by Eva Dolan
They started to walk away and Saunders followed them.
‘I’ve still got mates at Long Fleet,’ he said. ‘Word is one of the girls accused Ainsworth of attacking her. Attempted rape, I heard. Nasty attack.’
‘Who are they?’ Zigic asked, rounding on him. ‘We need names.’
‘They won’t talk to you,’ Saunders said, taking a quick backwards step. ‘They can’t. The contracts we had to sign going in, they’re serious stuff. NDAs, the lot. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this now. They could sue me.’
‘Getting sued is the least of your worries right now,’ Zigic told him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘I don’t like this,’ Zigic said finally.
They hadn’t spoken as they left the superstore, except to agree that they both needed a drink. Ferreira suspected he only suggested it in the first place because he wanted to have this conversation away from the office, felt it was something they needed to decide upon between themselves before they returned.
He pulled into the car park of a pub on the Oundle Road, quiet as five o’clock approached, too early for the post-work crowd, too late for anyone else. Only a few older couples taking advantage of the two-courses-for-a-tenner meal deal, sitting facing each other but saying very little, as she’d gone to the bar and ordered their drinks.
Now, outside in the beer garden, settled in the dappled shade of a big old maple tree, alone with the road noise and the birdsong, they could get down to business.
‘He’s lying, right?’ she said, as she rolled a cigarette. ‘He’s got good reason to want us to think Ainsworth was a piece of shit. Just the same as the Paggetts.’
‘And their accusation likely came from seeing his comments online.’
‘Until they can provide us with another source for it, yeah, I think we have to assume so.’ She lit up. ‘I’ve been all through their group’s posts and there’s no hint of an insinuation that Ainsworth was a problem, and I think someone would have mentioned it if they’d heard anything.’
‘Unless it was said and deleted by the admins,’ Zigic suggested.
‘Possible,’ she admitted, thinking of Ruby Garrick’s commitment to Ainsworth. She wouldn’t have let something like that stand. ‘But the news broke two days ago now. We’d be seeing more chatter online if it had been proper gossip doing the rounds.’
‘So what, do we ignore it?’
‘Can we?’
A pained look crossed his face. ‘If we had a victim actually come forward, that would be one thing, but all we’ve got is an unsubstantiated accusation from a disgruntled ex-employee who had a massive problem with Ainsworth.’
‘I could see if there’s any mention of this elsewhere online,’ she said, already knowing she was going to do it when she got home.
‘But even if you find it, how do we know it isn’t just more of the same originating with Saunders?’ He shifted his weight, sending the rickety picnic table wobbling. ‘Or someone else like him? He isn’t the only person who lost their job because of Ainsworth.’
Ferreira took a deep drag on her rollie. ‘I’d have expected a few more of them to come out of the woodwork by now, wouldn’t you, especially after the TV coverage?’
‘Unless they’ve all realised they’re going to be suspects and they’re smart enough to keep their heads down,’ he said. ‘Long Fleet have got them all under pain-of-death NDAs. They know they’re probably not going to get named. The only way we find them is if they stick their heads above the parapet.’
Ferreira sighed. ‘The thing is, say it’s true – and I’m still not convinced –’
‘Me neither,’ he said.
‘Say it is, where’s this woman now? Chances are she’s either still locked up in Long Fleet because if Ainsworth was sacked over it, then it was probably a recent thing and the likelihood is she won’t have been processed yet.’
‘Or she’s been deported,’ Zigic said, finishing her thought.
‘Exactly. She’s not a viable suspect.’
‘Whereas Saunders and his compatriots are.’
She heard the doubt in his voice.
‘They are. I know you think two years is a long time to wait to go after someone but we can’t ignore the motive there.’ She picked a small bug out of her rum and Coke. ‘We have a whole bunch of people out there with good reason to want to damage Ainsworth, and we have literally no idea who they are. Doesn’t that bother you?’
‘Of course it does,’ he said.
‘And not just any people,’ she went on. ‘People who have a history of abusive behaviour. Bullies, right? People who don’t like it when they don’t get their own way. How do you think they felt when they were pulled up on their behaviour?’
‘Still,’ Zigic said slowly. ‘Murdering Ainsworth for telling the truth?’
‘For revealing the truth about them.’
His shoulders slumped. He looked defeated already, three days into the case, and she wondered just how much pressure Riggott was bringing to bear on him.
‘We need to find out who they are,’ she said firmly. ‘We need to speak to every one of them or we’re not doing our job properly.’
‘You’re right,’ he admitted, toying with his beard.
‘You look at the scene of the crime,’ she went on, now she felt him coming around. ‘No forensic evidence, no witnesses. What does that tell you? We’re dealing with someone who had some idea of how to get away with murder. They were careful. Too careful for a spur-of-the-moment thing. Even if it superficially looks like one. This was a considered crime. Someone has spent time planning and watching and waiting for just the right opportunity.’
‘When he’d had a girlfriend visiting we might blame it on?’
She nodded. ‘If we were crappy coppers or she didn’t have an alibi, we’d be charging her, wouldn’t we?’
‘Maybe.’ He took another mouthful of red wine, kept hold of the glass, turning it around by the stem. ‘You think Saunders is a possibility?’
‘He’d be stupid to kill Ainsworth and then start baiting us, wouldn’t he?’
‘He’s still furious,’ Zigic said thoughtfully.
‘He’s lost status as far as he’s concerned. Copper to prison guard to shop assistant. He really doesn’t like that.’ She crushed out her cigarette and immediately began to roll another one. ‘Basically, we need to know who else was fired on Ainsworth’s evidence. That’s it. Job one, right?’
‘So, we go back to Long Fleet with the accusation against Ainsworth.’
‘Use that to open the door.’
‘Act like we’re concerned about other potential victims and lay the suggestion that we might go public with the theory?’ He was looking more uncomfortable by the second but he was too much the professional not to go through with the plan, morally dubious as it was.
When people threw up roadblocks in front of you, you used whatever means necessary to go through them. He knew that just as well as she did. Except, she thought, Zigic was more the type to find a way around.
‘The governor has to believe we’ll bring scrutiny to his gates,’ she said. ‘He’s terrified of negative publicity. That’s his button.’
‘So we hit it.’
‘Hard as we can.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It was gone six when they returned to Thorpe Wood Station; most of the day shift officers from the other teams had left already, only a few dotted around, finishing up paperwork that might take them another hour or two. Zigic had never got used to it, not even now, after so many years on the job, the sheer scale of information they had to process, collate and prepare for other people to take over. Continued to underestimate how long it would take him.
His team were still in place, although flagging after a frustrating day. So much slow and repetitive work and little to show for it. But the next phase threatened to be more combative than the last.
On the drive in from the pub Ferreira had kept up a near constant monologue about
the Long Fleet staff and their capacity for murder, repeating herself and going off at tangents, so determined to prevent a silence developing that he began to worry that she was actually scared of going home.
Walton was there last night, was she expecting another showing tonight?
She was staying with Adams now though and he hoped that would deter Walton from approaching her again. Part of him, the most cynical and dispirited part, suspected Walton saw little threat in Adams. Men who attacked women were frequently comfortable using violence against men, too. And Adams would hardly be an intimidating prospect to someone like Walton. Three inches shorter, fifteen kilos lighter, and for all his attitude Zigic wasn’t sure how useful Adams would be in a fight.
Violence was ever-present when you were in uniform, but once you moved into plain clothes the chances of being attacked were rare and you usually had enough backup in place to ensure the first punch thrown was also the last. You got out of the habit of defending yourself. Began to talk down aggressive suspects rather than steaming into them.
Zigic realised he hadn’t been injured in the line of duty for four or five years now. Then immediately cursed himself for thinking that, as if he was jinxing himself. The last time it had happened Ferreira had pulled him out of harm’s way, gone wading back into the fray with her face wild and her baton swinging.
She was well capable of taking care of herself, that was why he found this nervous air she was carrying so disconcerting.
Parr was looking expectantly at him. Bloom and Weller too.
‘Alright, let’s call it a day,’ he said.
They gathered their things quickly, just in case he changed his mind, and hurried out of the office.
‘Briefing at eight,’ he shouted at their retreating backs.
‘I think we broke them,’ Ferreira said, opening and immediately closing a patisserie box that had appeared next to the coffee machine sometime during the afternoon.
‘You should get off, too.’
She waved towards Adams’s office. ‘I’m going to wait for that one.’
‘Are you …’
She looked sharply at him, a warning in her eyes but he was going to say it.
He moved closer to her, aware of the few stray officers still in their seats nearby.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, in a low voice. ‘With all this Walton stuff?’
‘He told you,’ she said, nodding to herself.
‘Of course he did. I don’t know why you didn’t tell me yourself.’
‘It’s under control.’ Her jaw set hard and she reached for the coffee pot, pouring the last of it into her FC Porto mug. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
He wanted to say more, tell her he was there for her if she wanted to talk about it, if she needed anything, but he’d waited too long, he realised, picked the wrong venue. She wouldn’t talk here, not with the eavesdroppers at the surrounding desks, would hate the idea of looking weak in front of them.
And maybe she just didn’t want to involve him, he thought, surprised to find himself wounded by the rejection.
Zigic drove home still thinking about Walton, experiencing a rising sense of anger that he had dared go to Ferreira’s home. Out of prison a matter of days and his only thought was threatening her into revealing the whereabouts of his girlfriend and son. He’d put those thoughts aside since Adams had told him about it, but they had festered at the back of his mind and now he found himself even more determined to see Walton locked up again. If he was arrogant enough to go after a police officer, what wouldn’t he do?
The house was empty when he got home.
He went into the rare quiet and stillness, feeling slightly adrift as he moved through the rooms. Anna had taken the children out for the day with her mother, to some model village she’d visited as a child and was sure they’d love. He’d half expected them to be back by now, texted her to check they were all okay and got a reply a few minutes later as he was stripping off in the bedroom. They’d stopped off for dinner, would be back in a few hours, she said.
He showered and dressed, went into the kitchen and drank a cold beer while he hunted for something to eat in the fridge. Finally, he gave up and ordered a takeaway, exploiting this rare opportunity to indulge without Anna judging him for it. While he waited he went out into the garden and watered the boys’ little vegetable patch, finding the tomatoes ripening nicely but the lettuces wilting.
You could have made a salad from them, the virtuous voice in his head suggested, but it was too late for that now and it would be worse to waste the pizza he’d ordered. Especially since it had three different meats on.
When it arrived half an hour later, he realised he’d made the right call. He ate two-thirds of it and then carefully hid the evidence of his small culinary crime at the very bottom of the bin. Even under the rubbish the leftovers smelled amazing, and if he’d had a couple more beers, he might have been tempted to dig the box out again.
There was no more avoiding it, he thought, as he closed the bin lid. The job he should have done in the office but didn’t, because it felt wrong to turn away from the investigation into Joshua Ainsworth’s murder. Or if he was honest with himself, because he wanted this to be right so badly that he was deferring the possibility of finding out it wasn’t.
He put a pot of coffee on and opened the file Adams had given him about Tessa Darby’s murder.
DAY FOUR
FRIDAY AUGUST 10TH
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Zigic woke up on the sofa, head bent at an awkward angle against the arm, shoulders aching and his left foot numb. His phone was ringing on the coffee table, hidden under the case file he’d been reading.
As he unstuck his eyes, he saw Milan sitting on the floor in front of the television, cartoons playing muted with the subtitles running. He’d made himself a tray of breakfast: milk in a pebbled glass, yoghurt and toast and an almost-green banana. Next to the tray he had the prospectus from the school they were visiting this morning.
‘It’s not time for work yet, Dad.’
He was right. Barely half six but Adams was calling him, driving the last of the sleep-fuddle out of his brain.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘We should meet up before shift starts,’ Adams said, the sound of a toaster popping up at his end. ‘Half an hour long enough for you to get yourself together?’
‘Where do you want to meet?’
‘Sainsbury’s caff near you.’
‘You bringing Mel to this clandestine meeting?’
Adams swore. ‘Yeah, you’re right, better make it half seven. I’ll get her off to her spin class first.’
‘Does she know about this case?’
‘I think she’s got enough to stress about right now,’ he said. ‘See you in an hour.’
Adams rang off.
Zigic stood up and stretched the night out of his body, shoulders cracking, ribs complaining. ‘You going to make me breakfast, bud?’
‘There’s no more bread,’ Milan said gravely. ‘But I can make coffee. You’ll have to light the gas for me.’
‘You watch your cartoons, I’ll sort myself out.’
Milan turned back to the TV, reaching for his yoghurt. ‘Are you coming with us later?’
‘I’ve got to work,’ he said, seeing Milan hunch over slightly, the disappointment shrinking him. ‘You look around and then tell me all about it when I get home, okay?’
‘Okay.’ Milan opened his yoghurt and briefly examined the state of the spoon before tucking in.
Upstairs Anna was still asleep, hidden behind a silk eye-mask. At some point in the night she must have got up because Emily was lying next to her, corralled by a couple of pillows to stop her rolling off the bed.
By the time he’d showered Anna was awake, standing at her wardrobe trying to find just the right outfit for this morning’s appointment with the headmistress of the school the boys would probably love and that they definitely couldn’t afford to send them to.
‘The appointment’s at half past eleven,’ she said, as he was putting on his shirt. ‘It would be good for the boys if you were there.’
He bit his tongue, wouldn’t say that she’d obviously made her decision and this was just a formality, wouldn’t ask why she’d made an appointment that she knew his work would keep him from attending.
‘I won’t be able to get away,’ he said.
She sighed lightly, as if this was just the kind of nonsense she expected from him.
‘I want this to be something we’re together on, Dushan.’
‘And I don’t want to disappoint the boys by taking them around a school we can’t afford to send them to,’ he told her, the words out before he could think better of it.
‘They have a scholarship programme,’ she said, gritting her teeth because she was probably tired of saying it.
That stupid lie they were still colluding in, even now, after weeks of disagreement, because neither of them was willing to openly discuss the ugly truth it was covering just yet.
Zigic watched her turn away and select a lightweight shirtdress that she always looked amazing in. He almost told her it was the right choice but stopped himself, said instead, ‘Please don’t make the boys any promises you’ll regret breaking.’
When he got to Bretton the car park was all but deserted but everyone who was there seemed to be in the supermarket cafeteria. He ordered a bacon roll and coffee and went to join Adams at a table set against the far wall. There was nobody else around them, all the other early risers drawn to the sun-drenched tables alongside the picture window.
Adams was jittery. Tired-looking and over-caffeinated, fiddling with the cigarette packet left out on the table.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asked, as Zigic sat down.
He wanted to tell Adams there was nothing there. That Bobby was wrong, that he was just so desperate to make the kill on Walton that he was seeing discrepancies that didn’t exist.