Saffina Desforges' ROSE RED Crime Thriller Boxed Set

by Saffina Desforges

  “Sure thing, Robo.” Taylor said.

  Red glared. “By now you should all have received the four e-fits we have of the suspect, along with descriptions as given.”

  “Very nice they are too, Guv,” Taylor said. “If only we knew which one was accurate.”

  Red smiled. “One is mine. One is my lad Jack’s. Two are from independent witnesses who came forward. As you’d expect, they all differ, but there are some characteristics common to all, that we can reasonably assume are reliable.”

  “Which one was yours, Guv?”

  “No comment. Treat them all as equally accurate. Equally misleading. These are for private consumption only. A composite of the four will be released shortly and we expect it to be on the local news by lunchtime, and in the evening press and tomorrow’s papers. Which means…”

  Mackenzie groaned. “Hoax calls, mistaken identity, malicious accusations. Great. Who’s been volunteered?”

  Red looked across at her sergeant. “Sorry, Anna. You and Terri drew the short straw this time.”

  Anna shrugged. “That’s life.”

  “Well I could hardly let Laurel and Hardy here handle the calls. It needs someone with an ounce of sense.”

  Taylor glared.

  “I don’t mind doing my bit, Guv,” Mackenzie said. “Plenty of experience distinguishing the malicious from the mistaken.”

  “I don’t think having a DI answering the phone is the best use of resources, Jim. Do you? Besides, you’ll be working with Pete when he gets here.” Red picked up her files, tapping them into a neat stack. “Of course, if we can nail the bastard before the e-fit goes public that would save us all a lot of work, and earn us all a lot of brownie points with the Chief Super.”

  “You wish.” Taylor asked, “Any OT, Guv?”

  “Sorry. Not this time.”

  Taylor snorted, grabbing Harris by the collar. “No point dragging it out then, Jez. Let’s put someone in the frame quick. At least I might get a few brownie points off Brenda.”

  Chapter 15.

  A thin wisp of smoke twirled up from the end of the cigarette. The tip glowed like a red-hot poker in the semi-darkness.

  The Huntsman wafted a hand in front of his face. “You could die of cancer smoking.”

  Queenie shrugged. “Chance would be a fine thing.” Shoulder bones jutting out through the silk of his kimono. A bandaged arm poked out from a gaping sleeve. A gold cigarette holder jammed between two white-gloved fingers, held aloft next to a ravaged face. “We all die in the end,” Queenie rasped. “Even you, Nathan.”

  “You’re looking well.” The Huntsman flashed a smile.

  “I see you didn’t lose your sense of humour during your brief stay in the big house.”

  “Happiness makes the world go round, right?”

  Queenie slowly brought a glass to impossibly thin lips. The Huntsman’s eyes followed the glass, an excuse to linger on the scars of failed reconstructive surgery.

  “I thought I told you to lie low once I got you out.”

  “I might owe you, Queenie, but you’re not my mother.” The Huntsman leant forward, palms on knees. “I’m bored. It’s been months. I need someone to play with.”

  “All in good time. You’re hot property right now. We need to keep you out of the public eye for a while.” Queenie sucked on the cigarette holder, the smoke spiralling out of a hole in the cheek. A coughing fit set the chest rattling and bubbling like a vat of hot syrup. “How’s that lovely sister of yours?”

  The Huntsman sat ramrod straight in the chair. “I’ll be sure to say hi when I see her.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Queenie poked the end of the cigarette into an ashtray. Winced at the effort. Rheumy eyes flicked up to the Huntsman’s face. “First and final warning. Leave her alone. For now. There’s plenty of time to sort that little problem.” Queenie’s fingers crawled to a button set in the arm of his chair. He pressed it. Waited. His eyes never leaving the Huntsman’s.

  A man the size of a mountain appeared within seconds.

  The Huntsman sighed. Looking up at him. Mind-sped through a range of attack options. The military training made it instinctive. Big, but not big enough. City muscle. Street fighter. Good in a brawl, no doubt, but the Huntsman didn’t do brawls. His fights were to the finish. And there was always the glock to fall back on.

  He dropped his eyes to the suitcase in one giant paw. A smile.

  Queenie confirmed the Huntsman’s presumption. “There’s enough cash in there for you to disappear until I call for you.” A tongue flicked across what was left of the lips. “Plus advance payment for my next job.”

  “Southgate?”

  “There’s no rush for Bernie. It’s not as if he’s going anywhere. And Remand is always a nuisance. Better to wait until he’s convicted. So much easier to get things done in a high-security prison. They have less to lose.”

  “So what’s the SP?”

  “Just sit tight and await my call.”

  “I like to know what I am getting myself into, Queenie.”

  Queenie thwacked a silver-headed walking cane against the arm of the chair. Flinched from the pain. “If it wasn’t for me, Nathan, you’d still be rotting in prison with all the other nonces and low-lifes.”

  “If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have got caught in the first place.”

  Queenie chuckled. “If we’re keeping score I would remind you you’re two jobs down. Not good for your reputation. Or your bank account.”

  “I’m still the best there is. That’s why I’m here. So when will the next one be?”

  “It’s a Christmas job.”

  The Huntsman stared at Queenie. “I am not putting on a Santa suit for you or anybody else. And I can’t lie low that long. I need to be doing something.”

  “It’s eight weeks away. I’ll call you when I’m ready. Meanwhile, teach yourself solitaire. And get out of the Smoke. Go and sun yourself in Barbados for a month. It’s not healthy you being here.”

  “Flights are too risky. All this shit-hot security post-911 is making travel difficult.”

  “Well find a cottage in the Cotswolds.”

  “I hate the countryside. It gives me hay fever.”

  “In October?”

  “I was a late developer.”

  “Where did you stay last night?”

  “As if you don’t know.”

  “Of course I know. Farmer has no secrets from me.”

  “Has anybody?”

  “You know me too well, Nathan.” Queenie pulled up the impossibly taught skin stretched over bony cheeks in a grimace the Huntsman presumed was a smile. “Gustav will see you out.”

  The Huntsman stood. Brushed off his trousers. Took the suitcase from the man mountain. Thought, Gustav. What a name. Said, “Cheers, sunshine.” To Queenie, “And do something about that reptile skin of yours, will you. This suit is dry clean only.”

  Chapter 16.

  “Guv, I think we might have something.” Terri Miller perched on the edge of Red’s desk. “We’re getting the same name several times over for the public composite. But none of the callers will ID themselves.”

  “You’ve traced them, presumably?”

  “Of course. As per instructions. But I don’t see the point, Guv, if we can’t follow through.”

  “Public confidence,” Anna said. “If genuine informants knew we were tracing every call they’d disappear in a flash. But it helps eliminate the obvious hoax calls, and helps us nail the malicious ones. Not that we can prosecute without giving the game away, but a private warning can be very effective.”

  Red asked, “Many hoaxes?”

  Anna shrugged. “No more than we’d expect. Both the Burns brothers have been identified categorically, despite their still being on remand. Lord Lucan, of course. Shergar. On the sensible side, a few names we know. Some we don’t.”

  “Presumably you’ve already checked those we know?”

  “Done and dusted. Brought up the mug-sh
ots on the PNC. Compared all four e-fits. None close enough to warrant further investigation. Half of them were black, which made elimination pretty easy, at least.

  “And the ones we don’t know?”

  “I’ve sent half to Mac and Pete, and half to Barry and Jez.”

  Red nodded. “Sounds like you’ve got it all under control. Anything else?”

  “Saving the best till last, Guv. Terri?”

  “Hopefully it’s the best, anyway. We have someone claiming to have videoed the whole incident on his mobile. A day-tripper. Lives in St. Albans. Mac’s arranging with Hertfordshire Police to get the phone to him this afternoon.”

  “Terri, I could kiss you!”

  “Not a good idea, Guv. People might talk.”

  “Might?” Anna looked from Red to Terri. “You should have heard Barry when you were in France, Guv. He’s convinced Terri here is... Well, you know. And that you and Terri are getting it together.”

  Red smiled. “Is that what this fifty quid bet is about?”

  Anna shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I can have a quiet word with Jez and find out.”

  “Do that. With any luck—” Red’s mobile interrupted her train of thought. To Anna and Terri, “Thewliss. Pathology.” Into the phone, “David, how’s life in the land of the dead?”

  “The usual.” Thewliss got straight to business. “I’ve completed the PM on young Will Smith.”

  Red settled herself into her seat. “Not good news then. You would have just emailed if there were no complications.”

  “Sorry. Actually the cause of death is straight-forward enough. A knife through the heart doesn’t leave much room for doubt. The wounds match the weapon you seized. That’s an open and shut case.”

  “Then what?”

  “There’s someone you should speak to. I’ve arranged a meeting.”

  Chapter 17.

  “DCI Rose to see Dr. Angelica Matthews.” Red flashed her badge at the receptionist.

  “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  “Cheers.” Red turned from the desk and found herself staring up at the huge glass pinnacle above. The weak October sun was magnified, bouncing off the myriad facets as it cascaded down.

  To no-one in particular, “This must be an oven in the summer.”

  “Not at all,” a voice said from behind. “The design is such that even the winter sun is magnified, but all the energy is channelled to useful purpose, for heating water, providing electricity, etc. Every translucent glass panel is a photo-voltaic cell. For all practical purposes we have self-sufficient solar power.”

  The speaker extended a hand. “Dr. Sofia Grace. Welcome to The Halo, Chief Inspector Rose.”

  “I have a meeting, with Dr. Matthews. Haematology?”

  “Yes, of course. Angelica is just coming.” Emotionless, steel-grey eyes flicked across to a far door. A second later the door opened, as if on cue. “Here she is now. Dr. Matthews will give you all the assistance you require.”

  “I certainly will.” Dr. Matthews paused to drop off some files at the reception counter. A lingering hand-shake. “Angelica Matthews. Angel to my friends.”

  “Rather appropriate for a hospital named The Halo,” Red said.

  Dr. Matthews searched Red’s face with amber eyes. “Just as David described you.”

  “Thewliss?”

  “Quite so. Sorry,” Dr. Matthews said. “A pet foible of mine. When meeting someone I’m unacquainted with in a public area I always ask for a description. That way I can avoid those embarrassing moments approaching the wrong person, or calling out a name in a crowd. I find discretion is always the better part of valour.”

  Dr. Grace cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you two to it, shall I?” To Red, “Should you need anything, just ask.”

  “Goes without saying,” Red said. She watched Dr. Grace glide away, a long white surgeon’s gown shrouding her legs and feet, yet somehow never touching the floor. To Dr. Matthews, “Who is she, anyway?”

  “Numero Uno here at the Halo. To her face, Dr. Grace. Sophia. if you’re one of the privileged inner circle. To the rest of us, Frosty Knickers is the polite version. FK to those in the know. But Dr. Grace runs the show. Her word is law within these four walls. Or should I say, these several thousand windows. She has a deserved reputation for knowing far more than she ought to. I very much doubt it was coincidence she was here to greet you.”

  Red shrugged. “Thewliss might have told her I was coming.”

  Dr. Matthews shook her head. “David called me direct on my private mobile. He and FK do not see eye to eye on most things.””

  Red said nothing. Paranoia? A plea for help? She decided to play it by ear.

  ~

  Red studied the report, silently absorbing a plethora of medical jargon that meant nothing to her. Finally, she looked up at Dr. Matthews. “I’ve got to be honest with you. I’m a little lost here. I’ve no medical background to make sense of this. Thewliss wasn’t very forthcoming. Just said there were some side issues.”

  “Apparently. David said you could be trusted to be discreet?”

  Red shrugged. “About?”

  Dr. Matthews gestured to the report in Red’s hand. “Coffee?”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  Dr. Matthews crossed to a compact coffee-maker by the window. She eyed Red up and down. “If I didn’t know you were a police officer I’d say black, no sugar, but as you are I’m guessing milk and two.”

  “Because?”

  “A figure like yours is either the result of result of careful dieting or a high metabolism, which needs a through-flow of carbohydrates and fats. A policing job doesn’t lend itself to careful dieting. I would imagine it’s more a case of get it while you can, where you can. But a little too much pizza and white bread if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Never touch the stuff,” Red lied.

  “Really?” Dr. Matthews managed a whimsical smile, giving Red a chance to change her statement.

  “Okay, very occasionally. “

  “Dominoes?”

  “How the… I thought I was the detective here. Am I missing something.”

  “Take a look outside.”

  Mystified, Red crossed to the window. Peered out from the first floor. Saw her car parked directly below in the authorised personnel only bay. An empty Dominos carton lay on the passenger seat.

  “I saw you arrive. As I said earlier, David gave me your description. Hence you were not kept waiting at reception. I came straight down. Not that that stopped FK getting to you first.”

  Red let the comment ride. She said, “Can you translate this report into layman’s terms?”

  Dr. Matthews put down her coffee. “Better I show you. Let’s go down to the morgue.”

  Chapter 18.

  Harris thrust his ID in the youth’s face.

  “John Faulkner? Police. Me and him both. Are your parents in?”

  The youth shrank back in the doorway. “No.”

  “So who’s here?” Taylor demanded.

  “Just me.”

  “We’d like to come in. Have a word in your shell-like.”

  “You can’t. There’s only me here. I’m a juvenile.”

  Taylor glanced up and down the apartment block’s concrete walkway. A nod to Harris.

  Harris pushed the door open, sending the youth reeling. “Not your lucky day, is it.”

  Taylor followed Harris through the doorway. Turned and scanned the walkway again. Empty. Out loud, “All clear. Nobody saw us.”

  Harris leered at the youth. “Hear that, Johnny Boy? Nobody saw us come in. No-one will see us go out.” He prodded the youth in the chest with a forefinger. “Been making phone calls, have we?”

  “I dunno what you mean.”

  Harris shoved John Faulkner with the palm of his hand, enjoying the fear slowly spreading across the youth’s face. “I think you do. At nine minutes past two today you called a special police hotline claiming to have information a
bout the Blackheath murder.”

  Faulkner shook his head. “Weren’t me.”

  Taylor leaned forward. “Funny that, coz we listened to the recording and it sounded exactly like you. And the mobile phone is registered in your name, at this address. Where is it?”

  “I lost it.”

  “What, in the last two hours?”

  “I must have dropped it somewhere. In the park.”

  Taylor nodded. “In the park. Of course.”

  “Yeah. I remember now. I lost it this morning in the park.”

  “When we played back the recording we could hear a television on in the background.”

  “Ain’t me, then. I ain’t had the telly on all day. Someone must have found it and made that call about the Burns brothers.”

  Harris smiled gleefully. “Who said anything about the Burns brothers?”

  John Faulkner flopped onto a seat at the kitchen table. “Shit.”

  Taylor said, “Don’t let him move. I’ll check the other rooms.”

  Faulkner protested feebly, “You ain’t got a search warrant.”

  Taylor grinned. Held up a fist close to Faulkner’s face. “Will this do?”

  Harris shoved Taylor’s arm away. “Oi! I’m the bad cop today. You promised.” He thrust his own fist in the youth’s face. “Will this do?”

  Taylor slipped into the living room. Reached a hand behind the TV. Still warm. He scanned the coffee table. Four remote controls. TV. Satellite. DVD player. A games console control of some sort. Not Taylor’s field of expertise. But he had no problem identifying the mobile phone. He flicked through the calls out list as he returned to the kitchen.

  “I found your phone for you, John. It’s your lucky day. And guess what. There was a call made at 14:09 to a certain Police hotline.”

  Faulkner shrank back in the chair. “I didn’t mean no harm. It was just a joke.”

  “Do you hear me laughing?”

  Faulkner said nothing.

  “A kid died, John. Fifteen years old. Stabbed to death for no apparent reason. You think that’s a joking matter?”