Читать книгу Val McDermid 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Mermaids Singing, The Wire in the Blood, The Last Temptation - Val McDermid, Val McDermid - Страница 34

But who meantime was the victim, to whose abode he was hurrying? For surely he could never be so indiscreet as to be sailing about on a roving cruise in search of some chance person to murder? Oh, no: he had suited himself with a victim some time before, viz., an old and very intimate friend.

Brandon stared bleakly at the sheet of paper in the typewriter. Tom Cross might have been a long way from the ACC’s idea of the perfect copper, but he’d always appeared to be a good thief-taker. Antics like tonight’s served only to raise a question mark over his whole career. Just how many other people had Cross fitted up over the years without anyone being any the wiser? If Brandon hadn’t himself bent the rules and taken Tony on their illicit search, no one would have doubted the ‘evidence’ Tom Cross had turned up. No one except Stevie McConnell would have known that two of Cross’s three ‘finds’ had arrived with him. The mere thought of the consequences of that was enough to send a prickle of cold sweat down Brandon’s back.

Cross had left Brandon with no option but to suspend him. The disciplinary hearing that would inevitably follow would be painful for all concerned, but that was the least of Brandon’s worries. He was far more troubled about the effect on the murder squad’s morale. The only way to combat it was to take direct responsibility for the enquiry himself. Now, all he had to do was convince the Chief that he was right. With a sigh, Brandon pulled the last sheet of paper out of the machine and inserted another page.

His memo to the Chief Constable was brief and to the point. That only left one task before he could crawl home to bed. Sighing, Brandon glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes to midnight. He pushed the typewriter away from him and started writing on a sheet of his personal memo paper. ‘To Detective Inspector Kevin Matthews. From John Brandon, ACC (Crime). Re: Steven McConnell. Following the suspension of Superintendent Cross, I will assume direct command of the murder squad. There are no grounds for charging McConnell with anything other than assault. McConnell should be released on bail pending a court date for the assault charge, and on separate bail to return to Scargill Street in a week so that we can question him further if more evidence arises. In view of his refusal to give us any information about his contacts, or any names of people he might have introduced to Gareth Finnegan and Adam Scott, we should pursue any contacts he does make. A warrant for a tap on his phone should also be obtained, on the basis of his connection to Scott and Finnegan, and the contact we now know he had with Damien Connolly in a professional capacity. Our enquiries into the four related murders should continue on a broad front, though I suggest that, following his release on bail, we maintain close surveillance of McConnell. There will be a case conference of senior officers tomorrow at noon.’ He signed the memo and sealed it in an envelope. How to make friends and influence people, he thought as he walked downstairs to the desk sergeant. Brandon prayed that Tony Hill was right about Stevie McConnell. If Tom Cross had been right to follow his instinct, it would be more than the morale of the CID that would be at risk.

Carol slumped over the dining table, chin resting on her folded forearms, one hand tickling Nelson’s belly. ‘What do you think, boy? Is he just another lying bastard, or what?’

‘Prrrt,’ the cat said on a rising intonation, his eyes closed to slits.

‘I thought you’d say that. I agree, I know how to pick them,’ Carol sighed. ‘You’re right, I should have kept my distance. That’s what happens when you make the running. You get the knockbacks. They don’t usually come from that far out of left field, though. At least now I know why he kept backing off. Better off without him, cat. Life’s tough enough without playing second fiddle.’

‘Mrrr,’ Nelson agreed.

‘He must think I’m brain dead, expecting me to believe that a total stranger leaves messages like that on his answering machine.’

‘Rowrr,’ Nelson complained, rolling over on to his back, batting her fingers with his paws.

‘All right, so you think it’s ridiculous too. But the man’s a psychologist. If he was going to make something up to explain the fact that he’d lied to me, he’d make it a damn sight more plausible than funny phone calls. All he had to say was that it was somebody he’d finished with who wouldn’t take the message.’ Carol rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, yawned and stood up in one languid movement.

The door to the boxroom Michael used as a study opened and he stood framed in the doorway. ‘I thought I heard voices. You could talk to me, you know. At least I answer you.’

Carol gave a tired smile. ‘So does Nelson. It’s not his fault we don’t speak cat. I didn’t want to disturb you; I could see you were working.’

Michael walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a small Scotch. ‘I was only play-testing, trying to spot the glitches in what we’ve done so far. No big deal. How’s your day been?’

‘Don’t ask. They’ve moved us over to Scargill Street. It’s a hellhole. Imagine going back to doing your calculations on an abacus, and you get the picture of my current working environment. The atmosphere’s shit, and Tony Hill’s spoken for. Apart from that, everything’s magic.’ Carol followed Michael’s example and poured herself a drink.

‘Want to talk about it?’ he asked, perching on the arm of one of the sofas.

‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Carol swallowed her drink in one, shuddered at the kick of the spirit and said, ‘I’ve brought you a set of pictures, by the way. How soon can you take a look at them?’

‘I’ve scrounged some computer time with the software tomorrow evening. That do you?’

Carol put her arms round Michael and gave him a hug. ‘Thank you, bro,’ she said.

‘My pleasure,’ he said, returning the embrace. ‘You know how I love a challenge.’

‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long one.’

No sooner had Carol turned out the light than she felt the familiar thud of Nelson landing on the foot of the bed. It was reassuring to feel his warmth against her legs, though it was no substitute for the body she’d hoped for earlier in the evening. Of course, as soon as her head hit the pillow, her sleepiness vanished. The exhaustion was still there, but her mind was racing. Please God, by tomorrow afternoon, the awkwardness between her and Tony would have evaporated. The sting of humiliation would still be there for her, but she was a grown-up and a professional. Now she knew he was off limits, she wouldn’t place him in a difficult position again, and now he knew she knew, maybe he’d be able to relax. Either way, the profile should provide more than enough neutral ground between them. She could hardly wait to see what he’d come up with.

On the other side of the sleeping city, Tony too lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, tracing imaginary road maps in the cracks round the plaster rose. He knew there was no point in switching out his bedside lamp. Sleep would elude him, and in the darkness, he’d start to feel the slow choke of claustrophobia closing in on him. Counting sheep had never appealed; the slow watches of the night were when Tony Hill became his own therapist. ‘Why did you have to ring tonight?’ he murmured. ‘I like Carol Jordan. I know I don’t want her in my life, but I didn’t want to hurt her either. Hearing your blandishments on the answering machine must have felt like a smack in the face, after me saying there wasn’t anybody in my life.

‘An outsider would say we hardly know each other, everything that happened tonight was an overreaction. But outsiders don’t understand the bonding, the intimacy that springs out of nowhere when you’re working closely together on a manhunt, when the clock’s ticking the next victim’s life away.’

He sighed. At least he hadn’t blurted out the one thing that might have convinced Carol he wasn’t lying, the truth he’d so carefully kept locked inside himself. What was it he told his patients? ‘Let it out. It doesn’t matter what it is, speaking it is the first step in taking away the pain.’

‘What a load of crap that is,’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s just another one of the tricks in my magic bag, designed to legitimize my prurient curiosity, tailored to unleash the twisted minds of the fuck-ups who are driven to act out their fantasies in a way society can’t accommodate. If I’d told Carol the truth, said the i-word, it wouldn’t have taken my pain away. It would only have made me feel even more of a worthless piece of shit. It’s all very well for old men to be impotent. Men my age who can’t get it up are a joke.’

The phone rang, startling him. He rolled over, scrambling for the receiver. ‘Hello?’ he said, his voice tentative.

‘Anthony, at last. Oh, how I’ve missed you!’

His surge of anger at the languid, husky voice died as soon as it flared. What was the point in raging at her? She wasn’t the problem. He was. ‘I got your message,’ he said, resigning himself. She hadn’t caused the awkwardness with Carol; there would have been no grounds for awkwardness at all if he hadn’t been such a pathetic excuse for a man. No point in even thinking about relationships with nice, normal women. He would have blown it with Carol, just as he’d always blown it with women as soon as they got close. The best he could hope for was telephone sex. At least it generated a kind of equality; it allowed men to fake not just orgasm but erection too.

Angelica chuckled. ‘I thought I’d leave you something nice to come home to. I hope you’re not too tired for some recreation.’

‘I’m never too tired for your kind of recreation,’ Tony said, swallowing the self-disgust that threatened to overwhelm him. Think of it as therapy, he told himself. Tony lay back and let the voice flow over him, his hand straying down his chest towards his groin.

The cleaners were gossiping by the lift as Penny Burgess emerged on the third floor of the Bradfield Evening Sentinel Times office. She walked down the newsroom, snapping on lights as she passed, humming tunelessly under her breath. She tossed her bag on the desk by her computer terminal and logged on. She executed the commands that took her into the library database, and pressed the key for ‘search’. Five options were offered: 1. Subject; 2. Name; 3. By-line; 4. Date; and 5. Pictures. Penny hit 2. At the ‘surname’ prompt, she typed ‘Hill’. At the ‘forename’ prompt, she keyed in ‘Tony’, and at the ‘title’ prompt, she entered, ‘Dr’. Then she sat back and waited while the computer sorted through the gigabytes of information stored in its huge memory. Penny flipped open her cigarette packet and pulled out her first cigarette of the day. She was only a couple of drags into it when the screen flashed ‘Found (6)’.

Penny retrieved the six items and called them up on her screen. They appeared in reverse order of date. The first was a two-month-old cutting from the Sentinel Times. It had been written by one of the news reporters. Although she’d read it at the time, she’d completely forgotten about it. As she read it, Penny whistled softly.