Chapter Six

After making up, Jack and I got into a routine which was plenty more intense than before. We were texting one another all day, before going out in the evenings. If we didn’t go out together in the evening for whatever reason, he would call me right before bed and chat to me as I settled in for a long sleep.

It was nice. All the dating and talking on the phone all the time. All of this emotional intimacy was wonderful. When I was awake he was there. When I was asleep, he would visit me in my dreams. Often I wouldn’t remember them, but the feeling of having him there was reassuring.

Mostly reassuring.

Sometimes though, in those dreams, Jack was a little weird. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he would be dark, or angry, or just plain mean. He went from being my happy-go-lucky, loving boyfriend, to being dark and frightening in my dreams really quickly. One moment, he was cuddling me telling me that he loved me then the next he had a vice-like grip around my ribs and refused to let me go, squeezing the air from my lungs with a sadistic smile on his face.

I dismissed the nightmares, deciding they were because I had thought he had broken into my home – something it later turned out hadn’t happened – and I was still a little scared. My mind was catching up with what had happened and I was the sad victim of its nightmares while it did and while I worked through everything that had happened or at least that was what I was telling myself anyway.

Meanwhile, between all of the romance with Jack, I got a call from my old colleague Jerome asking if I would like to meet, ‘for a coffee’. Although a strange request – pubs are so much better! – I did agree to meet him and went to a local café one sunny Sunday afternoon.

Walking into the café, I saw him sitting at the back and joined him. We sat down for a coffee together, ordering from a passing waitress.

The conversation was stunted at the beginning until I cut to the chase.

“Why am I here?” I asked, feeling like this was more than just a casual catch-up. If it were, there’s no way Jerome would be this wound-up.

Jerome’s eyes searched the café, as if he was checking to see no-one nearby was listening in before turning to me. He asked me, “Can I still trust you?”

I bristled at his words, “What do you mean, ‘can you still trust me’? Have I done something to make you believe you can’t trust me?”

Jerome gave a little huff and rolled his eyes at my comment. “Yes. You have.”

“And what’s that?” I challenged, feeling indignant now.

“Don’t do that.” He told me, “I have my reasons.”

“Such as?” I asked, wanting it to come out a demand, but having my words sound as offended as I felt. How could he think he couldn’t trust me? After all my years on the force, our lives resting in one another’s hands so many times?

In answer Jerome just shook his head. Without looking at me he answered, “This guy you’re dating, he’s no good.”

“Why?” I wanted to know.

Just as my voice was getting weaker and weaker and I felt that I needed answers to my pleading questions, the waitress reappeared with our coffees, and asked us to pay right away. We both fished for change for the coffees and managed to produce enough to pay the bill and have the waitress wonder off. This had inevitably given us both time to calm down. Or at least had given me a chance to centre myself.

I cleared my throat before asking him, “What’s all of this about?”

Jerome looked a little put-upon as he answered me, “It’s nothing. It’s just, well, this guy you’re seeing…”

“What about him?” I intoned.

Jerome shook his head, as if to dislodge something stuck inside there. “It’s nothing.” He said before meeting my eye and seeing that I would need more than that, “It’s just, he’s not who he says he is, and I’m not sure you don’t know that.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.

“You don’t know who he really is?” Jerome asked, “You don’t have a clue? It was a high-profile case and now you’re dating him.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked again, feeling I was repeating myself a little much and frustrated by that fact.

Jerome’s eyes searched the café again. I wondered what he was looking for, but wouldn’t ask the question. There was plenty more pressing matters for me to worry about right now.

“You don’t know he has another name?” Jerome asked.

This comment just annoyed me, of course I didn’t know he had another name. I didn’t know what case Jerome was hinting at, either. If he’d found something, he needed to tell me. I wasn’t here to play games and was quickly losing patience with the whole thing.

I felt my jaw set, and when my eyes met Jerome, I saw a hard look mirrored there. He wasn’t going to answer my question. I sighed, letting the air come out all in a huff. “I don’t know anything, Jerome. Do you want to tell me what’s up now?”

I knew Jerome. I knew he couldn’t keep shit to himself for much longer, not from someone he trusted. Despite whatever he told me, he still trusted me. I knew it in my heart. I had given him no reason when we were both on the force to not trust me, and I was giving him none now.

Of course, he caved. “I have some information on your boyfriend.” He told me.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I corrected Jerome, “But go on.”

“He’s been involved in some criminal activity, but under a different name.” Jerome told me. I was glad he had given it to me straight, because there’s no other way my brain could take this information any other way right now.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my head reeling.

“I mean what I say.” He told me, “Jack isn’t really Jack. His name is John. He gave you a fake name.”

“But why?” I asked, “Why would he do that?” The betrayal felt real, and unbelievable. I couldn’t understand why he would do that to me. Why would he lie?

The answer came swiftly, obviously Jerome had been thinking about this a lot. “He knew you were a cop.” He told me simply.

“How could he know? I’ve never told him.” I said, searching my own brain for a time when I might have said something, when I might have let something slip. That I didn’t have a great exit to the force meant I didn’t often talk about it to anyone. It was embarrassing and I’d rather not talk about the time I served, over admitting to how I failed. That failure still hurt, and hurt enough that I would rather do anything than think about it.

The silence between Jerome and I stretched for some time as I cast around my brain, searching for something, a little glimpse of a time I might have said something. But there was nothing there. I couldn’t think of a damn thing. Jerome just sat there, sipping his coffee while I searched my mind for something and came up blank.

“You didn’t say anything?” Jerome asked.

“No, never. I can’t think of a single comment I’ve made the whole time I have known him.” I told Jerome.

“Do you want longer to think about it?” He asked.

As a result of that question I kept searching my brain, trying to remember anything, but nothing came up. I simply shook my head at Jerome. I was sure I hadn’t said anything. I might only be an ex-cop, but I still always watched my mouth (at least more than a civilian would). We spent countless hours texting, calling, on dates, all of it. But I still had nothing. I still couldn’t tell him of a single time I talked about my old work. I rarely even talked about my new work.

“No.” I finally said, my voice sure. “No, I don’t want more time to think about it. I’ve never mentioned my work to him.”

“Perhaps there was some other way he could know?” Jerome asked.

I let out a harsh laugh at his comment, “Jerome, it’s obvious what we are, even when we’re off duty. We don’t behave like civilians behave.” I thought for a moment before telling him, “Besides, you were with me when we first met, and you’re the coppiest cop I know.”

“coppiest cop?” He asked before shaking his head all stern looks, not even buying into the joke the littlest bit. “No I’m not.”

Heaving a giant, over-dramatic sigh I told him, “Sure you are. Even children know you’re a cop when you’re down the beach.”

Jerome chuckled at this. No doubt remembering last summer when he was at the beach with his wife wearing nothing but board shorts and a little girl approached him, addressing him as officer, and asked him for help finding her parents. They weren’t far away, and were already looking for the girl, but that she knew he was a cop even without a uniform made him laugh. He had shared this story with everyone at the station multiple times.

“Sure.” He said, “If a kid can see it, so can your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I protested. I hated being told what my relationship was even as I was telling everyone it was one thing and they were deciding it was another.

“Sure, whatever.” Jerome said, “But, he is a criminal. You cannot dispute that after he has been convicted.”

I crossed my arms at his comments, it wasn’t like a cop – even an ex-cop – to believe someone’s words without evidence to back them up. “I haven’t seen any proof of that.” I told him, crossing my arms.

Jerome cleared his throat as he reached beside him, into a black computer bag he had bought in with him which sat at his feet. He did another search of the café, but there were even fewer people here than before, and none were sitting near our table.

Moving our empty coffee mugs to one side, Jerome placed a manila folder between us. He just put it there and said nothing. I waited for a moment for him to open it, but then lost patience and reached and opened it myself. I was going to look through it weather he gave me permission to or not, if it was about Jack.

I opened the folder and the first thing I saw was a police report – a witness statement – then there was a bunch of CCTV photos, and another report, then another one. The folder was full of statements, stills from CCTV and various titbits that most crime folders have inside. The folder didn’t have everything that police would collect for every crime, but it had bits and pieces from various crimes.

“What is all of this?” I asked redundantly.

“It’s John’s criminal past. He was in the juvenile system before the adult – we see these guys all the time.” He told me. I knew we did, or at least I had. But I wasn’t expecting to be dating one of them and not know. How had I not spotted the signs?

Most of his crimes, Jerome told me, were property crimes. There were a number of violent crimes – assaults – which he committed later, but mostly it appeared to be about money. When I reflected on what Jack (I wasn’t ready to concede that he had lied to me about his age) had told me, I remembered how poor he’d said he was when he grew up, which made sense why he would be so money hungry. But then I wondered too, if perhaps he had been into drugs.

As if to answer my unasked question, Jerome told me, “He was involved with bikey gangs.”

I nodded as I sifted through the photocopied papers. “Can I keep these? I need to read everything.”

Jerome nodded, a little reluctant.

“I won’t let him see.” I told Jerome.

“No, that’s not it.” Jerome told me.

“What is it then?” I asked.

“I’m not worried about what he sees. I’m just unsure how I’m going to ask you to keep an eye on him for us.” He told me.

This wasn’t normal police procedure, I knew. “Even if I did, you couldn’t use anything I found in court, Jerome.”

Jerome shook his head at that, “Not quite.”

“What?” I asked, feeling impatient.

“You can report, just like any civilian.” He told me, “When the time is right, you can just report what you know to us, no worries.”

I sighed and cast my eyes down at the file, which I had now closed to fend off preying eyes. “What do you mean, ‘when the time is right’?”

There was silence for a moment when I looked up at Jerome. It took me a long moment to understand, and when I didn’t he told me, “This guy is hard to catch. We know he’s up to something. But we can’t pin anything on him.”

“I thought you didn’t know who he was down the pub?” I asked.

Jerome shook his head. “I didn’t know then. I know now.”

“What do you know?” I asked.

“Just watch and listen.” Jerome tole me as he stood up. “I can’t tell you any more than that. And of course-“

He motioned to the folder in my hands, but I knew what he was going to say. I stood up as I told him, “Yeah, I know. You didn’t give it to me if anyone asks I don’t have it.” My heart started to sink in my chest.

“That’s right!” He confirmed with a little smile, “No-one said anything to you, and you don’t have the folder. If you are found with it, I’ll have to deny giving it to you. If you can’t keep it safe at home, burn the contents after you’ve read it.”

“Easier that way.” I said as I picked up the folder that didn’t exist and followed Jerome out into the summer sun.