Читать книгу Perfect Prey: The twisty new crime thriller that will keep you up all night - Helen Fields - Страница 17

‘Tripp!’ Callanach yelled as he limped down the corridor towards the briefing room. He stopped. Tripp wasn’t there, of course. Borrowed to become one of DCI Edgar’s hacker hounds, Tripp was no use to him now. He found DC Salter and waved at her to come to his office once she’d finished her phone call. He bundled up his coat to act as a cushion and sat down very slowly indeed. His fractured coccyx was producing a stabbing pain that made concentration difficult.

‘What’s the news?’ Salter asked as she came through the door.

‘All bad. There must be some CCTV footage between the McDonald Road Library and Regent Gardens where Michael Swan’s belongings were found. Find something. I know it was probably dark, but I need you to compare it with the footage from The Meadows killing.’

‘But that was a totally different thing, sir. Surely you don’t …’ Salter stopped. Callanach met her stare with a direct look. ‘Oh shit. All right, then. I’ll get on it.’ She looked pained. Callanach felt the same way.

‘Not a word to anyone else yet, Salter. Get started. I’m calling a briefing for this afternoon but this cannot get out.’

As Salter left his office, DCI Edgar entered.

‘Sir,’ Salter greeted him, with a polite nod of her head.

‘Fetch me a cup of tea if you’re not busy, Constable. Strong. No sugar,’ the Detective Chief Inspector added.

Callanach gritted his teeth and stood up, feeling the fractured halves of his coccyx grate as he moved. He fought the desire to notify Edgar that DC Salter was, in fact, very busy indeed and that the addition of the word please would have made such a request more palatable.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ Callanach muttered, reaching in his pocket for another dose of painkillers.

‘Came to see you about DC Tripp. He’s not got the training my squad have, but all the same he’s a worker. Thank you for the temporary transfer.’

Callanach wondered what he was supposed to say, and more importantly, when he’d be able to sit back down.

‘How did your raid go, sir? I gather you had a firm lead on your hacker,’ Callanach said when it was clear Edgar was in no mood to disappear.

‘It was a useful exercise. Cutting off his exits, reducing his options. He knows now that we’ve discovered one of his bases. He’ll find it increasingly hard to get into his system without us realising he’s online and picking up a trace.’ Edgar picked a non-existent piece of fluff off his sleeve. ‘You know, I think you’re putting DI Turner in a somewhat difficult position, phoning her when she’s not at work. She needs to be able to switch off. I encourage my team to find friendships beyond work colleagues.’

Callanach sat down. He obviously wasn’t going to be invited to sit. Nor was he prepared to be given a lecture on how to choose his friendships whilst standing to attention.

‘I’m surprised DI Turner finds herself incapable of making that plain to me in person,’ Callanach said.

‘I’m surprised you want her to suffer the humiliation of having to do so,’ Edgar said, straightening up. ‘She and I go back a long way. We’re extremely close. Intimate friends, you might say. You’ll appreciate she’s been able to confide in me about her need to distance herself from certain … aspects … of her work life.’

Callanach wasn’t in the mood for DCI Edgar’s little chat and he certainly didn’t have time for any more prevarication.

‘Meaning me?’ Callanach asked.

‘Ava thought you might get aggressive about it. Perhaps that’s why she hasn’t mentioned this herself. I don’t know if it’s a French thing, Detective Inspector, or an Interpol thing, but women here like to have their personal distance respected.’

The gloves were off then. Callanach stood back up, determined not to let the pain caused by the move show in his face.

‘And I don’t know if that was a racist thing or a jealousy thing, Chief Inspector, but I have nothing other than respect for DI Turner and she knows it. So it seems to me that perhaps you’re following your own agenda here, more than acting on her behalf.’

‘Careful now,’ Edgar said, leaning across the desk and into Callanach’s face. ‘You wouldn’t want me feeling the need to speak with your superior officer about insubordinate behaviour.’

‘Go ahead. DCI Begbie knows me well enough, even if I haven’t been here that long. I’m sure he has no more desire to have Scotland Yard’s away team here than I do,’ Callanach replied.

‘I’m sure you’re right, but Begbie’s not here. He’ll be lucky to get declared fit this side of Christmas. I think you’ll find that Superintendent Overbeck and I see eye to eye on most things. Certainly, she wouldn’t want one of her DIs claiming sexual harassment against another of her DIs. Can you imagine what a public relations nightmare that would be?’ Callanach laughed out loud. DCI Edgar waited until Callanach had finished, then walked to the door. ‘Laugh all you want, but a man with your past should be more prudent about his future.’ Edgar waited for his point to hit home, his gaze drifting down to Callanach’s hands which had involuntarily rolled themselves into fists at his sides. Edgar rewarded himself with a grin before exiting.

Callanach stared at the wall ahead, breathing hard. Ava would never make such an allegation. She’d know how much that would hurt him, from her more than anyone else given how much he’d confided in her about the false rape allegation. But then he wouldn’t have expected her to have shared the details with her new boyfriend, either. He wondered how that conversation had come about. Not in the office, he was sure. That was a late-night intimate discussion, conducted in low tones with no one else around to interrupt. He picked up a stapler and lobbed it at the far wall.

A uniformed officer walked in with a large, overly bright greetings card in one hand and a pen in the other.

‘Did you want to sign the chief’s get well soon card, sir?’

‘Out!’ Callanach shouted, slamming himself back down into his chair. ‘Fuck,’ he yelled, standing straight back up, the pain a firework shooting through his backside. He grabbed the painkillers he’d been preparing to take, threw them into his mouth and chewed them dry. The bitterness was good.

Of all the people Ava could have told about his past, why DCI Edgar? Callanach had never asked her to keep quiet about it, and the bare bones of the story had already reached some ears at the station, but it could have been left to fade into history. Was it possible that she really felt he was pursuing her? They’d seemed to have become friends, spent time together, sometimes with other people, occasionally alone. If Ava felt intimidated by him, how come he’d never sensed that from her?

Salter appeared holding a cup of tea.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘DCI wanted a cuppa. Is he coming back, do you know?’

‘Not into my office, he’s not,’ Callanach said. ‘I’ll take the tea.’

Salter handed it over carefully, taking a few quiet paces over to the wall and picking up pieces of broken stapler from the floor. ‘Er, did you maybe want some biscuits with that?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said, slamming the cup down onto his desk, ‘but thank you,’ he managed. ‘Come on Salter, get someone else to carry on where you’ve left off with the CCTV. You’re coming back to the McDonald Road library with me. And phone Ailsa Lambert, see if she’s got some free time to meet us there. Tell her it’s urgent. I’m sick of waiting. Let’s see if we can’t figure out a bit more about our killer.’

‘All right, sir. Give me five minutes. I’ll drive,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t look to me as if you’ll be up to using the clutch.’

Callanach glared at his laptop screen. He was angry. Fed up with fighting a past he hadn’t asked for and that wouldn’t let go. Perhaps it was finally time to draw some lines under it all. Maybe that’s what it would take to move on. He had a couple of minutes before Salter would be ready. More than enough time to write the one email he’d thought he’d never have the heart to write.

‘Maman,’ he began, writing in French, speaking English in his head, forcing himself to move forwards and adopt the country of his birth as the place to build a future. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of emotion as he wrote. There had been too much of that. Too many months of grief and regret. His mother had slowly removed herself from his life as the months passed when he was awaiting trial in Lyon. Finally, with the trial date just days away, she had disappeared. His efforts to contact her had ended in changed mobile numbers and letters returned unopened. There had been no attempt by her to explain her reasons. Her absence alone was enough content for a novel. She had no faith in him. It had been too great a test even for a mother’s love. ‘Mum, It seems you’ve decided to have no more contact with me. I will leave you in peace. Luc.’ He clicked send, shut the laptop, and put on his jacket.