The Rule

by David Jackson

  ‘Since the train incident.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm. Remind me of her story again.’

  ‘She lost her daughter not so long ago. Meningitis.’

  ‘That’s right. I imagine something like that could affect a mother quite badly.’

  ‘Yes, I think it has. She . . .’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’d say she’s lost focus. Not quite as sharp as she was.’

  ‘But you’re not saying—’

  ‘No. I think she’ll be fine, given time.’

  ‘And yet she’s back on full duty, yes?’

  ‘Yes. She’s keen enough.’

  ‘And she’s a DI, correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Acted as SIO on murder cases?’

  ‘Yes. Good clearance rate, too.’

  ‘Well, there you go then. Problem sorted.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The Cobb case. Give it to Hannah.’

  ‘Hannah? Well, I’m not sure that—’

  ‘You said it yourself, Ray. You need to put on a show. Your spin on this is that an experienced and senior detective with an excellent clearance rate has been assigned to the case. If she solves it, then good for her. On the other hand, if she cocks it up, then it’s no great loss, is it? You and your team will be free to concentrate on all those other cases you mentioned. Meanwhile, Cobb will be six feet under where he belongs, and the world will be a happier place.’

  Not for Hannah, Ray thought. The stress of a case like this will be bad enough. Failing to solve it could finish her.

  ‘Another glass of Merlot?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘And by the way, if you’re not too snowed under, I’m looking for an opponent to thrash at golf next weekend. Fancy it?’

  Ray smiled.

  Fiona would be proud of him.

  The phone call was brief and to the point, with no doubt left in Hannah’s mind that Devereux was not asking her but telling her. When she re-entered the living room, Ben looked up inquiringly from where he was lounging on the sofa. He was already in his dressing gown and his ridiculous fluffy mouse slippers.

  ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Are you going to tell me, or will you have to kill me if you do?’

  ‘Don’t tempt me. I’m in the mood for killing someone.’

  ‘Ah. One of those calls. Devereux?’

  ‘Yes, Devereux. He’s just made me SIO on a murder that landed this afternoon.’

  Ben looked understandably puzzled. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘It should be, but it isn’t.’

  ‘Now I’m really confused. Sit down and explain it to your simpleton of a husband.’

  He budged up and she plonked herself down next to him.

  He said, ‘You’ve been complaining for ages about the crap cases you’ve been getting. And now you’ve just been made the senior investigating officer on a murder case. So what am I missing?’

  ‘The victim is a man named Joey Cobb. Local villain and all-round dirtbag. Drugs, guns, prostitutes – you name it, he had a finger in it.’

  ‘He had a finger in prostitutes?’

  She frowned at him. ‘Don’t make a joke out of it, Ben. I’m not in the mood.’

  Ben dropped his smirk. ‘Sorry. You were saying.’

  ‘Cobb’s body had been chopped into pieces and dumped in the rubbish.’

  ‘Nasty.’

  ‘Yeah. Not a surprising end for someone like that, though.’

  ‘So it’s a gang thing, then?’

  ‘Very probably, but that’s not my point.’

  ‘Okay, so what is?’

  Hannah took a deep breath. ‘Up until a few hours ago, they wouldn’t have let me within a mile of a murder investigation, and now they’ve suddenly decided I’m the ideal SIO. Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious?’

  ‘No. Should I? What could possibly be underhand about it?’

  ‘They want to use it to get rid of me.’

  ‘What? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would they—’

  ‘I’m not being ridiculous! It’s the opportunity they’ve been hoping for. They’re waiting for me to balls this up so that they can chuck me out.’

  ‘No. That’s crazy talk. This is murder we’re talking about. They need to find a killer. They need someone they can trust.’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘There’s a saying in the police. They call this a shit-on-shit crime. If it decreases the population of scumbags then that can only be a good thing. If I cock up the case, nobody in the force will lose sleep over it. They will, however, have a scapegoat and a ready-made excuse for getting rid of me.’

  Ben was silent. Then he said, ‘I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Reading things into the situation that aren’t there.’

  Anger flashed through her. ‘For God’s sake, Ben, you don’t work with these people. You have no idea. The internal politics, the backstabbing, the sucking up to bosses, the sexism, the bullying. It’s a fucking cesspit.’

  Ben’s response was typically anti-inflammatory. He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Then it’s just like any other large organisation. That’s why I could never cope with working for one. But you’re different. You’re stronger.’

  ‘I don’t know if I am anymore. Maybe I should leave. Jump before I’m pushed.’

  ‘And let the bastards win? No, you’re better than that.’

  She pushed herself back into the soft cushions. ‘I used to believe that. I used to have tons more self-confidence. I didn’t make stupid mistakes like I do now. Maybe I should just accept that things have changed, and that I’m not the copper I used to be.’

  He placed his other hand on top of hers, cupping it in his warmth. ‘After what we’ve been through, neither of us is the same. Tilly has changed us for ever. When she went out of our lives, she took huge pieces of us with her. But we’re bigger and better and stronger and richer for having known her, and it far outweighs the loss. That’s what we have to remember.’

  Hannah couldn’t stop the tears. ‘Then why am I so unhappy, so afraid?’

  ‘Maybe . . . maybe it’s because you haven’t let her go yet.’

  She turned glistening eyes on him. ‘I can’t, Ben. I’m not ready to let her go. Not yet.’

  ‘Then show her the mother she knew. Prove to her that she can rest in peace, knowing that the memory of her will be in safe, strong hands.’

  Hannah bowed her head. She felt destroyed.

  But she knew what she had to do.

  Tomorrow she would rise up again.

  13

  In Devereux’s office, Hannah zoned out. There was no point listening. Everything he was saying to her was complete bollocks. All that flannel about her being the best detective for the job. Crap.

  She played the game, though. Nodded along to his droning voice, hiding her contempt.

  Watch me, she thought. Watch how I run this investigation. Worthless victim or not, I will find Cobb’s murderer if it’s the last thing I do as a police officer.

  It was when he led her back out to the CID room that the butterflies took flight. It was like being a kid getting introduced to her new schoolmates by the teacher. She stood at the front, facing a squad she had led many times but still feeling as though she didn’t know them.

  When Devereux announced that she would be lead detective on the Cobb case, she noted the surprise, even on Marcel’s face. That was to be expected. What was less reassuring was the palpable sense of unease that rippled through the room. She saw the exchanges of glances, the raised eyebrows. She was convinced she even heard someone tutting.

  When Devereux handed over to her, she began to speak, but her words came out in a strangled squeak. She tried again.

  ‘The first thing I want to say to you is to forget what a nasty piece of work Joey Cobb was. The fact is, somebody has committed murder, and we don’t turn a blind eye to murder, no matter who the victim. We are going to catch whoever did this, and I
personally will devote one hundred per cent of my efforts to achieving that aim. I hope that you will give me a similar level of dedication. If you have any qualms about that, come and talk to me. If I make any decisions you don’t like, come and talk to me. I won’t bite your head off, and if you make a good point, I promise to take it on board.’

  She scanned the room for a reaction. It felt like a good start. She noted that Devereux was still hovering, and was glad of it. Although she suspected that he would continue to watch her like a hawk, waiting for her to misstep, she wanted him to hear that if she was going down, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Where are we up to?’

  Marcel – good old dependable Marcel – was the first to speak.

  ‘It looks like the phone was a burner. We’re getting it analysed now. We’ve also asked the mobile operator for tracking info.’

  ‘Okay. Stay on their backs. Let me know as soon as you have anything. What else?’

  DC Trisha Lacey added her voice. ‘We’re still looking through the rubbish at the landfill site. There are still some body parts missing, but they may never come to the site. Even if they do, it’s a bloody big place. It’s possible we may never find them.’

  ‘Any chance of working out where the parts were originally dumped?’

  ‘We’re talking to management at the site. They’re analysing their logs and checking their cameras. We’re hoping they can narrow it down to just a few trucks that could have unloaded their contents there before it got compressed, and then trace it back to the pick-up routes. We’re also sifting through all the crap in the proximity by hand, hoping we find something with an address on it.’

  ‘That’s a lovely task. Please tell the officers involved that it was on DCI Devereux’s orders, before I took over.’

  She got a laugh at this, and even a twinkle in the eye of Devereux, who then turned away and left her to it.

  ‘Who attended the post-mortem?’ she asked the room.

  Another hand shot up. ‘That was me. The pathologist is reserving judgement on that one. There’s extensive bruising to the neck, with damage that looks to have been inflicted while Cobb was alive. There’s also a cervical fracture and pronounced injury to the spinal cord. It looks like he was grabbed hard by the throat, but in the absence of a complete body it’s difficult to be definitive about cause of death.’

  ‘All right, but whatever the cause, it’s clear that Cobb really pissed somebody off – someone who went to a lot of trouble to cover their tracks. Start working up a list of Cobb’s known associates and gang contacts. Find out what toes he may have stepped on.’

  Hannah continued to issue instructions and take suggestions, and by the end of it she once again felt comfortable being at the helm. When she eventually retired to her office, she sat and released a long, slow breath of relief.

  Marcel Lang came to her within the hour.

  ‘Marcel,’ she said. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘News just in,’ he said. ‘Following your little speech, I thought you’d want to hear it ASAP.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘We’ve had sniffer dogs at the landfill site. They found something.’

  ‘More body parts?’

  ‘Better than that. A backpack.’

  ‘Cobb’s?’

  ‘We think so. We’ll get it checked for a DNA match. More interesting is what it contains.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Among other things, nearly ten grand in cash and about fifteen grand’s worth of cocaine.’

  ‘What?’

  Marcel nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  Hannah gave herself a moment to allow the ramifications to sink in. This was big. Big and heavy enough to turn the world upside down.

  ‘I don’t get it. We’ve been assuming this is gangland. A revenge attack, or part of a turf war. That’s the world Cobb lived in. It’s the way that people like Cobb exit that world. Kill him, yes. Dismember his body, yes. Dump him in the rubbish, yes. But what gang member worth their salt would throw away twenty-five grand in cash and drugs? How does that make any sense?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Marcel said again.

  14

  Hannah didn’t think they’d get much out of the Cobbs, but she went through the motions nonetheless. They all sat together in the kitchen, she and Marcel Lang on one side of the table, Myra and Ronan on the other. Myra had a bottle of gin in front of her, and was already very drunk. The fact that she was wearing a black armband seemed darkly comical to Hannah. Much more unnerving was Ronan, partly because of his uncanny resemblance to his dead twin, but also because of the way he kept staring so intently at Hannah. It was like having the eyes of a ghost on her.

  It could have been worse. If Patrick Cobb were here, he’d probably have instigated a riot by now. When he was alive, he and Myra had been a formidable team. The police had never managed to make a charge stick on Myra, although they’d tried several times. It was one reason she hated the cops. Another was that they’d had the temerity to put her beloved Patrick behind bars, where his days were ended when his throat was opened up by another prisoner. In Myra’s eyes, that made them just as culpable as the convict who had wielded the razor blade.

  Myra’s influence gradually faded after the loss of her husband, as she sank into her misery. Her sons had followed in the family tradition, although it was rumoured that Ronan had found himself a girl and pulled back a little from his criminal enterprises. Joey – always the more merciless of the twins – was active right up to his death, save when he was detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure, and perhaps even then.

  ‘So,’ Myra said. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘As I said,’ Hannah began, ‘I’ve been appointed to lead the investigation into the death of your son, and—’

  ‘Murder,’ Ronan interrupted. ‘My brother was murdered.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Myra. ‘He was fucking murdered. What are you lot doing about it?’

  ‘What we’re doing is pulling out all the stops to find his killer. I can assure you of that. I hope we can count on your support.’

  ‘What do you want us to do, give you a round of applause?’ Myra raised her glass. ‘Hooray for the police!’

  Hannah wanted to tell her to stop being such an awkward bitch. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We just want you to help us out with our inquiries.’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything.’

  Hannah pressed on. ‘Your son Joey—’

  ‘God rest his soul.’

  ‘—had a phone in his possession. An unregistered pay-as-you-go phone.’

  ‘So? What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing. What we’re wondering is if he also had a second phone? One that you might have called him on.’

  ‘Why would he have two phones?’

  You know very well why, Hannah thought. He was a drug dealer.

  ‘Lots of people do. One for business and one for personal use. I have two myself.’

  This seemed to mollify Myra. ‘Maybe he did.’

  ‘Could we have the number of his other phone?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It could be a big help to us in tracking where he went and who he spoke to.’

  Myra thought about it, then looked towards her son. ‘Give it to them.’

  Marcel pushed his notepad and pen across the table. Ronan glared at him, but then scribbled down the number.

  ‘As you know,’ Hannah said, ‘this was a particularly brutal attack. Do you know of anyone who might have a reason for doing this to Joey?’

  Myra laughed uproariously. A humourless laugh that ended in tears of drunken anguish rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘Everyone loved Joey. He was a good boy. The best. And anyone who says different is a twat.’

  The pre-emptive insult was laid out as a barrier against any attempt by Hannah to challenge Joey’s angelic credentials.

  ‘Have we met before?’ Ronan asked s
uddenly.

  A bad feeling scurried across Hannah’s shoulders. ‘Not that I recall.’ At any other time she might have said it was likely because of all the police stations that Ronan had been dragged into, but right now that didn’t seem appropriate.

  ‘You look familiar,’ he said. ‘What was your name again?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Hannah Washington.’

  ‘Right.’

  He didn’t pursue it. Hannah exchanged glances with Marcel before continuing.

  ‘So you’re not aware of any altercations he might have been involved in, any threats made against him?’

  ‘No,’ Myra said.

  Hannah was on the verge of giving up and leaving, but then Marcel added his voice.

  ‘Any idea where Joey might have gone over the weekend? Who he might have visited?’

  ‘Joey was a big boy. He didn’t need to check in with me every five minutes.’

  ‘So that’s a no, then?’

  The sarcasm penetrated even Myra’s drunken aura. ‘I don’t like your tone, lad.’ She slapped her armband. ‘My son has been cut up into tiny pieces. He was everything to me. So don’t you go—’

  ‘Got it!’ Ronan said, snapping his fingers. ‘You’re the one who put Tommy Glover away.’

  Hannah’s insides tightened. ‘I worked on the case. I didn’t make the arrest.’

  ‘That’s right. They took you off it, didn’t they? After you threw his girlfriend under a train.’

  Heat blazed in Hannah’s cheeks. ‘That’s not what happened. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to—’

  ‘What?’ Myra said. ‘It was her? She’s the copper who—’ She rose suddenly, jettisoning her chair backwards. ‘Get out! Get out of my house!’

  ‘Mrs Cobb, if we can be sensible about—’

  ‘Get out! NOW!’

  Hannah and Marcel stood up and gathered their belongings. They headed for the door, closely herded by Myra, who was still screaming in their ears.

  ‘How dare you come here? How dare they send a killer to my door? Why don’t I get a proper copper like everyone else, eh? What is it, are we not good enough, is that it? Bloody murdering bitch. You shouldn’t even be allowed to direct traffic. I can’t believe you’ve still got a job . . .’