Читать книгу Games with the Dead: A PC Donal Lynch Thriller - James Nally, James Nally - Страница 12

Pyecombe Cemetery, East Sussex

Thursday, June 16, 1994; 14.30

‘Christ, check out the fourth horseman,’ quips Fintan, nodding towards the cemetery gate.

‘Croissant’ Crossley – so-called, to quote an under- ling, ‘because he’s a fat, posh, perma-tanned poof’ – has arrived, and looks set to smash through headstones rather than zigzag around them. He may even claw a few corpses out of the dirt with his bare hands and rent them asunder, just to underline his current feeling of profound irritation.

‘Well, if it isn’t Burke and O’Hare,’ he snaps. ‘More like Mulligan and O’Hare.’

I’m still swooning on the stench of Julie Draper’s rotting flesh and shaking the hairy little hand of every passing bluebottle. It’s all confirmation that my surrender of the ransom last night did not precipitate her murder.

‘A perfectly innocent explanation, Commander,’ Fintan pipes up. ‘We were out for a drive with those delightful ladies. Donal loves an old cemetery, especially on a dreaded sunny day like today. Next thing he’s calling us over to Julie Draper’s body.’

‘We don’t know it’s Julie Draper,’ says Crossley.

Fintan smiles: ‘I do know, Commander, and as soon as they confirm its Julie, the media blackout can no longer be enforced? Condition 11 of the code.’

I wince; his bitching isn’t helping any bridge-building.

‘I’ll get a court order,’ bawls Crossley. ‘This maniac is still on the loose.’

‘All the more reason to publicise it and warn the public,’ says Fintan.

‘All the more reason to starve him of the oxygen of publicity. This isn’t a game, Lynch.’

For a verbal street-brawler like Fintan, Christmas has come early. ‘Tell me, Commander, and just to warn you this is on-the-record for when they confirm its Julie, are you still convinced her kidnap is connected to Suzy Fairclough?’

Crossley eyes him warily: ‘Suzy Fairclough was randomly targeted by a man called Mr Kipper. Julie Draper was randomly targeted by a man called John West. Now I know you only eat potatoes in Ireland but even you will have heard of John West Kippers. Draw your own conclusion, as you reporters always seem to do anyway.’

Fintan shakes his head. ‘A crime of this magnitude, with this level of meticulous planning and forethought, and you’re telling me it’s another random kidnap and murder?’

Crossley sighs. ‘Julie Draper had no enemies. She lived a very quiet life with her mum and dad, devoted to her pet dogs and fish. No ex-boyfriends to speak of. Why would anyone target her?’

‘There’s always something,’ Fintan goads. ‘Maybe you missed it. Maybe you weren’t looking for it. Maybe you’ve been duped.’

I remember the fish from Julie Draper’s deranged production last night. Before I can stop myself: ‘She kept fish you say, Sir?’

Crossley turns to me slowly, wearing a look of flabbergasted contempt. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You say she kept fish, Sir. What kind?’

‘Are you taking the piss?’

I shake my head.

‘Goldfish.’

‘Their names?’

‘I don’t know. Christ! Mutt and Jeff I think she called them in her proof-of-life call. Why in God’s name do you ask?’

I don’t answer.

Crossley stiffens. ‘You know I can’t help feeling it’s fitting you found the body, Donal.’

‘Sir?’

‘As it was you who totally fucked up our chances of apprehending her abductor last night. And that’s gone into my report.’

‘Sir, less than an hour ago I was scared stiff that I may have caused Julie to be murdered. Now I know I haven’t, I’ll take anything that’s coming my way on the chin.’

Fintan barely lets me finish. ‘Did you also put in your report, Commander, that the kidnap must be the work of a former or current police officer?’

Crossley’s startled reaction shocks me to the core. My God, he believes Julie’s kidnap is an inside job, somehow. For Fintan, this is an open goal.

‘I’m reliably informed that you wrote a memo to the Commissioner in which you stated that the expertise of Julie’s captor has convinced you that it’s an inside job.’

‘Nonsense,’ snarls Crossley, but way too animated.

‘Is that why you’re so keen to throw Donal under the bus, Commander, to cover up something that will embarrass the force?’

Crossley’s rattled. ‘I’d tread very carefully if I were you, Lynch. The only inside job I’m seeing here is an officer on my case bringing his reporter brother to the scene for an unofficial briefing. I’ve a good mind to arrest you both for obstructing the course of justice.’

Fintan smiles smugly. ‘Oh, I know why you’re so pissed off, Commander. Julie’s body here dashes your hopes of making Assistant Commissioner. Losing her is a stain on your precious record.’

Crossley steps forward. ‘Consider yourself and your rag banned from any further press briefings, Lynch. Understood?’

‘We don’t need your press briefings, Crossley. I’ve got the Prince of Darkness, Alex Pavlovic on the case.’

Crossley turns ashen, out of rage or shock I can’t tell. All I know about Alex Pavlovic is he’s Fintan’s reporter-of-last-resort when dirt needs digging. Pavlovic, it seems, has dark and unspecified connections capable of delving deeper than any other Fleet Street reporter. The very mention of his name has sucked all life out of Crossley.

Fintan’s fiendish smile signals a killer punchline. ‘And, with respect, Commander, Alex Pavlovic would appear to command a lot more coppers than you do.’

Crossley explodes: ‘Write whatever the fuck you like, Lynch. Just know one thing. As of this second, you no longer have a rat inside the investigation. Donal, give a statement to DI Mann about everything that happened here, then fuck off back to the cold case squad. At least there you can’t bugger up any live investigations.’