Beneath the Bleeding

by Val McDermid

  ‘Nice work,’ Chris said. ‘So how’s it looking? The usual? Young bloke gets his head turned by the mad mullahs and the Al-Quaeda quartermasters fix him up with the necessary?’

  Paula sat down on the desk next to Chris. ‘I don’t know. His brother was adamant that Aziz wasn’t into that stuff. According to Sanjar, Yousef was dead set against fundamentalism.’

  ‘We can’t judge Yousef on what his brother says,’ Kevin said. ‘Look at the London bombers. Their friends and families acted like they were gobsmacked. OK, I didn’t find a bomb-making manual in the bedroom, but I didn’t get that long in there, and some of the newspapers and books were in script I couldn’t read. We’ll have a better idea when the CTC have stripped the house back to the bricks and gone through every piece of paper.’

  ‘They’ll know,’ Chris corrected him cynically. ‘Who knows what they’ll decide to tell us.’

  ‘You don’t need them, Stacey said absently. ‘You’ve got his laptop and you’ve got me.’

  ‘Go, Stacey,’ Kevin said, punching the air. ‘Where’s the DCI, by the way?’

  ‘Down Scargill Street,’ Chris said.

  ‘Of her own free will?’

  ‘Kind of. I think Sam’s dropped a bollock. One of the men in black came in and said there was a problem with one of her lads. And since you’re sitting here, chances are it’s not you.’

  Paula raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh shit. Poor old Sam. What do you think is worse? Pissing off the Imperial Storm Troopers or having to be rescued by the chief on the warpath?’

  Carol had never seen anything like it. Scargill Street had been transformed into a citadel under siege. Armed police guarded every exit and a police helicopter hovered above, its spotlight pinning her shadow to the ground as she approached. It took a full three minutes for the guard on the back door to get her entry clearance, and when she walked into the familiar hallway, another armed officer was waiting to escort her. ‘I thought it was supposed to be secret, where you hold your terrorist suspects?’ she said conversationally as they marched through deserted corridors towards the custody suite.

  ‘It is a secret. We don’t tell the media.’

  ‘You’ve got a city-centre police station better guarded than Buckingham Palace and you think people won’t notice?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, does it?’ he said, taking the turn that Carol knew would bring them to the cells. ‘They’re not allowed to print it.’

  Give me strength. Carol closed her eyes momentarily. ‘I thought it was somebody staging an attack that you were worried about.’

  ‘We’re not worried,’ he said, in a tone that said the conversation was over. He knocked on the door that led to the custody area. A moment passed, then they were buzzed in. The guard opened the door for her and stood back. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Someone will come and get you.’ He slammed the door behind her.

  The familiar area was empty apart from the custody sergeant sitting behind the desk, his paperwork in front of him. To her surprise, Carol recognized him from the first investigation she’d ever worked for Bradfield Police. She walked over, saying, ‘It’s Sergeant Wood, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, ma’am. I’m surprised you remembered. It must be, what…? Seven years?’

  ‘Something like that. I didn’t expect to see one of ours working the desk.’

  ‘It’s the one concession they made to the notion that somebody has to guard the guards,’ Wood said. ‘I’m supposed to make sure nobody’s human rights get breached.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Like I could stop them doing anything they wanted behind closed doors.’ Before Carol could reply, a loud buzzer sounded. Wood waved her urgently to one side. ‘Against the wall, please, ma’am. For your own good. Now you get to see the grunts in action.’

  Three corridors radiated off from the custody area like the tines of a trident. The clatter of heavy boots on hard flooring came first, then four of them with semi-automatics at port arms came running round the corner at the far end of the corridor. All in black riot gear, all with shaved heads, all terrifying. They stopped outside a cell door and began chanting, ‘Stand up, stand up, stand up.’ The noise seemed to go on for a very long time, though it could not have been more than half a minute. Carol could feel the adrenalin coursing through her, the fearsome sound reverberating inside her chest, and she was one of the empowered. How much worse must it be for anyone under arrest?

  The lead grunt threw the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. Three of them disappeared inside while the fourth filled the doorway. Carol could hear more shouting. ‘On your feet. Against the wall. Face the wall. Spread your arms. Spread your legs. Stand still, you fucker.’ On and on, an endless barrage of commands. At last, the door man moved away and two of his colleagues backed out of the cell. The third person out was a young Asian man, eyes wide, jaw set. He was trying to look through his guards, but they kept thwarting him by thrusting their faces towards his.

  Once in the corridor, he was forced against the wall. One man behind him, one to the side, one in front. The fourth man ranged ahead of them, shouting, ‘Clear!’ every time he passed a doorway. They escorted the prisoner down the hallway, moving at a speed that made him take tiny little steps.

  When the lead officer emerged in the custody area, he did a double take and stumbled when he saw Carol. ‘Identify yourself,’ he barked at her, swinging round and shouting, ‘Hold right there,’ back down the corridor.

  Carol rolled her eyes. ‘Well, obviously, I’m a cop.’ She took out her ID and gave him name and rank. She jerked a head at Wood. ‘He knows who I am.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he barked in military tones. ‘All clear,’ he shouted. Carol watched while the prisoner was led into the interview corridor and hustled into one of the rooms there. The grunts took up post outside the room.

  ‘Jesus,’ Carol said, exhaling.

  ‘Something else, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I hate those bastard bombers as much as the next one, but I wonder what price we’re paying when we fight them like this,’ Wood said. ‘Before this afternoon, I was as gung-ho as anybody else. But what I’ve seen today…This special training they’ve had. I think they come out with three key words-intimidation, intimidation, intimidation. Anybody that gets dragged in and put through this and they’ve done nowt-well, it’s a recruiting sergeant for the mad mullahs, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m losing count of how many times I’ve had to take a deep breath today,’ Carol said. ‘Do you know who I’m supposed to see, by the way? There’s things I need to be doing. Thirty-five people died this afternoon. I don’t see how it serves their families to have me kicking my heels down here.’

  ‘Didn’t they tell you?’ Wood said, resignation on his face.

  ‘No, they didn’t. I was just told that one of my lads was in a spot of bother.’

  Wood shook his head. ‘Rings no bells with me. Hang on a minute.’ He picked up a phone. ‘I’ve got DCI Jordan here…Well, I think you should make time…With respect, we’ve all got a lot on our plates this afternoon…’ He looked at the phone in disgust and put it down. ‘Give them a minute,’ he said, parodying their tough tones.

  A couple of minutes passed, then the man Carol knew only as Johnny came through the door that led to the main part of the station. ‘DCI Jordan. If you’d come with me, please.’

  ‘Where And why?’ Carol asked, her temper hanging by a thread.

  Johnny glanced at Wood. ‘I’ll explain everything in a minute, if you’d just come with me.’

  Carol sketched a wave to Wood. ‘If I’m not back in half an hour, Sergeant, call Mr Brandon.’

  ‘There’s no need to be so bolshie, you know,’ Johnny said plaintively as they climbed the stairs to the main part of the station. ‘We really are all on the same side.’

  ‘That’s what worries me,’ Carol said. ‘Now, why the hell am I here?’

  Johnny led her into a small office and waved her to a chair. He picked up another chair, turned it
round and straddled it, his muscular arms folded across the back. ‘I’d really like for us to build some bridges here. It doesn’t help your team or mine if we’re at odds.’

  Carol shrugged. ‘So talk to me. Don’t act as if my team is part of the problem. Don’t patronize us. For a start, you could try treating me like a ranking officer by telling me why I’m here.’

  ‘Point taken. Your boy Sam?’

  ‘See what I mean? “Your boy Sam.” He’s Detective Constable Evans. Yes?’

  Johnny inclined his head. ‘DC Evans was at the stadium. What was he supposed to be doing?’

  ‘Are you interviewing me?’ Carol said, not even trying to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

  Johnny ran a hand over his shaven head, his expression perplexed. ‘Look, he said, sounding exasperated. ‘We got off on the wrong foot. You don’t like us trampling all over your ground, and I totally understand that. I am not interrogating you, I’m just trying to clarify something before it turns into a situation for all of us.’

  ‘That’s not how it feels.’

  ‘No. I realize that. We’re not very good at manners. We’re not supposed to be. They knock the etiquette out of us when they train us for CTC. I’m sorry. I know we come off as arseholes, but that’s how we need to be, doing what we do. We’re not stupid, though. We didn’t get our ranks because of our size.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of frankness. ‘One of our teams found your DC in a quiet corner of the stadium with a young Asian male dressed in overalls. He was clearly questioning him. When our guys appeared, the witness, suspect, whatever, clammed up. And your boy refused to share the product of his interview. So we brought them back here. Since when neither of them has said a bloody word. Apart from their names. Oh, and the Asian wants a lawyer. So, I thought to myself, what’s the best way to resolve this? And I thought of you.’

  ‘You thought of me how? As somebody you could bully? Somebody you could intimidate?’

  Johnny gave a harsh sigh. ‘No. I thought of you as somebody who had impressed me with her smarts. Somebody who had a rep in the Met…’

  ‘What do you mean, a rep in the Met?’ Carol demanded defensively.

  Johnny looked disbelieving. ‘A rep as a bloody good cop,’ he said. ‘What do you think? People I respect think you’re the dog’s bollocks. So I thought you were the one who could persuade DC Evans to co-operate with this investigation.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  Johnny considered for a long moment. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to him.’

  She followed him back down the hall to another interview room. Sam Evans was sitting on a chair tipped back against the wall, hands clasped behind his head in an attitude of relaxation. When Carol walked in, he jerked forward and stood up. ‘Sorry you got dragged into this,’ he said.

  Carol turned to Johnny. ‘Could you leave us, please?’

  Johnny bowed his head and retreated. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with ill-disguised contempt. ‘What have they said I’ve done?’

  They say they found you interviewing a young Asian male wearing overalls at Victoria Park. That the pair of you clammed up and refused to say anything. That you won’t hand over the product of your interview.’ Carol leaned against the wall, her arms folded across her chest.

  Sam gave an incredulous little laugh. ‘That’s one spin you could put on it. Try it from another angle. For a start, he’s wearing overalls because he’s a cleaner at the stadium. Nothing suspicious about that, is there? For another thing, he’s clearly not a suspect. His name is Vijay Gupta. He’s a Hindu, not a Muslim. So it seems to me that the CTC guys are getting their knickers in a twist over somebody who is in no sense a potential suspect. I don’t have any product to hand over, ma’am. We’d barely started talking.’

  Carol didn’t know whether to believe him. He was, she knew, the perfect dissembler. What mattered was getting him out of there. Then she could find out whether he was telling the truth. ‘Give me a minute,’ she said.

  She went back outside, where Johnny was waiting. ‘There’s nothing to tell. The man he had just begun questioning isn’t even a Muslim. Now, if you’re sincere about building bridges, you shouldn’t stop me leaving here right now, with my officer. And I suggest you let Mr Gupta go home, since the only thing he’s done to warrant your suspicion is to talk to a police officer.’ She turned round, opened the door and said, ‘DC Evans? Time we were on our way.’

  Head high, Carol led the way through familiar corridors to the back entrance of Scargill Street. Nobody tried to stop them. Once they were in the car and out of the car park, Sam said, ‘Working on the principle that we were being recorded, I wasn’t strictly accurate in there, ma’am.’

  Carol flashed a quick glance at his rueful face and sighed. ‘That’s what I was afraid of, Sam. That funny smell? It’s bridges burning.’

  Carol’s plans to follow up Sam’s disclosure were thwarted by the unexpected presence of John Brandon in her squad room, forbidding in his dress uniform, cap under his arm. Her heart sank. Had her latest run-in with CTC made it back ahead of her? He looked as serious as she’d ever seen him. She’d barely made it through the door when he spoke. ‘DCI Jordan, I was looking for you. I need a word.’ He gestured towards her office and she led the way in.

  ‘Carol, I have some difficult news,’ he said, settling into one of the visitors’ chairs and tossing his cap carelessly on to the other.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You remember Tom Cross? Ex-Detective…’

  She nodded, caught off-balance by the direction of the conversation. ‘I saw him this afternoon at Victoria Park. A paramedic was helping him to an ambulance. He’d apparently been helping the injured, but he’d taken too much out of himself.’ Understanding dawned. ‘He didn’t make it,’ she said, surprised at the stab of sorrow she felt.

  ‘No, he didn’t make it. His heart gave out.’

  ‘That’s tragic,’ Carol said. ‘Who’d have thought that helping other people would be the death of him? Did he have heart problems?’

  Brandon shook his head. ‘No. And it would appear that it wasn’t helping with the rescue attempts that killed him.’ He looked troubled; Carol suddenly saw how he had aged in the past few years and it gave her a disturbing glimpse of her own mortality.

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  ‘One of the doctors on the civil emergency team down at Bradfield Cross is Elinor Blessing.’

  Carol nodded. ‘She’s the one who spotted the ricin poisoning.’

  ‘Exactly. And she says herself that’s probably the only reason poison occurred to her in this case. But occur to her it did. Sadly, before they could get enough of the antidote into his system, his heart failed. They tried to keep him going till they could finish the treatment, but it didn’t work out.’

  Shocked, Carol clutched at a straw. ‘You sure she’s not just seeing poison everywhere because of Robbie?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible. But she says this wasn’t ricin. She thinks it was another plant derivative, though. Foxgloves or something. The bottom line is that she says she can’t write this up as natural causes or accident.’

  ‘So, murder, then?’ Carol said.

  ‘It looks that way. At least to Dr Blessing it does. I want your team on this. He was one of us, no matter what happened at the end of his career. You should look at possible links to Robbie Bishop too. Maybe ask Tony what he thinks, if he’s up to it.’ Brandon picked at a piece of lint on his black trousers. ‘I know it’s a bit of an irony, given what Tom thought about Tony and his ilk. But we throw everything at this. Leave his widow till tomorrow, but somebody should talk to the doctor this evening. She should be in A&E till late.’ He stood up and retrieved his cap.

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ Carol said. ‘But there were another thirty-five murders in Bradfield today. We’re trying to give them our best attention too.’

  Brandon turned back, his face stony. ‘Leave them to CTC. Concentrate on Tom Cross.’

 
‘With respect, sir…’

  ‘That’s an order, Chief Inspector. I’ll expect a preliminary report on Monday.’ He marched out of the room, erect as if on parade.

  That is just so wrong,’ Carol muttered under her breath. ‘So bloody wrong.’ She leaned back in her chair and sat for five minutes staring at the ceiling. Then she jumped to her feet and stood in the doorway. ‘Everybody-in here, now,’ she called.

  They jammed themselves in, Kevin and Chris claiming the chairs on the grounds of seniority. ‘Sorry about this,’ Carol said. ‘But I don’t want anybody barging in on us. Sam, keep an eye on the main door. OK. Here’s how it is. I know you are all as angry and upset as I am about the attack on Victoria Park this afternoon. It was a horrific experience for everyone concerned. But it’s our job to get beyond our emotional response and to do what’s necessary.’ She pushed her hands through her shaggy blonde hair and jiggled her head. ‘And I believe you’re all as determined to do that as I am.

  ‘Only problem is, we’ve been told not to investigate the thirty-five murders that happened in our force area this afternoon. Or at least, not unless we’re invited to carry out certain tasks on behalf of the CTC. Now, I don’t know about you, but that’s just not good enough for me. It’s my intention to pursue such lines of inquiry as come our way. We have a unique perspective here-this is our patch and we know it. We’ll pass on outcomes to CTC, but in the first instance, what comes to us stays with us. It’s probably not going to do our careers any good, but I’m not in this for the sake of the glory. If there’s any one of you who isn’t happy about that, say so now. I won’t hold it against you, and there’s plenty of other work to be going on with.’ She looked around expectantly. Nobody moved.

  ‘OK. In that case, we’re in this together. Now…’ She saw Stacey raise one finger. ‘Stacey?’

  ‘We’ve already got Yousef Aziz’s laptop,’ she said. ‘Kevin and Paula brought it back from his house.’