He flicked the scope’s focus back to the car, wondering whether this woman was alone. The car was still.
She strode towards the house. Randle heard her tapping a code into a pad. He edged towards the front of the house to see, careful not to disturb the foliage that shaded him.
He heard a long beep and then a door closing. A dim light shone out through the side door. He ran his mind over the route he’d taken through the house.
He’d moved the painting in the study, tampered with the safe. The room was in view of the front drive and he hadn’t dared replace the painting.
Whoever she was, she would know someone had broken in within moments. She didn’t seem to have Anita with her.
He had to get out of here.
He slid along the hedge and past the woman’s car – a black BMW, nice. He bent to check inside; no one there.
Who was this woman? Was she an associate of Hamm’s? His new girlfriend?
He would go back to his car. If it took all night, he would wait and watch.
Damn. He couldn’t. He’d left Carly in charge, told both girls to go to sleep. He’d made an excuse about their mother, telling them she’d gone out to the shops. He’d seen the look in Carly’s eyes; she’d known he was lying.
He had to go home.
As Randle reached the bottom of the driveway he turned to see the light come on in the study. The woman stepped towards the chimney breast. She bent down and held up the painting, her gaze moving between that and the safe. She put it down and went to the window.
She couldn’t see him, all the way down here in the dark. But he had to go home. He could check the HOLMES database, find out who she was. If she was one of Hamm’s people, chances were she would have a record.
He took one last look back at the study – empty, light switched off – and ran for his car.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Zoe sat at the lights between the Bristol Road and Edgbaston Park Road, stifling a yawn. She’d slept badly, thoughts of her conversation with Carl running through her head. She’d had a dream in which she’d been kissing him and he’d morphed into her mum. The memory made her shudder.
She hit hands-free on her phone. It rang out: he wasn’t picking up.
“Carl, it’s me. I just wanted to talk. We’re supposed to be working together, we can do better than this. Give me a call, yeah?”
The traffic started up again and she drove to the office in silence, thoughts whirling. She had no idea what she would be confronted with when she arrived.
Mo and Rhodri were already in. For once, Connie was the last to arrive.
“You heard from Connie?” Mo said.
“She needs to pick up her bike. She got a flat.”
The door opened and Connie hurried in, out of breath. “Sorry!”
“It’s fine,” said Zoe. It was only 7.48am. “Bike OK?”
Connie nodded. “I brought it on the bus. Too much hassle to replace the tyre on the street.”
“I’d have given you a lift, if you’d—”
“Not with my bike. But thanks. I appreciate it.” Connie thudded into her chair and pushed hair out of her eyes. Rhodri looked at her with a grimace and she stuck her tongue out at him.
“Right,” said Zoe. “Mo and I been thinking about the gym and we reckon it’s best to go back today.”
“So soon?” Connie said. “I thought you said it was safest to wait.”
“I don’t want to give them time to clear the place out. Sheila’s on her way, and DC Solsby. Mo’s going to be your backup this time.”
“I am?” he asked.
“I want to go to the Crown Court. I’m sure Hamm will turn up, or he’ll send one of his minions.”
“And you want to see what happens when Randle is cross-examined by the defence barrister,” Mo added.
“There is that. Do we have anything else pointing to Hamm’s whereabouts?”
“He’s still got the house outside Solihull,” Rhodri said. “It was left empty after we raided the brothel.”
“Check that out, just in case.”
“He won’t be there,” Mo said. “He’s got a dozen addresses.”
“In that case, we check them too.”
“The ones we know about,” said Rhodri.
“It’s a start,” Zoe replied. “Talk to Uniform. See if a local patrol car can swing past each of them. Have a sniff around, let us know if there’s signs of use.”
“No problem.” Rhodri scribbled in his pad.
“I want to talk to his goons, as well,” she said. “Simon Adams and Adam Fulmer are both in Winson Green. Let’s give them a visit.”
“Who d’you want to do that?” Mo asked. “I’ll be at the gym, with Connie. Rhod’s—”
“The gym doesn’t open until two pm.”
“Fair enough. I’ll call the prison.”
“Don’t call ahead. We turn up, don’t give them the chance to tell anyone we’re coming.”
“Who would they tell?”
“Hamm’ll have plenty of contacts inside that place. We’ll get nothing if they’re prepared.”
“Right. Connie, you can come with me.”
“Be right with you, Sarge.”
“Good,” said Zoe. “I’m going to talk to Dawson about the gym. I’d rather go there officially, save time with all this undercover stuff.”
“What’s the hurry?” asked Mo.
“We don’t know how long the trial will go on. He’ll disappear once that’s out of the way.”
The door to the team room opened: Sheila.
“Morning,” said Zoe. “Any news?”
“This isn’t about the gym.”
“OK.”
Sheila had DC Solsby with her. He gave Connie a wink as the two of them approached Zoe.
Sheila took a photo out of a folder and handed it to Zoe. “Another body.”
Zoe turned the photo in her hands. It was of a man, greying skin flaked off by water damage. She didn’t recognise him, but that wasn’t surprising given the fact that half of his facial skin was gone and his eye sockets were empty. “Who?”
“We can’t be sure of his identity, but we do recognise his tattoo.” Sheila handed over another photo. This one showed a close up of the back of a man’s hand. The skin had fallen off in places but parts of a tattoo remained. It looked a lot like the bull symbol from the previous two murders.
Zoe peered at the photos. “Where did you find him?”
“Local CID in Edgbaston got a call. He was dragged out of Edgbaston Reservoir overnight. I think I recognise him, Zoe.”
“Go on.”
“Name’s Jukes. Two of my team were watching him until three weeks ago. We’ll have to check forensics, I could be wrong with the state he’s in. But I’m pretty sure he’s the ringleader of this gang.” She pointed to the tattoo.
“Three weeks ago, you say?”
“We lost him. Assumed he’d rumbled us.”
“But he could have been dead.”
“He could,” Sheila agreed.
“So if he’s dead, who killed Starling and Petersen?”
“My question exactly.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Anita could barely move her leg, it was so stiff. They’d dropped her with her knee bent beneath her and she was worried she’d injured it.
Tape still covered her mouth and a blindfold obscured her sight. They’d replaced the tape after dragging her up the stairs and dumping her in this room. She’d tried to cry out when they’d ripped off the original one, but one of the men had pressed down on her shoulders, pushing her into the floor. She’d stopped when she felt like he might push the breath out of her.
It was hours she’d been alone. It had been just gone ten when she’d woken up in the living room. And now she could see daylight through the blindfold. What time was dawn in April? Five am, five thirty? Anita never paid attention to that sort of thing. If it was five thirty, she’d been gone for over seven hours.
Sh
e shuffled into the wall beside her, lifting her fingers to brush them against the surface. It was smooth. So she was in an inhabited building, not an outhouse or a shed. She knew that already from the smell: fresh paint. Beneath her was a wooden floor. She could be in a house.
She scooted along the wall, keeping her fingers against it. She didn’t dare venture out into the middle of the room, with her blindfold on. There could be someone out there, watching her. She shuddered at the thought.
She came to a corner. She explored the wall with her fingers, contemplating standing up. But she knew she would collapse if she tried. She couldn’t trust her knee to hold her.
Rounding the corner, she continued. After two feet or so she came to a window. She hauled herself up so she was kneeling, wincing at the pain. She turned away from the window so she could reach behind her and run her fingertips across the windowsill.
It was bare. Cold, and bare. So this house, if it was a house, was uninhabited. There were no objects on the windowsill, no sign of curtains.
Anita pressed her fingers against the glass: cold. How much effort would it take to break the glass? Was it even possible?
Anita thought of David, all his police training. He would know things like this. He would know what to do if he was captured. But here she was, silent and helpless.
David, where are you? He’d stayed out after giving his evidence. He’d been revealed as knowing the New Street bomber. Had they taken him, too?
And where were the girls?
Tears slid down her cheeks. She had to know if the girls were safe. She didn’t care what these bastards did to her, so long as they didn’t hurt her girls.
She faced into the room and pulled in her lips, trying to distance them from the gag.
“Hello?” she mumbled. “Is there someone here?”
No answer. Anita thumped her fist against the windowsill. She wanted to scream and shout and barge her way out of here. But at the same time, she wanted to collapse into a wrecked heap of bones and blubber on the floor. Did she have the strength to fight her way out of here? Would that even be an option?
She sank to the floor. Her legs shook. She had to conserve her strength. Someone would come eventually. To feed her, or to kill her. Either way, they would come.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Ian stared up at the judge’s bench, wondering how long it would be before his old boss strolled in. The man had a way of carrying himself, an insouciance that was always there no matter how extreme the circumstances. He’d seen him in a room full of organised criminals, both of them knowing how likely it was they were armed, but Randle had behaved as if he was at a dinner party or a case meeting, utterly unruffled.
Yesterday afternoon, Ian had seen a chink in that platinum-plated armour. When the CPS barrister had asked if Randle had told Ian to plant the explosives, there’d been the barest of tics. Ian had only noticed because he was looking for it. But then when the photo had come out…
Randle had paled. The perma-tanned, immaculately moisturised skin had changed colour. The superintendent had looked, briefly, as if he might lose his temper. Then he’d composed himself, taking two visible breaths, and turned to the judge as the adjournment was announced.
Ian could only imagine what the press response would have been like outside those doors. Head of Force CID, photographed with the woman who’d detonated the New Street bomb.
Jane, his solicitor, was looking nervy. She kept looking up at the clock above the judge’s high desk and frowning at his barrister. Proceedings were due to start in fifteen minutes. And they would be picking up where they’d left off yesterday.
Ian wasn’t sure if he was relishing it, or not. Randle was his boss, in more senses than one. He’d protected Ian when PSD had brought him in after his kids went missing. He’d smoothed the waters with Hamm, meaning Ian’s roof had been finished and he wasn’t constantly in fear of Alison and the kids disappearing.
But Ian had had no idea about the woman. If Randle had known her, had he been told about the attack?
Ian hadn’t known they were planning an attack on the station. He hadn’t known about the airport until Randle called him and told him to get down there asap.
Randle, Ian was beginning to believe, deserved everything that was coming to him. The only problem was that if Randle went down, he would take Ian with him.
Alison was in the gallery, sitting halfway back as she had every day so far. She avoided his eye, but he was grateful she’d come. He wondered what she’d told her boss at the school. Although everyone in the city knew about this trial. Not much point in lying.
Jane approached him, her expression tight.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“We’ve just had notice from the clerk. He’s not coming.”
“Randle?”
“Called to a major investigation, apparently.”
“That’s convenient.” Trust David Randle to slip out of this. But Ian knew the court had the power to override his police duties.
He glanced up at the judge, who was talking to one of the clerks. He didn’t look pleased.
“He’ll be here,” Jane said. “They’ll compel him.”
Ian nodded. “So what happens in the meantime?”
“Forensic evidence,” she said. “The jury isn’t going to get the treat it was expecting this morning, after all.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
“OK,” said Zoe. “This changes things with the gym. Mo and Connie, stick with the plan to interview Adams and Fulmer. I’ll talk to Dawson. But first I’m going to the reservoir.”
“What about the trial, boss?” Rhodri asked.
She sighed. Was there really a chance Hamm would be there?
“I know someone else who’ll be there. I’ll call him.”
Mo gave her a puzzled look which she chose to ignore.
“Go on, then,” she urged. “Get moving.”
Mo grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and gestured for Connie to follow him. Rhodri buried his head in his computer.
“We’ll go in separate cars,” Zoe told Sheila. “I’ll see you there.”
Sheila nodded and left the room.
Zoe gave Rhodri a wary smile then looked into her office. She needed to make a call, and soon.
She shook herself out. She’d do it from the car.
“See you later, Rhod. Let me know if anything turns up.”
“Right, boss.”
The reservoir wasn’t far from Harborne police station: a ten minute drive. Zoe dialled as soon as she was out of the gates.
“Zoe.”
“Morning, Carl.”
He yawned. “Everything OK?”
“I’ve got a crime scene to go to. Will you be at the trial today?”
“Already there. Why?”
“I need someone to keep an eye out for Hamm.”
“He’s not going to be so stupid as to—”
“Maybe not Hamm himself. But his people. He’ll want to know what’s been said, if he’s being implicated.”
“Of course he’ll be implicated.”
“Have you heard his name being mentioned?”
“Zoe, I haven’t been into the court room yet. Today’s my first day.”
“Because of what Randle did yesterday.”
He ignored that. “Why are you back on Hamm, anyway?”
“Magpie is still an open investigation. I’ve got reason to believe he’s in the city.”
“On what grounds?”
The traffic ground to a halt as she approached the lights with the Hagley Road. Zoe gritted her teeth, her foot hovering over the accelerator.
“On what basis, Zoe?”
“He’s going to want to know what’s going on with Ian’s trial. And there’s no sign of him having left the country. I think he’s local. And now the ringleader of a rival gang has turned up dead.”
The traffic started up again. Zoe shuffled forward, almost hitting the car in front. Calm down.
; “You’re just using this as an excuse to watch Randle,” Carl said.
“I’m SIO on Magpie and Hamm is a person of interest.”
“So is Randle, now that photo’s come out.”
“Did he finish giving his evidence?” she asked.
“The judge ordered an adjournment after he’d been questioned by the CPS. Today is cross examination by Ian’s brief.”
“Which should be interesting.”
“Zoe. Don’t get involved. If we need information from you, we’ll get it formally. My boss is going to be in touch.”
Don’t I know it. Zoe had nothing to tell PSD that she hadn’t already discussed with Carl. As long as they weren’t questioning her about her own conduct…
She prodded the accelerator as the lights turned green.
“I understand,” she said. “But please. Just keep an eye out for me.”
“He won’t be there.”
“His people will be.”
“How am I supposed to spot them?”
“You’re a PSD officer. I imagine you’ve got a finely tuned nose for people who are out of place.”
“I’ll be busy doing my job, Zoe. But I’ll tell you if I see anything that alerts my suspicion.”
“Thanks.”
“See you later.” He hung up.
She was almost at the reservoir. She swung onto a pockmarked patch of tarmac masquerading as a car park, every nerve firing. Talking to Carl was becoming more and more stressful lately.
She forced herself to take three deep breaths then plastered on a neutral expression and left the car. A forensics tent had been erected near the water and white-suited techs walked back and forth between that and a van.
Zoe approached the tent. Sheila was inside, with Adi. He stood up and smiled at her.
“I was hoping we’d see you here.”
“Hi, Adi. What we got?”
“White male, early thirties. Tattoos across his shoulders and on his forearms. Including that.” Adi pointed at the partial tattoo on the back of the man’s hand. It was faded from water damage and parts of it were missing where his skin had flaked away. But was unmistakably the bull in a ring.
Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6) Page 21