by Mark Pearson
'Go on, get out of my sight.'
Morgan stumbled to the door as Delaney looked at the lighter in his hand and threw it hard across the cabin.
A flurry of uniforms and noise. Blue and black uniforms, padded jackets. A lot of shouting way past a time when the urgency implied would have been any use. Superintendent Walker making sure he was prominent in the shot as Morgan was bundled off the boat and led away.
Inside the barge, for a moment or two Delaney looked down at the open petrol canister on the floor, his eyes slate dull. He glanced across at the bench that Jenny had been sitting on. A ragged teddy bear was tipped upside down on the corner of it.
'Boss?'
Delaney looked up at the window. 'On my way, Sally.' He walked over to pick up the teddy bear and followed her to the exit. Stopping at the fore cabin to pick up the DVD he'd seen earlier. Sin Sisters. He turned it over so he could see the cover. The two women on the front were dressed in miniskirted, latex nun's outfits, one with a riding crop in her hand and a shock of curly black hair and laughing eyes. Jackie Malone. And the woman with her, heavily made-up, with a wig to match Jackie's hair. Melody Masters, according to the credits.
He slipped the DVD into his pocket and stepped off the barge, walking out into the golden light of the setting sun and the furious gaze of Diane Campbell as she bore down towards him. Ignoring her, he watched Morgan as he was led by uniformed officers to a waiting police van.
'What the hell do you think you were doing in there, Delaney?'
'Excuse me a minute, ma'am.' Campbell was left speechless as Delaney walked to where Jenny was standing with Candy and a couple of uniformed officers.
'Here you go, Jenny, I think he's yours.'
Delaney handed the teddy bear back to Jenny, who took it and hugged it as if she was a much younger girl. Today, he figured, she did feel a lot younger. In the days to come, the years ahead, she would come to realise that what had happened could have made her so much older.
Delaney put his hand on Sally's shoulder. 'You did well.'
'Thanks, boss. It's a good result. Celebratory drink?'
Delaney looked over at Campbell as she shouted into her mobile phone, and hesitated. If he could face down a psychopathic mechanic with severe emotional difficulties and a homicidal history, he supposed he could face his boss. But as Campbell closed her mobile, Superintendent Walker approached her with his pet Sky News reporter close behind. Delaney turned to Sally.
'Come on then, before people start asking questions.' And he led her behind a bank of uniforms and away.
22.
Kate Walker lay on her bed, the covers thrown back, fine beads of perspiration dotting her forehead. She moaned softly in her sleep and twisted her body for the hundredth time in half an hour. In her dream she was walking up a familiar staircase, broad oak steps with a large hall below her on the right. The staircase turned to the right and led up to a wide corridor. A procession of portraits marched uniformly along the wall, and at the end of the corridor a wide, panelled white door stood slightly ajar. Kate walked slowly towards it, her bare feet soundless on the thick pile of the rich green carpet. She put her hand on the door, opened it further, and walked into the room. A pool of blood reached out, almost kissing her bare toes. And at the top of the elliptical pool was the fanned hair of Jackie Malone, her eyes still wide and uncomprehending, her pale skin still horribly violated.
Kate awoke with a start. She remembered where she had seen a murder scene like it before, and realised why Jackie Malone's body had swapped places with the corpse in her dream. Her dreams were telling her something, and she felt a chill run through her veins as she realised what it was.
Delaney groaned as he swung his feet off the sofa. He figured one of these days maybe he'd wake up without a hangover. A quick couple of drinks with Sally Cartwright had turned into a few more, and when Sally left for a relatively early night, Delaney carried steadily on. He finished up at about four o'clock in the morning and was poured into the back of a taxi by a large Irishman called Liam, who bounced at a pub in Queen's Park called the Greyhound, famous for its regular late opening hours and just as regular fights.
Tipping some cereal into a bowl, Delaney opened the door of his fridge and winced as he stepped back. He didn't have to take the bottle out to realise the milk had gone sour. He snapped up his jacket from the sofa and the DVD he had taken from Morgan's boat fell out and clattered to the floor. He picked it up, glanced at the cover briefly then put it in a sideboard drawer. He closed the drawer and took a step away, but then turned back and opened it again. He took out a small packet of white powder, licked his finger and dipped it in, then ran the powdered finger round his gums. It would numb the feeling there but it would spark his brain up a little at least, and Delaney figured he'd need his senses about him today. He dipped his finger again, just enough to keep him sharp, and put the cocaine back in the drawer.
He switched his mobile phone on, and some few seconds later, as he was locking his front door, it rang. He answered it and immediately held it away from his ear, wincing as Campbell's voice barked out at him.
An hour and a half later, Delaney was drumming his fingers impatiently, looking at the bland face of Detective Inspector Richard Hadden and not particularly caring for what he saw. He'd been sitting in Hadden's stark and windowless office being interviewed by the man about Jenny and Howard Morgan for over half an hour now, and was sick of the sight of him. Hadden was five nine, with fair, thinning hair, trendy glasses and the kind of smug expression that made Delaney want to pick up his coffee mug and smash it straight into his face. Only trouble was, assaults against fellow officers were just the sort of thing Hadden investigated.
Instead Delaney fought down his urge for violence and summoned a weary smile. 'Like I said, Richard, I acted as I did to save the life of a young girl.'
'It could well be that you put that girl's life in danger. For goodness' sake, Inspector Delaney. I know you call yourself Cowboy, but this isn't the wild west. You can't go taking the law into your own hands.'
'I don't call myself anything of the sort. I did what I did because I had to make a decision. And I made the right decision.'
'The review will see about that. We have protocols for a reason, Detective Inspector.'
Hadden wrote calmly in his notebook, ignoring Delaney for a moment or two, and then looked up at him with a cold smile.
'It's little more than a week since we had to interview you about other irregularities with police procedure, isn't it?'
'That was bullshit too, and you know it.'
Hadden smiled again, and again Delaney wanted to give him a serious dental bill. Hadden looked down at his notes and shrugged. 'A kilogram. That's a lot of nose candy still missing from evidence.'
Delaney laughed out loud, despite himself. 'Nose candy? What's up, Richard, they send you off to jargon school? You actually thinking of doing some proper police work? Getting the lingo right so you can rap with the gangstas?'
'Your attitude isn't helping your cause.'
'What are you going to do? Charge me with saving the girl's life?'
Hadden closed his notebook and stared at Delaney for a long, condescending moment. 'We'll let you know what we are going to charge you with when we decide.'
'Whatever tickles your pickle, Richard.'
Delaney stood up and walked out of Hadden's office as fast as he could, before he could say or do anything he might regret.
As Delaney walked back into his own office, he was surprised to see Kate Walker sitting at his desk, and a little annoyed.
'Can I help you with anything?'
Kate picked up on the shortness of his tone and stood up. 'You could start by losing a bit of the attitude. I've come with some information I thought you might find useful.'
Delaney nodded a little guiltily. 'Sorry. Bit of a bad morning.'
'I heard you were in with DI Hadden.'
'That's right.'
'I always thought the man
was an insufferable prig myself.'
Delaney smiled. 'Close enough. What have you got for me?'
Kate pointed at the murder scene photographs that she had left on Jack's desk. 'Jackie Malone. The way her body was mutilated. The positioning of her body.'
'What about it?'
'I've seen it before, Jack.'
'Where?'
Kate handed him a DVD. The House of Knives. 'It's a classic sixties French film. A black-and-white art-house slash and gore. There is a woman mutilated and murdered in it in exactly the same way as Jackie Malone.'
'You think it's a copycat killing?'
Kate looked at him. 'No. As you know, Jackie Malone's injuries were post-mortem.'
'So . . . ?'
'So I think what you have here, Jack, is a seriously sick film buff.'
Diane Campbell was at her window lighting up a cigarette when Delaney knocked and entered her office. She glared at him. 'What the fuck happened out there yesterday, Jack?'
'Yeah, good morning to you too, boss.'
'Save it, Delaney. I'm not in the mood.'
'We got the girl back, didn't we?'
'You should have waited.'
'If I'd waited he could have got away.'
'You don't know that.'
'You're right, I don't know that. In fact, he probably wouldn't, in which case he was quite prepared to kill his own daughter, set light to the boat and blow them both halfway across Essex.'
'We have people trained in hostage negotiation for a reason, Jack.'
'Yeah, because we're too damn scared just to take them down first chance we get. And don't tell me that what happened at Stockwell station has got nothing to do with that.'
Campbell glared out of the window. Finding no answers in the car park below, she looked back at Delaney and sighed. 'And what's happening with Jackie Malone?'
Delaney shrugged and gestured noncommittally. 'We think we're looking for at least two of them. Nothing concrete as yet.'
Campbell took a long last pull to finish her cigarette and flicked it out of the window. 'Your connection with her? Anything you want to get off your chest?'
Delaney helped himself to a cigarette from Campbell's packet on her desk and joined her by the window. 'Like what?'
'Come off it, Cowboy. She calls here looking for you. Repeatedly. Next thing she's lying in our deep freeze with more holes in her than a Swiss cheese on fondue night.'
'I didn't see her.'
'Why was she trying to get hold of you?'
Delaney blew a stream of smoke out of the window. 'Seems like she was worried about something.'
Campbell snorted drily. 'Seems like she had good cause.'
'That's what Dr Walker said.'
'Kate Walker meets a lot of people who clearly had good cause to be worried.'
'I know.'
'So why did Jackie phone you? If it was a police matter, why not speak to Eddie, or anyone else on the shift?'
Delaney shrugged.
'There's nothing in your relationship with this woman I should know about?'
'If there was, I would be telling you.'
She looked at him for a moment or two and then shrugged. 'I've got a meeting. Why don't you walk me to my car?'
Delaney nodded and fell into step beside her as they walked out of her office and then headed downstairs toward the front office and the car park.
'What exactly was your relationship with her then?'
Delaney scowled. Not at the question, but at the memories it brought. 'For Christ's sake, Diane, I've told you, there was no relationship.'
'It's no big deal if you visited her. As long as we know. It can't have been easy for you.'
'Excuse me, ma'am but that's . . . if you'll pardon the expression, a load of horse shit you're shovelling there.'
'It's not me holding the spade. And it's not me that's got a strong smell of the country about him right now.'
Delaney stopped and looked at her. Like Campbell, he had been a cop far too long not to pick up on the importance of things unspoken.
'What all this about, ma'am?'
'You've got your promotion board next week, Cowboy. And after the last debacle I just want to make sure no skeletons are going to come dancing out of the closet, rattling their chains.' She smiled at him, the corners of her eyes softening. 'Or should I say their whips and chains?'
'It's not funny, ma'am.'
Campbell halted, pulled up by the plain criticism in his tone. 'No, you're bloody right, it isn't.'
Delaney shrugged apologetically. 'I don't know why she called. I'm assuming she was scared, needed my help. I don't know why it was only me that she thought could help her.'
'Never assume, Detective. It makes an ass out of you.'
'I intend to find out the truth. You can depend on that, and you can depend on me.'
She nodded again. 'I had to ask. Someone took that cocaine out of evidence and the finger was pointed at you.'
Delaney swung the door shut behind them as they headed into the car park and across to the chief inspector's car. 'Hadden only takes his finger out of his arse to point it at me, but my record's clean.'
'Like I said. I'm not the one holding a spade. Just don't make the mistake of thinking that you don't have enemies in the force, Jack.'
'That was all a load of shite and you know it. Do I look to you like I use the stuff?'
Campbell looked at him closely. 'We all deal with our demons.'
'Yeah, well, it's strictly Bell's, book and candle with me.'
'Whoever lifted a kilogram of grade A cocaine from our stores probably didn't do it to powder his own nose.'
'Or hers.'
'Or hers,' the chief inspector agreed, and got into her car. Delaney watched as she gunned the engine and pulled swiftly away from the car park, darting into the traffic like a salmon heading back to its spawning ground.
Delaney walked back into the building. He nodded absent-mindedly to PC Dave Patterson, walking past him to the custody booking area and beyond that to the evidence holding store. He quickly tapped the entry code into the security pad and walked into a brightly lit, windowless room. A large counter stood in front of him, behind which were the shelves and wire-caged storage areas for evidence seized during arrests.
The officer on duty was a thirty-two-year-old brunette called Susan Halliday, who had Marilyn Monroe's body and an even brighter smile. Many was the time Delaney would have flirted with her but knew there was no point. Susan had been living with his boss for over four years now, the most open secret at the station. Delaney honestly didn't know why Diane Campbell was always so grumpy in the mornings.
Susan Halliday flashed her brilliant orthodonture at him. 'Sorry, Jack, your usually drugs delivery hasn't arrived this week.'
'That's not funny, Susan.' Delaney's smile belied his answer.
'So what can we do you for, sir?'
'I just want to look at the evidence log for the Jackie Malone crime scene.'
'Sure.'
She went to the records area, pulled out the relevant file and extracted a couple of sheets of paper, which she handed to Delaney.
Delaney ran his eyes down the list of items taken from Jackie's flat. He read the list twice to make sure, but he was quite right. Among the list of DVDs was Head Girl, Crime and Punishment, Spunk Junkies. But Sin Sisters, which he remembered seeing on the night of Jackie Malone's murder, was very much conspicuous by its absence.
'Everything all right, sir?'
Delaney smiled. 'Absolutely perfect.'
But the expression on his face as he walked back into his office told a different story. Bonner hung up the phone as Delaney entered the room.
'What's up with you then, boss? You look like you've got a pain somewhere only a doctor should be looking at.'
Delaney shook his thoughts away with a covering smile. 'Any word on Billy Martin?'
'Absolute zip. But we're scouring every dive, brothel and bar from Wembley Park to Bethnal Gree
n. He'll turn up sooner or later.'
'He usually does.'
'What are they charging Morgan with?'
Delaney shrugged. 'Whatever it is, he isn't going to be out for a good long while.'
'And his sister?'
Delaney shook his head. 'Shouldn't think they'll charge her with anything.' He picked his jacket up from the back of his chair. 'Come on. You're with me. You can drive.'
'What's on?'
'I've got a meet with one of London's genuine scumbags.'
'A grass?'
'My bank manager.'
Delaney used to joke that he liked both kinds of music, country and western. It was an old joke, but that didn't bother him. It was how he'd got his nickname, Cowboy, and the music playing in his car as he pulled to the side of the street would have made Johnny Cash smile in his grave. The latest in a long line of southern belles with a voice of pure sunshine. Some man was going to do her right by doing her wrong and that was just the way she liked it. Oh yeah, baby, that's the way she likes it. So much for women's liberation, thought Delaney, eat your heart out, Tammy Wynette. He flicked the music off and opened his car door, turning to Bonner. 'I won't be long. If I'm not out in ten minutes, come in and shoot the bastard.'
'You know, boss, sometimes I don't think you show the proper respect for the capitalist system we are sworn to protect and serve.'
'Make that five minutes.'
*
Chief Superintendent Walker sat back in the padded leather chair in his plush office, which was neat and spotless. The paintings on the wall were not prints and the brandy in the decanter sitting on his walnut cabinet was not from a supermarket at just over ten pounds a litre. He smiled as DC Sally Cartwright responded to his summons and entered the room. He looked at her appraisingly. She could be sitting behind the reception desk of a top London advertising agency, or modelling bikinis, or singing banal pop songs; instead she had come to work for the police force. His police force. Maybe she expected her healthy good looks to curry favour, and maybe they did. In the cut and thrust of police work on the factory floor, as it were, they might serve her very well. But Chief Superintendent Walker couldn't care less what she looked like. She was a police officer and that was that. One of his pieces to move about the board. He glared angrily at the file she held in her hand.