by Mark Pearson
‘You can’t park there!’ the man said.
‘And you’d be?’ replied Delaney.
‘I’d be the technical manager. And this is school property.’
‘We won’t be long,’ said Sally Cartwright, smiling sweetly at him. ‘We’ve got a quick meeting at The Castle.’
The technical manager looked across at her and beamed. ‘Good choice,’ he said. ‘Take as long as you like. Tell them I sent you.’
‘Cheers,’ she said and walked out of the car park with Delaney. ‘See, sir, didn’t even have to flash my warrant card.’
‘Not your warrant card, no, Sally,’ said Delaney.
‘Sir!’ Sally replied in mock-outrage.
They walked up to the main road and down towards The Castle. ‘They do a nice drop of ale here apparently, Sally.’
‘Bit early for me, boss.’
Delaney looked at his watch. ‘Past lunchtime, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe a cheese and onion roll.’
They turned right out of the car park and walked downhill on West Street a few yards to the pub. Loud singing was coming from the larger of the two bars, and Delaney figured that Tony Hamilton would have gone into the smaller one. He figured right. There were a few regulars drinking pints of London Pride and scowling at the noise emanating from next door. Delaney wasn’t sure if it was an office party that had started early or was finishing late. The school had closed a while back for the holidays, but there was a pantomime running in the theatre and plenty of people still living on the hill.
Delaney used to come to the pub in the old days, when he walked the beat in the area. It was usually a lively pub on a Friday back then, at any time of the year, as he recalled.
‘Second Fuller’s pub I’ve been into today,’ he said to Tony Hamilton as he steered Sally to the bar.
‘What’s it to be, then?’ said the detective inspector, taking a sip from a tall glass of what looked suspiciously like Coca-Cola to Delaney.
‘I’ll have a pint of Guinness.’
‘And the lovely detective constable?’
‘The lovely detective constable will have a soda water and lime. She’s driving.’
‘Yes and the lovely detective constable can speak for herself as well, sir.’
‘At least we all agree she’s lovely,’ said Hamilton and Delaney groaned.
‘Dear God, do you not have a Saturday job selling cheese in the market?’ he said.
Hamilton pulled a stool out for Sally to sit on and gestured the barman over. ‘Pint of Guinness please.’ He looked enquiringly at Sally.
‘I’ll have a soda and lime, and a cheese and onion roll, if they have one?’
The barman grunted, indicating that they had, and set about pouring Delaney’s pint.
‘So what did you learn from the woman?’ asked Delaney.
‘She wasn’t exactly keen to talk.’
‘You think she was lying?’
‘I don’t know. Did you show her the photo?’
Delaney shrugged. ‘I don’t think I did.’
‘Well there you go then. She’s lying. Lying about something anyway. Not about being raped and slashed with a knife. Not about that.’
‘No, she wasn’t lying about that,’ agreed Sally Cartwright.
‘So someone got to her?’ said DI Hamilton.
‘Yeah.’
‘She’s put her house on the market. Suddenly. And she’s put it on cheap.’
‘Can’t blame her for wanting to leave the area.’
‘No.’
‘Specially if she knew that Michael Robinson was moving back in.’
‘Which she would know, when she decided to make that statement in court.’
‘Exactly.’ Delaney took a pull on his pint of Guinness and placed the glass down. ‘I want you to go to Northwick Park Hospital this afternoon, Sally.’
‘Why?’
‘Michael Robinson is a sick fuck. But he has a friend, one assumes.’
‘A partner-in-crime.’
‘Yeah, someone has put the frighteners on Stephanie Hewson, is my guess. Maybe he has put the frighteners on other women. Maybe he has hurt other women. Check the records, see if there have been any women in with knife injuries over the last few years.’
‘We’d have known if something similar had happened before, sir.’
‘No we wouldn’t. Not necessarily. How many women who are raped come forward do you reckon, Sally?’
‘We can’t know for sure.’
‘We do know it is a great deal more who don’t come forward than do,’ agreed Tony Hamilton.
‘With six per cent conviction rates, I’m not too surprised, are you?’
Hamilton shook his head. ‘We’re just the ratcatchers, that’s all. Other people’s job to decide what to do with them.’
Sally looked at Delaney. ‘That’s your expression, isn’t it, sir?’
Delaney ignored her. ‘The thing is a woman might not report a rape, but she would have to report a knife assault.’
‘Unless she claimed it was self-harming.’
‘Self-harmers don’t slash themselves across the belly, Constable.’
‘Some might.’
Delaney drained his Guinness and stood up. ‘Can you give her a lift to Northwick Park?’
DI Hamilton considered for a moment, then smiled at Sally. ‘I’d be delighted.’
‘Where are you going, sir?’
‘Just a little call to make and then I have to go and see the vicar.’
‘Sorting out the wedding?’ said Sally with an innocent expression.
‘Just give me my car keys and save your wit for someone who might appreciate it.’
He nodded at Hamilton who couldn’t see him, and Sally rolled her eyes.
‘Don’t get up to anything I wouldn’t,’ Delaney said as he headed out the door.
Hamilton took a sip of his drink. ‘Just you and me then.’
‘What’s going to happen to Jack?’
‘Not a lot, I should imagine.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be investigating him?’
‘I’m interviewing you, aren’t I?’
‘Is that what you’re doing?’
‘Yeah, I’m the good cop. It’s my technique.’
‘All charm?’
‘Is it working?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
‘It was destroyed in one.’
‘So you think he showed her the photo?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him, but he doesn’t think he did. And that’s good enough for me.’
‘I don’t think he did either.’
‘So what are we going to do about it?’
‘Prove him innocent.’
‘Good.’
‘And then, maybe dinner? Do you like Chinese?’
Sally finished her drink, then stood up. ‘Still not working.’
DI Hamilton stood up and jangled his keys. ‘Northwick Park then?’
‘Sounds as good a plan as any!’
Sally walked to the door and Hamilton watched her for a moment then grinned and followed her out.
39.
STEPHANIE HEWSON HESITATED for a moment before slamming the door shut. Delaney took that moment to hold his hands up in an I surrender gesture.
‘I’m not here to give you a hard time, Stephanie.’
‘What are you here for then?’
‘To help.’
‘You’d help me by leaving me alone.’
‘Is that what they said?’
‘Who?’
‘Someone has threatened you, I know that much.’
‘You don’t know anything at all.’
‘I know Michael Robinson was the man who hurt you.’
‘He didn’t just hurt me. He raped me and sliced me like a carcass of meat.’
‘And I am going to make him pay for what he did.’
‘You can do what you like, as long as it is not at my expens
e.’
Delaney took a card out of his pocket. ‘I know nothing I say can make up to you for what has happened. The truth is there is never the kind of justice that that man deserves.’
Stephanie Hewson looked at the detective standing on her doorstep, some of her anger evaporating. ‘I have to protect myself.’
‘I know,’ said Delaney and then nodded sadly. ‘Take my card. It has my mobile number on it. Call me any time, day or night. I promise I’ll be there for you.’
‘I’m not going to change my statement.’
‘I’m not asking you to. I know why you did it, and that’s all that’s important to me.’
Stephanie looked down at the card Delaney was holding out.
‘Take it, Stephanie. Please,’ he said. ‘I can’t promise you that the Metropolitan Police force will do everything in its power to bring Michael Robinson down. But I do promise you I will. It was personal to me when I was assigned the case in the first place. I wasn’t functioning properly then. I was borderline alcoholic.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I want you to understand. My wife was killed and it was partly my fault. I didn’t pull the trigger on the shotgun, but I put her in harm’s way. I blamed myself and I couldn’t deal with that, so I drank. My eye was off the ball. We should have had a stronger case against Robinson. What we had was circumstantial and it mainly came down to your identification in the end.’
‘I know.’
‘So you have been put in a place you shouldn’t have been. Twice.’
She looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
‘But I am going to make that stop now.’
‘Thank you,’ she said and took the card.
Delaney waited until she had closed the door and listened to the bolts being slid home, and then walked back to his car.
40.
DELANEY LOOKED UP at the sky for the hundredth time that day and frowned. Thick flakes of snow had begun to fall, settling in his long eyelashes. He blinked and locked the door to his Saab. The snow was crusty and slippery underfoot as he walked into the churchyard.
It was starting to get dark now and there was a glow coming from the forensic ‘marquee’ that had been erected over the grave where the body of the unknown man had been discovered.
Diane Campbell was standing outside the tent with a lit cigarette in her hand. Beside her stood a tall thin woman, with silver-grey hair slicked back. She wore a dark woollen overcoat but a dog collar was just about visible.
‘Jack,’ said Diane as he approached. ‘This is the Reverend Leslie Hynd. She’s the vicar here.’
‘Was the vicar here,’ she corrected her. ‘The church is deconsecrated, remember.’
‘Detective Inspector Jack Delaney.’ He shook the vicar’s hand.
‘Are we any further forward in finding out who the unfortunate man might be?’
‘No. Which is why we wanted to talk to you.’
‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’
Delaney nodded and turned to his boss. ‘Could I get one of those, Diane?’
‘Thought you’d given up?’
‘New Year’s resolution. It’s not the New Year yet, is it?’
‘Not unless I missed Christmas.’
Diane tapped out a couple of cigarettes, lit one from the dying embers of her own and handed it to Delaney. Then lit herself a fresh one.
The vicar gestured towards the church. ‘Why don’t we talk inside,’ she said.
‘You go ahead. We’ll finish these and catch up with you.’
‘As you wish.’ The Reverend Hynd headed off towards the church.
Diane looked at Delaney for a moment. ‘Are we any the wiser, Jack?’
‘A day older nearly, no wiser.’
‘I hear you talked to Michael Robinson.’
‘Yes. And Stephanie Hewson.’
The deputy superintendent blew out a long stream of smoke. ‘At the risk of sounding like John Le Mesurier in Dad’s Army, “Do you think that wise?”’
‘The man served a civil suit on me.’
‘I know.’
‘So I’m entitled to prepare my side of the case.’
‘That’s what you were doing, was it?’
‘No. I had his balls in my hand and told him that he ever went anywhere near Kate or Siobhan I’d tear them off.’
‘I imagine that got his attention.’
‘The cockroach is guilty, Diane.’
‘Yes.’
‘Stephanie Hewson is absolutely terrified. Someone has got to her.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.’
‘She didn’t say?’
‘She’s not saying anything.’
‘But she talked to you.’
‘I promised her I’d take care of things, whatever it took.’
‘You make a lot of promises, cowboy.’
‘Only ones that I can keep.’
‘Good,’ said Diane Campbell, grinding the cigarette butt under the heel of her boot. ‘Make sure that you do.’
Delaney didn’t reply, just flicked his cigarette away, watching the trail of tiny sparks as it wheeled through the air, the light winking out as it hit the snow-covered ground, then followed Diane into the church building.
The Reverend Leslie Hynd was closing her mobile phone as they both walked in.
The church was a shell, stripped of pews, altar, decorations. A vast, empty hall of a room now. The last of the day’s light came weakly through the stained-glass windows, but electric lighting had been set up. And a kettle, mugs and the fixings for cups of tea were on a side-table near the entrance door.
‘Sad to see the place like this,’ said the vicar, gesturing at the dust-covered floor of the church, broken tiles scattered here and there. ‘So many services, wedding, funerals, baptisms, Easters, Christmases. So many years, so many people.’ She sighed. ‘So many stories. It seems criminal.’
‘How long were you the vicar here?’ Delaney asked.
‘Not long. About three years.’
‘And before you?’
‘The Reverend Patrick Hennessy.’
‘And how long was he here?’ asked Diane Campbell.
‘About sixteen or seventeen years, I believe.’
‘And where is he now?’
‘He is doing missionary work in the People’s Democratic Republic of the Congo.’
‘And can he be contacted?’
‘Not easily. But I have put a message out for him to get in touch.’
‘And who was in charge here before then?’ asked Delaney.
‘My assistant is looking into it, Detective. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’
‘Thanks. Do you have any idea who the person might be that we found in your grounds?’
‘Absolutely none, I’m afraid. I understand he has been there for quite some time.’
‘About twenty years, we think.’
‘And the cause of death?’
‘This is a murder investigation, Reverend. He was shot in the head.’
‘Oh, my goodness, that’s terrible. Why would they bury him here?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Sally Cartwright.
‘If we knew that, then maybe we’ll know why he was killed, Reverend,’ said Delaney.
41.
MICHAEL ROBINSON STOOD on the platform at Baker Street waiting for the east-bound train that had just left Edgware Road and would take him to Piccadilly Circus.
He jiggled some coins in his jacket pocket. Not that he was scared as such, more a nervous excitement. He had a meeting first and then he was free to spend some time in Soho. It had been more than twelve months since he had enjoyed female company and he intended to savour the opportunity now. Ideally, he would have liked to pay that haughty bitch Stephanie Hewson another visit. He felt himself harden as he remembered the look she had given him in the courtroom that morning. Since he had recovered consciousness in hospital, eve
ry day, every night he had replayed in his mind what he had done to her in that Scout hut in Harrow-on-the-Hill. Grunting as he entered her, her gasps of pain making him harder still. He could remember the feel of her. His hands on her cool buttocks as he rammed himself into her. He remembered taking his knife and cutting her. Her sudden intake of breath. He remembered walking home over the back of the hill. Her scent in his nostrils, and he hardened again almost immediately.
He’d look for someone just like her. There were plenty of women to choose from in Soho, if you had the cash in your pocket. He hadn’t bought a new knife, though. The old one was hidden somewhere no one would ever find it and he wasn’t going to risk trying to recover it. He was many things, but one thing Michael Robinson wasn’t, was any man’s fool. He wasn’t any man’s bitch, either. And certainly not that arrogant fuck DI Jack Delaney’s. Coming into his house. Threatening him. The fuck didn’t have any idea who he was dealing with. But he was going to find out soon enough just what kind of man Robinson was. Delaney could wait, howevert. Wheels were in motion and the bastard would get what was coming to him.
Stephanie Hewson – she’d get what was coming to her soon too. But for now he was going to concentrate on himself. He jingled the coins in his pocket again, and a slow smile spread across his face as he imagined what lay ahead for him that evening.
He stepped forward as the train came clattering out of the tunnel from Marylebone.
And then he felt a lancing needle of pain in his right thigh. An unbearable pain searing through his neural pathways. His body convulsed and he stepped forward into thin air. He didn’t even have time to scream before the east-bound train hit him.
And then he didn’t think much of anything at all.
He was dead.
42.
DELANEY CAME INTO the bedroom loosening his tie.
Kate was sitting up in bed reading the latest Shardlake novel. The hunchback of Olde London town solving crimes for Henry the Eighth. Not Delaney’s cup of tea. It seemed to him that the serial killer Shardlake never caught was old Henry himself. Kate’s glasses were perched on the end of her nose and she peered over them at Jack as he tossed his tie on the chair beside the bed.