in the verbal fracas she was about to walk in to.
When she walked through the doors of the ancient court building, it was almost deserted. But then, it was after five in the afternoon, long after the court had adjourned for the day. She climbed the marble staircase, and traversed the long, endless corridor to John's chambers. She knocked lightly on the sturdy, oak door, and he called,
"Come in." When she pushed the door open, she saw that he was seated behind his desk, thumbing through an enormous dust-covered tome, and clearly immersed in paperwork. He looked up and smiled.
"Hello," He said, standing up and moving towards her. "How are you?"
"I love my job more than any other job I've ever done, but a combination of riotous inmates and unco-operative officers do take their toll."
"Would you like a drink?" He asked, which was the most welcome question she'd had all day. Pouring them both a scotch, he said, "Have you always worked in the prison service?"
"Only for twelve years or so," Said Karen, sitting down on one end of the sofa. "I was a nurse before that."
"What made you move from one cash-strapped organisation to another?"
"The money's better," She said succinctly. "And I suppose I came in to the job with the same naivete as every other officer who thinks they can make a difference."
"And do you?" He asked, handing her the glass.
"Not really," She replied dully, "Change, or at least real, significant change, requires financial backing and political interest that most cabinet ministers simply can't be bothered to support. So, we muddle through with what we've got, which results in overcrowding, an increase in re-offending rates and a serious shortfall in any form of rehabilitation."
"Well, if they keep appointing cabinet ministers like the current Secretary of State for Trade, then nothing will ever get better." He joined her, sitting at the other end of the sofa. Spying an ashtray on the coffee table, Karen lit up.
"I'm sure I know far more women who smoke than men," Said John, a slight note of teasing in his tone.
"I do give up periodically," Karen replied.
"That's what both Jo and George keep telling me," He said, "But I don't seem to see any sign of it."
"The last time I gave up was before I was raped. Mark, the man I was seeing at the time persuaded me that giving up was a good idea, but I don't seem to have had any great incentive since."
"Tell me why you didn't inform anyone about Fenner's death," He said, knowing that they had to revisit this sooner or later. Karen took a long drag and said,
"I was so shocked when Lauren said that's what she'd done. I had absolutely no idea that she was thinking of doing something like this, and neither did Yvonne. I think she felt like she was being forced to revisit that part of her life which she thought she'd left behind. Lauren didn't look entirely sane, as if she was high on something, but she wasn't."
"That's what killing does for some people," Said John quietly, "It's almost a sexual arousal for some of them."
"It was obvious she'd shot him, but other than that, I really don't know what happened," And John could see that she was telling the truth. "I'm not sure how much more I can tell you, without implicating Yvonne, which isn't something that even I'm stupid enough to do." John stood up and began pacing.
"I'll save you the trouble," He said. "If I know anything of Yvonne Atkins' reputation, she probably disposed of as much evidence as possible, which almost certainly included the cleaning and getting rid of the gun."
"Spot on," Said Karen dryly.
"Are you seriously telling me that you watched her do all this?" he asked, the level of incredulity exponentionally increasing.
"What was I supposed to do?" Asked Karen, her voice rising to keep up with his. "Whilst I realise it isn't much of an excuse, I think I was in shock. As far as I knew, Yvonne had left all reminders of her former life behind, the day she left Larkhall." This wasn't strictly true, but Karen wasn't about to split hairs. "When I eventually returned home that night, I must have looked at the phone a thousand times, desperately wanting to tell you, or Jo or George, anyone, but I couldn't. Yvonne needed me to at least make the pretence of being strong for her, which partially meant not landing her daughter behind bars. As Yvonne said to me on Monday, giving her daughter's name to the police isn't something she'd ever be able to forgive, and I'm not in a hurry to give Yvonne an excuse to get herself a life sentence. She assured me that even if I did do something like that, she wouldn't be likely to consider giving me a dose of what she calls the Atkins justice, but I didn't and don't want to give her a reason to even think about it."
"Which very neatly brings me to my next point," John said, leaning on the edge of his desk, facing her. "I'd have thought, considering the recent trial you were involved in, that you might have been once bitten twice shy with regards to an Atkins."
"Really," Said Karen bitterly, "And I suppose that you've never, not once in your whole life, made the wrong decision regarding another woman. I suppose that it's been your well-deserved privilege to always sleep with the right person, to never become involved with someone who has at the very least some sort of criminal intentions." His face was a picture, the eyes moving rapidly, and a clear realisation crossing his profile.
"Have I struck a chord?" Karen couldn't help asking. John rolled his eyes at her.
"You've got a level of sarcasm to rival George's," He said, "But to answer your question, yes, I did once become emotionally and sexually involved with someone who almost managed to get me arrested. Lady Franchesca Rochester, separated wife of Sir Ian Rochester." Then, seeing a look of vague recognition on Karen's face, he said, "Yes, the insufferable civil servant from the Lord Chancellor's Department who attempts to derail me at every turn. He wasn't amused when I had an affair with his wife, but it didn't last. However, after a year or so away from her, we met by chance, and things began getting interesting again. Through numerous protestations to the contrary from her, I discovered that she and her cousin, who she was also sleeping with, were living off the proceeds from a soft porn empire. The part which almost put me in a cell, was an off shore account in my name, holding yet more proceeds from lap dancing clubs and various other such enterprises. I of course, knew absolutely nothing of this account, and luckily for me, it was speedily proved that I had nothing to do with it. So yes, I have been there and done that, and am not in a hurry to repeat the experience." Karen stood up and began walking round this stately yet comfortable room.
"That sounds pretty similar to me and Fenner," She said, eventually standing in front of one of the tall windows with her back to him. "His act was so convincing," She said bitterly. "Time and time again he managed to make me believe his never-ending stream of stories. He'd always make his act all the more believable by saying, you know I love you, don't you Karen, and it always worked." John could hear the bitter threat of tears in her voice, and he had an urge to comfort her, but he simply listened. "You know, he even came out with that old line after he'd raped me."
"How did you feel when you found out he was dead?" John asked, gently approaching her, but keeping George's intrusion of her personal space on Monday in mind.
"I don't know," Said Karen, still keeping her face averted from him, now that the tears were coursing down her cheeks, the tension of the last ten days finally catching up with her. "I knew I ought to feel relieved, that he could never do what he'd done to me and countless others, to anyone, ever again. But it's not quite as simple as that, is it. Much as I'm loathe to admit it, I did love him. Once, before Virginia O'Kane was killed and before I discovered he was sleeping with Maxi Purvis, I loved him, and I can't forget that. I should hate and despise him, considering everything I know about him. But even now, even after everything that's happened, there's still a part of me that remembers what it was like to love and to be loved by him." John very carefully laid a hand on her shoulder, and when she didn't resist, he turned her round to face him. He was seeing the vulnerable side of Karen Betts now, the side of her that needed holding, comforting and looking after. Ever since he'd read the precise details of her rape allegation, he'd wondered if this might not be the reason why she was so hesitant to pursue a case against Fenner. Slowly, giving her plenty of time to retreat, he put his arms round her, giving her the feeling of a drowning swimmer who has suddenly found a rock they can cling to. She hated letting her guard down in front of him like this, but his hard, warm chest provided a safe, solid presence that told her it was perfectly okay to cry. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, and briefly thought that she was the quietest woman to cry that he'd ever met.
"That's what you were so desperate to tell me when I came to see you last week, wasn't it," He said quietly. She looked up.
"Do you have any idea just how much I wanted to?" She said, attempting to calm down. "But then they do say that the urge to confess is uncommonly strong, even when all the confession is likely to do is to bring no end of trouble down on one's head." He smiled, thinking of the many times he'd been forced to confess his infidelity to either Jo or George. When her tears eventually dried, she stayed close to him, taking an enormous amount of comfort from being held by him. When she finally moved away from him, she said,
"I'm sorry, that isn't something I usually let anyone witness."
"You should," He said gently, "It's nothing to be ashamed of."
"And I've got mascara on your shirt," She said, gesturing to the tell tale black streaks.
"It won't be the first time," He said, looking down at the offending marks. A little while later when he walked out with her to her car, Karen felt lighter than she had done since Fenner's death. She felt like she'd manage to eradicate some of the disease that had been inside her for far too long. As he watched her unlock the car door, he said,
"Would you like to have dinner with me?" She looked up, only slightly surprised.
"Yes, that'd be nice," She said, sliding behind the wheel. Agreeing a time to pick her up on Friday evening, John watched her drive away, feeling that initial, inexorable excitement that always preceded a conquest.