Chapter 51
FRASER
‘Did you fall asleep in the bath?’ Fraser says, when Lauren comes downstairs. ‘I almost put out a “fear for welfare”.’
Lauren would usually be in pyjamas at this time of night, but she’s put on grey joggers and an oversized sweatshirt, which means she’s half-expecting to be called back to work.
She’s flushed from her bath, and clutching her phone as if her life depends on it.
Always on-call, always working . . . If there’s one thing Fraser would change about Lauren, it’s her inability to switch off.
‘I was watching Emily in Paris.’
‘Put it on down here if you want.’ He offers the remote. ‘I stuck the news on, but I’m not watching it.’
Fraser is forever reminding Lauren to relax.
He works hard himself, but he keeps his life in carefully separated sections.
When he’s at work, he’s at work; when he’s at home, he’s with Lauren.
And, when he’s on New Dawn business, he’s one hundred per cent dedicated to the cause.
A thrill runs through him at the thought of what they have planned.
It’s been a long time coming, and the past few weeks have made things very difficult, but Fraser won’t be beaten.
Golding’s death had been a monumental fuck-up.
Fraser doesn’t have an issue with the concept of neutralizing a threat, but it has to be handled in a controlled manner.
New Dawn’s policies are clear: the order to strike only ever comes from the boss.
Yet Carrie and her gormless associates had crashed in and shanked Golding in his own house, of all places.
At least in a public place there are ways of explaining away forensic traces, but in someone’s home? Way more incriminating.
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ he’d said, when Carrie had phoned from Golding’s house. She’d called Fraser’s personal number – strictly reserved for emergencies – and as he’d listened to her halting confession Lauren had looked at him quizzically. What is it? she’d mouthed.
‘Can you sort it, boss?’ In his ear, Carrie had been close to tears, as though it hadn’t been her who had fucked things up in the first place.
‘I don’t exactly have much choice, do I?’ He’d ended the call.
‘What’s happened?’ Lauren didn’t go in for public displays of affection at work, but she had briefly rubbed his arm. ‘Are you okay?’
Fraser had looked her in the eye. ‘Don’t freak out . . .’
‘Why would I freak out?’
‘Foxleigh Manor have double-booked the ceremony room.’
‘Whaaaat?’ Lauren had somehow managed to make the word stretch for several syllables, her voice rising in pitch and volume until it filled the whole office. ‘This is a disaster!’
‘You said you wouldn’t freak out.’
‘I said why would I freak out? I never said I wouldn’t freak out. Our wedding is less than a month away and we no longer have a venue, Fraser. I think I’m allowed to freak out a bit.’
‘I’ll sort it.’ Fraser checked his trouser pockets for his keys. ‘Assuming you don’t mind me ducking out of work for a bit?’
‘Go!’ She pushed him towards the door.
Head office blame him for the fuck-up, of course, even though Fraser never would have approved Jamie Golding so quickly if they hadn’t been leaning on him to recruit.
They’d intimated that other chapters were growing faster; that Fraser’s chapter could be given incentives, more funding, if they had more members.
The pressure had clouded Fraser’s judgement and, besides, he’d trusted Carrie.
She was a New Dawn stalwart who had proved herself loyal in numerous ways. She’d been adamant Golding was sound.
‘I work with him,’ she’d told Fraser. ‘He’s new in town, doesn’t know anyone. We can make him one of us.’
Fraser should have followed his gut. ‘I don’t like it,’ he’d said to Mike. ‘It’s too fast.’
Mike Bishop was ex-job: a detective inspector in the Met who had left London for a quieter life.
Police officers have a sixth sense for their own ilk and the two men had sussed each other out soon after meeting.
Fraser had been glad to have someone trustworthy as his deputy; gladder still that Mike had been happy to chair their chapter meetings.
Fraser preferred to stay silent, his gaze moving ceaselessly over their congregation, alert for potential rebellion. How had he missed Golding?
‘Let’s make Golding’s initiation a big one,’ Mike had suggested. ‘Test his mettle.’
Golding had visibly balked when he’d been asked to burn down the Paki shop and Fraser had half-expected him to bail completely. He’d been surprised – and grudgingly impressed – when the force briefing had included an arson with intent to endanger life at Surinder Bhatti’s convenience store.
‘I reckon he’s a good find,’ Mike had said.
Fraser had concluded the same, until he’d spoken to the detective overseeing the arson investigation and discovered the occupants had been woken by an anonymous phone call shortly before the fire was started, and that the subsequent 999 call had come from the same phone box.
Fraser had determined to keep an eye on -Golding, but then the bastard had got himself killed, and Fraser had been forced to deploy the Clean Up.
Head office tell you that if you need the Clean Up it’s already too late.
The protocol had been developed to make crime scenes disappear, obliterating the ‘golden hour’ so prized by the police.
Fraser’s sponsor had told him about a pub fight in Norwich, after which a critically injured man had been rushed into a decommissioned ambulance by two convincing paramedics, while New Dawn members flashed police badges and took down particulars.
Always handy to know where to find the witnesses you might later need to take care of.
Fraser had had no intention of ever deploying the protocol, but he had nevertheless taken it seriously.
He had begun by assigning roles and creating an ops box with everything they’d need.
Uniforms, crime scene tape, forensics suits, evidence bags, the vinyl stickers designed to transform a white car into something that would pass for a police vehicle.
He’d added a fluorescent jacket he’d found hanging in the locker room to the police-issue shirt and trousers he no longer needed to wear.
He’d hesitated before including his stab vest, but he had no intention of returning to uniform, so in it had gone.
Fraser had made sure to remove the epaulettes that bore his shoulder number, replacing them with a pair he’d bought online.
Finally, and despite the grumbles from Carrie and others, he had run a paper feed exercise to walk the team through several possible scenarios in which they might need to deploy a Clean Up.
The same skills that made Fraser one of major crime’s best detectives had made him the best possible person to make this murder disappear.
When Fraser had returned to the office after setting the Clean Up in motion, Lauren had looked sick with worry. Fraser had smiled reassuringly. ‘All sorted. They’ve told the other couple they’ll have to find another venue.’
‘Oh, thank God for that! I mean, gutting for the other couple, but great for us. I’m glad they called you and not me – I think I might have lost it.’ Lauren had put her arms around his neck, for once not bothering about who might see them, and squeezed him tight. ‘I’m a lucky woman, Fraser Hogan.’
‘I don’t mind watching the news,’ Lauren says now.
Fraser pats the sofa next to him. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a glass of wine.’
‘No, I . . . I’m fine.’ She’s still standing in the doorway. ‘I want to keep a clear head.’
‘There’s nothing more you can do till tomorrow. Try to relax.’
‘Actually, I think I might go to bed.’ She touches her head lightly.
‘Headache. I had the water too hot, I think.’ Her smile is faint and fleeting, and Fraser watches her thoughtfully as she goes back upstairs.
Lauren’s feeling the strain of the investigation, that’s for sure, but is there something else?
He waits a while, then he goes upstairs.
Their bedroom door is ajar, and Lauren is already asleep, lying on her side, facing the wall.
He watches the rise and fall of her breathing for a minute, then he goes to the bathroom.
He isn’t worried, not really – if Lauren were on to him, he’d know – but nevertheless he’s reassured when he quietly removes the bath panel and sees that his burner phone is exactly where it should be.
Being on the investigation team – and in the confidence of the senior investigating officer, no less – had enabled Fraser to ensure the Clean Up had been carried out satisfactorily. He had begun with the house-to-house enquiries.
‘I can get uniform to do those,’ Lauren had said, but Fraser had insisted.
‘I’d rather know it was done properly. No short cuts.’
She’d nodded, and Fraser could tell she was pleased; that there would be a line in his next appraisal that would mention him going the extra mile.
And so he had trudged from one house to the next, quizzing each of the neighbours to see if they presented a risk.
On the whole, the Clean Up had been well executed.
Doorcam footage had not only been seized but deleted from the hard drives and, in some cases, the system disabled altogether.
‘The picture’s been terrible since your boys came round,’ an elderly gentleman had said. His son had installed a camera by the front door. Fraser had found a smear of Vaseline across the lens. Nice touch, he’d thought. Good to see New Dawn members with a bit of initiative.
He had wiped away the grease. ‘Try it now.’
‘Perfect!’ The old boy had tried to give Fraser a tenner from a battered biscuit tin stuffed with cash, and Fraser had told him to put his money away and be careful, keeping that amount of money at home.
This kind of house – bungalow, vertical blinds, a walking frame parked in the porch – was a distraction burglary waiting to happen.
‘I’m going to ask the crime prevention team to pop over and see you, if that’s okay? They’ll fit a chain on your front door and have a chat with you about how to stay safe.’
‘You’re a good lad. Thank you.’
‘Royal Signals?’ Fraser had nodded to a faded photograph on the wall.
The old boy had let go of the banister he’d been holding and straightened. ‘Fourteenth Regiment.’
Fraser had shaken his hand. ‘Thank you for your service, sir.’
The only part of the Clean Up that hadn’t gone to plan had been the disposal of Jamie Golding’s body. When Fraser had called Danny, the site manager of a disused quarry ideal for making people disappear, he had heard the telltale long ringtone of a foreign network.
‘All right, boss?’ Dance music had been pumping in the background.
‘Where the fuck are you?’
‘Tenerife.’
‘You didn’t say you were going away.’
‘Last-minute deal. Since when did I have to ask permission to go on holiday?’
‘Since you became part of a Clean Up operation,’ Fraser had said, his teeth gritted. Where was the commitment?
‘Clean Up?’ There had been a moment of silence. ‘Shiiiit.’
‘Precisely.’ Thank God Fraser had had the foresight to build in back-up. ‘I’ll call Brian.’ The two men worked together at the quarry, presenting Fraser with one of the more straightforward job shares on the Clean Up plan.
‘Listen, boss—’
But Fraser had hung up. And it wasn’t until he’d dialled -Brian’s number and heard the same long ringtone that he’d realized what Danny had been about to tell him. Brian had gone to fucking Tenerife as well.
It had been Alan who had sorted the body in the end. He had a mate who worked in a funeral parlour who owed Alan a favour. Something about some dodgy content he’d needed expunging from a hard drive.
Fraser hadn’t wanted to know the details. ‘All I need to know is: will he talk?’
‘No, he’s good as gold. I’ll sort it, boss, I promise. Least I can do, given what’s happened.’
Fraser should never have trusted him. Now the Fletcher boys are banged up and singing like canaries, and Golding’s body is giving up evidence that should be rotting at the bottom of a flooded quarry.
Fraser replaces the bath panel.
Lauren’s breathing is deep and even, and he keeps the light off so as not to disturb her. As he brushes his teeth, he reads the neon sticky notes Lauren puts on the mirror in their shower room. Bridesmaid gifts, reads one. Pick up rings!!! says another.
Fraser feels the twinge of disquiet he always experiences when thinking about their upcoming wedding.
His feelings for Lauren haven’t changed over the years they’ve been together, but his work with New Dawn has become so important that it has filled much of the space previously occupied by her.
It must be a little like working in the church, he sometimes thinks: devotion to one’s faith ultimately trumps real-life relationships.
Soon after Lauren and Fraser had met, they had concluded that, where politics were concerned, they would have to agree to disagree.
Lauren hadn’t seemed fazed by the political gulf between them.
She had grown up with parents who regularly argued about the perceived evils of Tony Blair versus William Hague, but who had loved each other dearly and had never gone to bed on an argument.
‘Sorry about Dad,’ Lauren had said after Fraser had met her parents for the first time.
‘I thought he was great.’
Lauren had turned to him in horror. ‘He likes Nigel Farage!’
‘Exactly.’ Fraser had laughed, and Lauren had too, and they’d gone back to Lauren’s flat and shared a bottle of wine and uncomplicated sex.
Over the years, whenever conversation drifted to immigration, or food banks, or matters of tax, Lauren and Fraser have changed the subject.
Let’s agree to disagree, one of them would remind the other, and soon neither of them could have said exactly how far apart their political leanings had drifted.
Fraser taps his toothbrush against the side of the basin and turns out the bathroom light.
He and Lauren got engaged two years ago, before Fraser discovered New Dawn; and the wedding has since become an inevitability he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
And he doesn’t. Lauren is clever, funny and gorgeous.
In a perfect world her views would align more closely with his own, but as women go she’s what his mum would call a keeper.
Which is why she can never find out about the work Fraser does for New Dawn.
He slides into bed and spoons around her, slipping an arm over Lauren’s waist and resting it across her soft breasts. She tenses in her sleep, her breath hitching.
‘Shhh,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s okay.’ He pulls her into him.
He needs to be careful. Not only to safeguard the important work they have yet to do, but to protect Lauren herself. Because, however unpalatable a thought it is, Fraser understands the assignment. If Lauren ever finds out about his work for New Dawn, Fraser will have no choice but to silence her.