9th May 1989
It had been a fairly mundane sort of Monday as far as Frank was concerned. The team had assembled looking tired and somewhat hungover from the excesses of the weekend, clearly hoping that all they would need to do that day was sit at their desks and pretend to look busy. Well, he'd soon put a rocket up their arses. Jim and Mike had been dispatched to follow up on some house-to house enquiries from a burglary the other week, Tosh was down in the collator's office pulling together names for a possible supermarket job he'd had a sniff of from one of his snouts and Christina and Alistair were following up a lead on a possible car ringing scam on the manor. All in all, it had made for a peaceful afternoon for himself, a chance to catch up on his seemingly never-ending stream of paperwork and blissfully reminisce about his own weekend activities.
She had been a looker, that Fiona. Blonde hair, blue eyes, big tits…in a way, she had reminded him a bit of Julie when he had first met her, back in the day, before the rigours of matrimony had turned her into a grumpy cow who seemed to think that sex with her husband was a commodity to be bargained with depending on what mood she was in. Well, there had been no such demands from pretty little Fiona, none at all. She had been quite happy to accept his offers of drinks and flattering remarks until the point had been reached when a decision had required to be made as to what happened next. Fortunately, as far as he was concerned, she had made the right one and the evening had ended on a high note. A very high note. Her number carefully transcribed into his little black book, he had seen her on her way, filing her into the section of his conquests entitled 'ripe for a repeat performance.'
So, when the phone rang at around half past three, he was in a fairly good mood. "Burnside."
"Guv, it's Tony. There's a DI Billy Driscoll from the Vice Squad here to see you."
"Billy Driscoll? I haven't seen him in years. Send him up!" Putting the phone down, he got up from behind his desk and wandered out of his office into the corridor, just as a man around his own age jogged up the stairs to meet him. "Billy!"
"Frank, long time no see!" the other man said, extending his hand. "What's it been, three years? Four?"
"Closer to five I reckon," Frank replied, leading the way back into his office and gesturing for Billy to take a seat. "You're still in Vice then."
"Yeah, for my sins, literally," Billy replied. "You're doing all right for yourself."
"Well, I made DI, not before time."
"I always knew you would." He glanced around at the empty office behind them. "No troops in today then?"
"All out on enquiries. My lot like to keep busy. No point sitting around letting the grass grow under their feet. Villains to catch, crimes to solve, that sort of thing."
"You haven't changed much anyway," Billy laughed. "I bet you keep them on their toes."
"Well, it has been known. Anyway," Frank sat back in his chair. "What brings you to Sun Hill? Looking for a sideways move?"
"Sometimes I think it would be the best thing. My missus hates the hours I keep in this job. I think she'd love it if I got a position somewhere like this."
"How is Marilyn?"
"Oh, she's fine. We've got three kids now, so she spends most of her time running around after them. Two girls and a boy." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a picture.
"Nice family," Frank observed, before passing it back. "So?"
Billy paused and sat forwards in his chair. "I understand you've got Stewart Church's missus on your team."
It was Frank's turn to pause, thrown slightly by the other man's observation. "Yeah, I have as it goes. Do you know her?"
"No, but I know her old man. Arrogant git that he is. Thinks because he's a DS in the Drugs Squad that that makes him God's gift to the human race, not least the Met. I've had a few run ins with him over the years. No respect for rank."
"No," Frank mused, recalling the conversation he had had with Church after the Nelson arrest. "I've been on the receiving end of his attitude myself in the past. A jumped-up Sergeant that doesn't know his place."
"Going places though," Billy observed. "Word has it, he's tipped for great things."
"Well, good for him. I'm sure Christina would be pleased to see him rise through the ranks."
"Yeah…about her. I've heard good things."
"Really?" Frank raised his eyebrows, "From who?"
"I know a few people at Catford, her old nick. They speak very highly of her. One of the first women there to be selected for CID at such a young age. Kept a level head, even when her husband was doing his best to stymie her career."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, they were in CID there together at the beginning. Then he got promoted to DS and, well, let's just say I don't think professional and personal life mixed very well. She came into her own a bit more once he'd moved to the Squad apparently. They were sorry to lose her to Sun Hill when they did."
"I see…" Frank pictured Stewart in his head, the way he had spoken, not only to him, but to his own wife. It wasn't hard to see how the man could have made things difficult for her if he had really wanted to. "Well, this is all very interesting, Billy, but I still don't see what your interest is."
Billy sat back in his chair again. "I'm running an operation at the moment into one Rod Patterson, do you know him?" Frank shook his head. "He's a big noise in SoHo; runs a few clubs there. He's into all sorts, prostitution, pornography, you name it in the sex business, he's got a finger in it, if you pardon the expression. He's just opened a new club over in Hackney where he's running girls. Underage ones."
"Naughty boy."
"Indeed. Now, the problem we have is that we can't prove anything. None of the girls we suspect he's pimping out are willing to talk to us and anyone who works for him is either too loyal or too scared to say anything. Rumour has it, he's got some big, important guests coming to the club this weekend. People from abroad, lot of money, so the girls are going to be kept busy. What I need, is someone on the inside."
Frank paused, "You're telling me you want Christina to go undercover in this club?"
"Exactly."
"Posing as what, a hooker? I grant you she looks young for her age, but I reckon even the most undiscerning punter would be able to tell she was over the age of consent."
"No, of course not. I want her in there as a barmaid, eyes and ears open, possibly talking to some of the girls, getting what she can out of them…"
"Haven't you got your own people for this sort of thing?"
"Ordinarily, yes. But we've had some staffing issues of late and I'd prefer a new face, someone that Rod and his band of cronies won't recognise as having even the slightest sniff of police, let alone vice, about them. What do you say? You reckon she's up to the job?"
Frank paused again, weighing up the situation. He couldn't dispute the fact that Christina was a good officer, no doubt well able to handle such an assignment, but he also couldn't help but feel, for some reason, that it would be a mistake. "I don't know. I mean, yes, I reckon she could do it, but I question the wisdom of it."
Billy frowned, "Why?"
"She's never done any proper undercover work before, not like you're suggesting and, well, it sounds to me as though you only want her to do it because of her connection to Church." The other man looked away. "That is the reason, isn't it?"
"Well, I won't deny that he'll probably feel a bit put out about the whole thing, given how highly he holds himself against her. I can't imagine he'll be too pleased to hear she's been picked for a job like this. I wouldn't be surprised if, deep down, he would hope it would all go pear shaped."
Frank shook his head, finding himself taken aback by Billy's depiction of what the Churchs' marriage was really like. What sort of husband wouldn't be pleased to see his spouse do well and, particularly, would want to see her fail? Then he remembered what she had told him about Stewart's reaction to her failing the Sergeants exam and realised that he wasn't really taken aback at all. "I'll have to talk to my guvnor," he said finally.
"Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less."
"And I'll have to talk to Christina too."
"Hopefully you can persuade her."
"I said talk not persuade. I'm not going to have her forced into doing this for your own ends. It sounds like a dangerous operation and even if her husband wouldn't give a damn about it going wrong and her getting hurt, I would." Billy raised his eyebrows. "Not like that. But she's on my team and I don't want to be visiting her in hospital because I've allowed her to be swept away by you."
"Frank…" Billy spread his hands. "I'm not here to coerce anyone into anything. I just think that we could all benefit from this. I get a collar; you get shared glory of having been involved and she gets credit for a job well done. Won't do her any harm in the long run, surely?"
"No," he agreed. "I suppose not."
XXXX
Although the mechanics of the job had been laid out fairly clearly and succinctly by DI Driscoll, Christina couldn't help but feel as though she was swimming underwater taking it all in. When the call had come through from CAD that the DI wanted her back at the station straight away, she had been convinced she was in for a bollocking for something, though she hadn't been sure what. In the months since Tracy's funeral, Frank had appeared to go out of his way to either avoid her altogether, give her the worst tasks in the department or speak to her as though she was something he had brought in on his shoe. She knew the others had noticed too, in fact Jim had sat her down one day in the canteen and demanded to know if something had happened at the funeral that she wanted to tell him about. Of course, she had said nothing, not wanting to divulge any of the events that had taken place that day and had simply excused Frank's behaviour as nothing short of normal.
"Yeah, well it's not fair," Jim had replied. "It's harassment and you know it is. You need to do something about it before it gets worse."
She looked over at Frank, his gaze matching hers, and tried to read what was underneath his expression. He had said little while Driscoll had been laying out the details of what he expected her to do and she couldn't help but wonder what her boss's opinion on it all was. "What about my other cases?"
"Anything urgent can be redistributed amongst the others," Frank replied. "This job's only going to last a few days."
"And I have to start tonight?"
"Yes," Driscoll replied. "I need you in position and ingratiating yourself before the weekend. We've already got one of our team in deep undercover with Patterson. He's been there over a year and Patterson trusts him. He's told Patterson that he knows someone who would be ideal as a barmaid in the new club. That's you. You go along tonight to meet with him and Patterson, interview for the job and he'll persuade him to hire you. Easy as that."
"What if he doesn't hire me?"
"He will. I'm assuming you know how to pour a pint and mix spirits?"
She nodded, thinking back to days of old, "I worked in a pub for a while when I was Hendon."
"Good," Driscoll nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope. "This is for you to buy yourself suitable attire. Short skirts, tight tops, you know what I mean. Patterson likes a lot of flesh on display. He'll be more likely to take a shine to you if you present yourself in the package he's expecting."
"Right," she took the envelope from him and then looked at Frank again. "Has Mr Conway ok'd this?"
"Reluctantly, but yes," Frank replied. "Though he wanted it made clear, to everyone, that if you feel under pressure or threatened or in danger at any point, you bail out. No questions asked."
"Well, some questions might be asked," Driscoll said. "After all, you're a fairly experienced officer…"
"No questions will be asked," Frank repeated, glaring at him before turning back to her. "Ok?"
She paused, once again trying to ascertain what he was really thinking, and once again coming up wanting. "Am I allowed to tell anyone about the operation?"
"Like who?" Driscoll asked.
"Well, my husband for one. If I'm going to be out all night for the next few days, then he's going to wonder why."
"Oh yes, of course," Driscoll smiled in a way that slightly unnerved her. "You'll have to tell him. We don't want him banging the door down here demanding to know where his wife is, do we? Right then…" he looked between her and Frank. "I've got a little bit of business to sort out before we get started, so, you get yourself down the high street to get some clothes and we'll reconvene back here around seven, sound fair?" She nodded. "Ideal."
There was silence in the room after he had left, and she opened the edge of the envelope to see a wad of notes tucked inside. "How much does he want me to buy and what quality? Maybe I should have asked him that."
"Get something decent," Frank replied, sitting back down behind his desk. "Patterson apparently likes to think of himself as being high class, so steer away from your knock offs down the market. Middle of the road, I'd say."
"You don't want to come with me, do you?" she quipped, feeling a sudden sense of isolation.
"What, shopping? No, I don't. Take Ackland or Martella with you if you need solidarity in the changing rooms." He paused, and when he next spoke, his tone was softer. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"No?"
"No. You're not the only female officer in the Met. Driscoll could get anyone to do it if he wanted to."
"Thanks very much," she smiled ruefully, "there was me thinking I was special because he'd picked me."
"I didn't mean it like that. He picked you for a reason; because he knows you're a good copper, someone he can trust with this operation, but if you don't want to do it no-one, not Driscoll or me, is going to force you."
"I figured you'd be glad to be rid of me for a while Guv," she met his gaze again, wondering how far she should push how she felt about his attitude towards her. Sometimes she felt as though there really was no point, other times she couldn't help but think back on Jim's words and recognise that he did, in fact, have a point. If there was air that needed to be cleared, she would rather they did it sooner rather than later. "We haven't exactly been getting on of late."
"I didn't realise I needed to 'get on' with every member of CID."
"No, but I thought we did. Get on, that is."
He looked away and said nothing for a long moment. She could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he considered how to answer her and wondered what she really wanted him to say or do. An apology seemed too far beyond the realms of possibility but, an acknowledgement perhaps that he had taken things out on her that weren't deserved, might have been nice.
"I'll hardly be rid of you," he said finally. "Having one of my officers undercover in such a set up isn't something I'm likely to be able to push to the back of my mind now, is it? Besides, I didn't want to say this in front of Driscoll, but if anything goes wrong, anything at all, or if you even get the slightest hint that you've been rumbled, you get yourself to a phone and you call me, all right? Not Driscoll, me."
"But I'm going to be working through the night. It's hardly fair to you to…"
"You call me," he interrupted her, "day or night. Understood?"
It was the closest she knew she was going to get to anything from him and she couldn't help but feel a sense of…something…that he was concerned enough about her welfare to make himself the point of contact. Mind you, though, she knew he would probably do the same for any of them. "Understood."
"Right, get yourself kitted out down the high street and then tell hubby what you're going to be up to for the next few nights."
A feeling of dread suddenly washed over her at the prospect of telling Stewart about the job, Something told her that his reaction wouldn't be good, though not entirely for the reasons she might have hoped. "Yes Guv, I can't wait."
XXXX
"So, can I expect Christina back or not?" Alistair asked impatiently. "There's still loads of enquiries to be made on this car-ringing scam and I can't do them all on my own!"
"No, she won't be back, at least not to help you," Frank replied. "You can have Ted when he gets back from leave tomorrow and, if you're really struggling, I'll see if I can't get some uniform help."
"Well, where is she going?"
"Who?"
"Christina!"
"She's doing a job."
"What kind of job?"
"The kind of job where the details don't concern you, Alistair," Frank replied. "All you need to know is that she's not going to be around over the next few days. Only until the weekend, mind you, then we'll have her back amongst us properly."
"Oh well…" Alistair sighed, turning back to his desk, "at least they'll be a break from the atmosphere at any rate."
Frank paused briefly and then followed him out into the main office, "What do you mean, atmosphere?"
"Oh, come on, Guv."
"Come on what?"
"You've been in a funny mood with her ever since she went to Tracy's funeral with you. Goodness only knows why, she hasn't done anything wrong as far as we can tell."
"We? You all been discussing it, have you?"
"Well, we can hardly fail to notice now, can we? I mean, we all work in the same office." The ringing of the phone on his desk distracted Alistair and he turned away to answer it. "DS Greig?"
Frank walked back into his office, closing the door behind him. Alistair always had been a mouthy one, ever since he had pitched up at Sun Hill declaring he was part of the Sun Hill band and might not be around that often. Well, he'd soon put him straight on that score. But he had a tendency to say what, irritatingly, many of the others were obviously thinking and it irked him somewhat that they had picked up on it. Sitting down at his desk, he let out a long breath knowing that, for once, they had him bang to rights.
There had been an atmosphere between himself and Christina since the funeral and he also knew that he was the cause of it. It wasn't what had happened to Tracy herself or the scene at the church with Kevin…it was what had happened afterwards. Their conversation in the pub had flowed so naturally and she had seemed fairly comfortable confiding in him about her difficult relationship with her parents and the reasons why she and Stewart had tied the knot at such a young age. He'd felt sorry for her in a way, as if she was really saying, without actually saying it, that she had clung onto the first apparently steady person who had come along and that, because of that, she felt somehow obligated beyond that which she really wanted to be. Frustratingly, he couldn't really remember the in-depth content of the conversation, or whether she had actually come out and said anything meaningful about her marriage, due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, but he could certainly remember inviting her into his flat.
In the cold reality of the morning after, he had asked himself what had really been behind the request. Company in an otherwise cold and dark flat, yes. The chance to continue drinking with someone rather than alone, yes. Sex – he shifted slightly in his chair – well he probably wouldn't have said no if she had laid it on a plate. What man would, with any woman?
He picked up his pen and looked down at the forms in front of him, trying to concentrate on the essential paperwork in front of him, but finding his attention wandering within seconds. He knew he owed her a proper apology, but it wasn't really in his nature to admit he was wrong, especially not to women. Rationally, he knew that was partly the reason for the breakdown of his marriage; his inability to say sorry, for anything. If he couldn't say it to his own wife, he was hardly going to say it to a female officer under his command.
Besides, he reminded himself, he'd told her to contact him, any time, should anything go wrong on the job. If she couldn't see that that was his way of apologising, then that was her problem.
