The cutting place, p.19
The Cutting Place, page 19
The question went around the table until it reached a slight, fair-haired man on the other side of the table from me. ‘Yah,’ he called. ‘I know him. He’s here tonight.’
‘But I was looking for his name on the seating plan and I didn’t see it,’ I said, blinking as if I was completely befuddled.
‘It’s a nickname. His real name is Peter Ashington. Nice guy. We worked together for a while.’
‘Peter Ashington,’ I repeated for the benefit of the listeners in the van. So he exists. ‘And where’s he sitting?’
‘Why are you talking about him? Talk to me,’ Harry whispered wetly into my ear, and I giggled.
‘In a second.’
‘Now.’ He leaned over and kissed my neck an inch under my ear, open-mouthed. It tickled at first; then I felt a sharp pain as his teeth nipped my skin. I cried out.
‘What happened? Are you OK?’ Derwent’s voice was urgent, and I tried to laugh.
‘You can’t lean over and bite me! Not without buying me dinner first.’
‘Fucking hell.’ Derwent sounded as if he was on the verge of abandoning the surveillance van to deal with Harry.
‘She’s fine,’ Liv said.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Harry winked at me as he sloshed some more wine into my glass. ‘Couldn’t resist it.’
A glance around the room told me that the mood had changed as the waitresses cleared away the main course. Girls were sitting on the men’s laps, or kissing them openly at the table. One man had his hand inside the top of a very young, very scared-looking brunette on the other side of the room. Another was walking out dragging a blonde girl who was stumbling, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Here and there men had simply passed out, sleeping peacefully amid the debauchery. Sir Marcus Gley presided at an all-male table of older members who should have been better behaved, I thought, but even as I watched one of them hauled a girl into his lap and made her straddle him. Gley said something and a shout of laughter went up from them. A waitress leaned over so someone at our table could slide a twenty-pound note between her breasts. She laughed when he groped them as she straightened up. I wanted to ask the fair-haired man where Peter Ashington was, but as I looked over at him he was straightening up, glassy-eyed, rubbing his nose, and I thought I might wait for the cocaine buzz to fade. The man beside him called to Harry.
‘Oi, Hazza. We should take her with us to the house.’ He meant me.
‘What house?’ I asked, leaning my chin on my hand and blinking as if I was too drunk to concentrate.
‘A very big house in the countryside. You’d like it. Brilliant place for parties.’ Harry put his hand on my thigh and slid it upwards and I edged out of reach. ‘There’ll be more wine and we’ll have some fun.’
‘Will Peter be there?’
‘Who?’
‘Ash. Peter Ashington.’
The man on the other side of the table frowned at me. ‘Wait a second. Where are you from?’
‘Roscommon.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Southern Ireland,’ Harry drawled.
‘We generally just call it Ireland. Or the Republic of Ireland if you want to be formal about it,’ I said, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be looking pretty and saying nothing, and Derwent laughed in my ear.
‘You tell him. Why don’t you throw in a quick chorus of “A Nation Once Again” while you’re at it?’
Harry raised his eyebrows and looked across the table at the other man, who was shaking his head.
‘I don’t think so, mate. Too much trouble.’ He looked up as a wiry twenty-something with dark curly hair passed by. ‘Hey, Ash. This girl’s asking about you.’
‘Yeah?’ He checked himself and turned, looking puzzled as he saw me and didn’t recognise me. ‘What is it?’
‘Are you Peter Ashington?’
‘That’s me.’
I jumped out of my seat and hurried over to him, weaving as if I was drunkenly enthusiastic rather than closing in on my prey.
‘We’ve got a friend in common. Roddy Asquith.’
His face went white and his eyes flared with panic. He backed away from me, turned, and ran for the door as if the hounds of hell were after him, instead of one very irritated police officer in a skirt that was far too short and heels that were really too high for a pursuit.
26
The evening had degenerated into the kind of chaos that meant a man racing out of the dining room into the Chiron Club’s hall didn’t attract all that much attention. It also meant, however, that Peter Ashington didn’t have a clear run to the outside world. He smacked straight into a vast, enormously drunk man who bearhugged him while laughing uproariously. As he fought to get free, I caught up with him and managed to grab hold of a flailing arm.
‘Wait. I need to talk to you.’
Fear lent him the strength he needed to swing the huge man around so he cannoned into me. I lost my grip on Ashington, knocked off balance. For a moment I thought I was going to fall, my heels finding no purchase on the highly polished marble floor as the big man roared, outraged. Ashington wriggled free like a salmon thrashing upstream, and slid towards the door.
Like the answer to a prayer, Georgia appeared on the other side of the hall and, for once, took in the situation at a glance. She dropped her tray and ran forward to intercept him.
‘Stop!’
Ashington shoved her, sending her flying as he made for the door through a throng of smokers returning from the steps outside. She fell against the wall with a thud that made me wince. The smokers stared at her with bland curiosity, none of them making a move to help her. That was someone else’s job, presumably.
‘Get ready, he’s running,’ I said for the benefit of the surveillance team.
Liv’s voice was calm and assured. ‘We’d worked that out. We can see him on the steps. I think he’s trying to decide which way to go. Josh and Chris are already in pursuit and all the local uniformed teams are coming to help. Oh – there he goes.’
‘Which way?’
‘He’s heading towards Blackfriars Bridge.’ She caught her breath. ‘That was close. Nearly got hit by a taxi. He’s fast.’
‘Too fast for us. And too strong. And too drunk to know what’s dangerous.’ I was crossing the hall to check on Georgia, aware that two grey-suited men were converging on her from the stairs and the main door and worried that she might give herself – and me – away as undercover police officers before I was ready for that. She was still crumpled in a heap where she had fallen. Genuine concern sharpened my voice. ‘Hey, Georgia? Are you all right?’
She stared at me with an unfocused gaze. ‘M’fine.’
‘I don’t think you are.’ I helped her to her feet and steadied her as she wobbled against me. ‘I think she might have hit her head when she fell.’
I said it for Liv’s benefit, but as if I was talking to the taller of the two grey-suited men.
‘Hurts.’ Georgia put a hand up to explore the back of her head and winced. ‘There’s a bump.’
‘She’ll be all right,’ the first grey suit said coldly. ‘Won’t you, love.’
‘I get Mr Hooper,’ the second said.
‘Get an ambulance,’ I said. ‘She needs an ambulance.’
‘Stand by,’ Liv said, and went silent.
I was glad she was calling an ambulance for Georgia, because the grey suits made no move to help and I really thought she needed to be checked over. She was swaying like a sapling in a high wind. I steered her to a chair and sat her down. She had gone very pale and her lips were blue-tinged.
‘Are you feeling OK?’
‘Going to be sick,’ she mumbled.
I grabbed an ice bucket from a nearby table and she put her face in it, groaning. I looked around for someone else to help her and came up with precisely no one I would trust. The two grey suits were standing in front of us, blocking us from the view of the members but otherwise not making any effort to help. Everyone else in the hall was drunk, or high, or both, and there was no sign of anyone from Delahayes. The members seemed to be very good at ignoring anything that didn’t look as if it might lead to a good time. It wasn’t that they weren’t interested in what was happening to Georgia – they simply couldn’t bring themselves to see it.
In the absence of anyone else, I knew I should stay with her, but I was desperate to find out if they’d caught up with Ashington yet. Only a minute or two had passed since he ran through the doors. If he disappeared – that had been our one chance to take him unawares … I couldn’t stand not knowing. Besides, I wasn’t achieving anything by standing beside her. ‘Look, stay there, will you?’
‘Mmmph,’ came from the depths of the bucket, and I hurried outside to see how the chase was going. It wasn’t yet dark, the sky a luminous blue that was still streaked with red and gold from what had been a glorious sunset at the end of a sunny day. The light was good enough and my vantage point was high enough for me to be able to see Peter Ashington racing across the bridge, almost at the other side, a trail of pursuers behind him. I shaded my eyes, confirming that the person behind Ashington was Derwent, who was running as if he had something to prove. Pettifer had dropped out of the race already but there were two uniformed officers flying after Derwent, losing ground with every stride. They would have been hampered by heavy equipment belts and thick-soled boots, whereas he was in trainers and jeans. His stab vest wouldn’t be helping, I thought with a twinge of anxiety: they were so tight they constricted your breathing when you were exerting yourself, and they were heavy, and hot, and generally the last thing you wanted to be wearing in a foot pursuit on a warm evening. He was gaining on Ashington, though, and even as I watched he made a grab for him. Ashington evaded him with a dodge that had to have been pure instinct. From my vantage point I could see that two other uniformed officers had set off from the other side of Blackfriars Bridge and were heading towards them, so someone was going to catch him eventually. Ashington noticed them a split second after I did, and it unsettled him enough to slow him as he tried to work out his options, none of which were good: jumping into the river over the low parapet, hurdling the cycle lane and the anti-terror concrete barriers to cross the fast-moving traffic that was speeding across the bridge, or letting himself be caught by the police who were closing in on him. Ruthlessly, sensing weakness, Derwent put in an extra effort, and this time when he pounced Ashington went down.
‘He got him,’ I said, excitement and relief fizzing through my blood, and Liv cheered.
‘Ambulance is two minutes out. Is Georgia OK?’
‘She wasn’t the last time I saw her. I think she was being sick.’
‘And you left her?’ There was a quizzical note in Liv’s voice and I winced, knowing that it wasn’t really acceptable to abandon a colleague – even one you didn’t like particularly – just because you wanted to see what was going on.
‘I’ll go and check on her now.’
‘I think you should.’ Definite disapproval. The adrenalin of the chase ebbed away and I trudged inside, thoroughly ashamed of myself, to find Carl Hooper bending over Georgia, and Bianca Drummond crouching by her side.
‘It’s fine.’ Georgia tipped her head back and looked up at me sleepily. ‘Maeve. Tell’m.’
‘She hit her head.’ I said.
‘She probably just needs to lie down for a while,’ Hooper said dismissively.
‘I’ve called an ambulance for her.’
Hooper rounded on me, irritated. ‘Was that really necessary?’
‘I think so.’
He turned to another grey suit who was standing behind him. ‘Get rid of the ambulance.’
‘She needs to be checked over,’ I protested. ‘She’s been throwing up and she’s confused. She has concussion at the very least.’
‘We’ll get a taxi to take her to the nearest A&E.’ He glanced at me. ‘You can go with her if you’re so concerned.’
‘Absolutely not. She shouldn’t be moved until she’s been assessed.’
He gave me a look full of cold loathing, which I returned with enough force that he actually gave in. ‘Then tell the ambulance crew to go to the rear of the building. We can’t have an emergency vehicle parked outside. The members won’t like it.’
‘You can’t make her walk through the building,’ Bianca protested. ‘She’s hurt.’
‘We can arrange for someone to help her.’ He looked around for another grey suit as if he could summon one up by sheer force of will.
‘You won’t be moving her anywhere,’ I snapped. ‘She’s going to wait here to be assessed by paramedics and they will decide when and where she goes. And if you don’t like emergency vehicles being parked outside, I have some bad news for you. I’m Detective Sergeant Maeve Kerrigan, Georgia here is an undercover officer, and we are very far from finished with the club this evening. Based on what I’ve seen, we have enough concerns about illegal activity on the premises to get a warrant to search the club.’
Hooper stared at me for a moment, recognising me at last. He mumbled something, stepping backwards like a cat that had stepped in something unfortunate.
‘Carl, what’s going on? What’s all this about?’ Sir Marcus came trotting across the hall, his face red with fury. ‘This isn’t acceptable at all. Can’t you clear this away?’
‘Sir Marcus …’ Carl croaked.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ He eyed Georgia coldly. ‘Get her out of here.’
‘Not now, Sir Marcus. The police are here. And an ambulance.’ Hooper gestured weakly as two green-uniformed paramedics bowled in through the front door and Gley caught his breath.
‘Hello, how are you, darling? What’s your name, my love?’ One of the paramedics bent over Georgia, while the other one turned to me.
‘What happened?’
‘She banged her head on the wall a couple of minutes ago. She’s been sick and she seems a bit confused.’
She nodded, then turned to help her colleague. I might have had reservations about Georgia’s professionalism and indeed her personality, but it was a relief to see her being cared for properly. I hadn’t realised how worried I was for her until they started to assess her.
While I was distracted with the paramedics, Sir Marcus had melted away like snow. I nudged Bianca. ‘I want to check what’s happening outside. Could you stay here until I come back?’
‘Of course.’
I paused before I left, looking at Hooper. I had no reason to arrest him, and I sensed that he would know that. I settled for warning him, ‘Don’t go anywhere. We’ll need to talk to you.’
‘Of course.’ He made a stiff little bow. ‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving.’
Outside, I saw a small procession had made it back to our side of the bridge, moving far more slowly on the return journey. They all looked exhausted. Derwent was holding on to a handcuffed Peter Ashington, whose head was hanging down so low it was bouncing on his chest. His dinner jacket had come off one shoulder and his trousers were sliding down his hips. I came down the steps and walked over to the surveillance van, where Liv was standing with Pettifer. She was holding a bottle of water that was fogged with condensation.
‘The van is on its way.’ She meant the transport van that would take Ashington to custody. ‘And indeed here it is. What a beautiful sight.’
It was barrelling towards us, siren wailing. Liv waved to flag it down. I glanced over my shoulder at the windows of the Chiron Club, where some members were staring out with undisguised horror at the scene that was unfolding on the Embankment. More faces began to appear behind them, intoxication evaporating into confusion and wariness. Police meant publicity, which meant public scrutiny, which could only be a bad thing when you thrived on secrecy.
The van pulled in right in front of us, and the uniformed officers escorting Derwent stepped out to stop the traffic so he could cross with Ashington. His arrest, his prisoner. Scowling, Derwent shoved Ashington off the pavement and manhandled him across the road. Then, at last, he gave him over to the two largest response officers who bundled him into the van with brisk efficiency. We wouldn’t be able to interview him until he had sobered up – and doubtless lawyered up if he took the same approach as the other Chiron Club members I’d interviewed.
‘Well done.’ Liv threw Derwent the bottle of water which he caught with a nod of thanks.
I eyed him, noting the way his chest was heaving under his stab vest and the sweat that glistened on his skin and darkened his hair. ‘You look as if you need to take off some clothes.’
He paused in the act of taking the cap off the bottle and looked me up and down, slowly, insolently, taking in every last detail. ‘Yeah. Yours.’
There was a silence that seemed to last far too long while I realised what he’d said, before the shout of laughter went up from Pettifer and the officers who were standing around. I’d offered him the opportunity on a plate, and of course he’d taken it. I knew I was blushing, and couldn’t do anything about that, so I settled for shaking my head at him as he drank his water.
‘I literally never learn.’
He gave a huff of amusement that sent bubbles rushing through the bottle. When he stopped for a breather, he said, ‘It’s what keeps me going.’
‘Happy to help.’
He grinned at me, the lines lengthening around his eyes, up to his old tricks and unrepentant about it. I turned away to find Liv had moved off to the rear of our van. I caught up with her, concerned in case the stress was getting to her.
‘Are you feeling OK?’
‘I mean, are you?’ She checked she was out of sight, then fanned herself theatrically. ‘I don’t know if it’s the hormones or what, but that almost turned me heterosexual for a moment.’
I laughed. ‘Steady.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s worn off now.’ Her face was alight with amusement and curiosity. ‘He’s quite something when he turns it on, isn’t he?’
‘I’m used to it. Anyway, it was just a joke.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Liv put as much doubt into those two syllables as a QC might fit into a whole defence speech.
