The Unquiet Dead

by Gay Longworth

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You heard me.’ He stuck the needle through the top of the vial and pulled back the plunger. ‘Bend over, Detective, or go wait in line at A & E. Either way, someone is going to stick a needle in your arse.’

  ‘Are you qualified to do this?’

  He winked at her.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she grimaced.

  ‘Consider it punishment for behaving so foolishly.’

  Jessie undid the buttons on her leather trousers and peeled them down. The humiliation was made worse by the fact that she was wearing a rather unattractive thong that had been through too many wrong washes to boast any identifiable colour.

  ‘Okay,’ said Dominic, ‘bend over, hold on to your knees and try to relax. This is going to –’

  ‘FUCK!’

  ‘– hurt.’

  Tears sprang to her eyes as he massaged the serum into her bottom. ‘Sorry, but you’ll thank me for this tomorrow when you can sit down rather than can’t.’

  Jessie exhaled loudly. ‘You’re all sadists.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Pants up, you’re done. Come here,’ he added, beckoning her across the room. ‘I’ll dress them for you. And if you’re very good, I’ll re-dress them in a couple of days.’

  ‘Thanks, Dominic. I owe you.’

  ‘Well, don’t get too gushy. I might be about to put a spanner in the works.’ He squeezed out some antiseptic cream on to his finger and began rubbing it gently into the cuts. ‘When you get home, take the bandages off, have a long soak in a salty bath, then put more of this cream on. Is there anyone who can put fresh bandages on?’

  ‘My brother. Actually he’s a doctor.’

  ‘And he didn’t force you to go to the hospital?’

  ‘I haven’t shown them to him.’

  He was shaking his head, but there was no anger in his eyes.

  ‘He was out,’ she claimed. Which was mostly true. ‘So what’s this spanner, Doctor?’

  Dominic finished wrapping up the bandages then moved back a few paces from her.

  ‘I want you to come here and feel my thigh.’

  Jessie laughed nervously.

  ‘All for science.’ He beckoned her over. ‘Right.’ She squeezed his right thigh. ‘Now left.’ She squeezed again. ‘Feel the difference?’

  ‘Your left is rock solid.’

  Dominic nodded. ‘Very good.’

  ‘And the point is?’

  ‘Tell me, in any of the descriptions of this dealer, Ian Doyle, was there mention of a limp?’

  ‘A limp?’ she echoed.

  ‘I missed it at first because the drying out of the flesh has caused the fascia and muscle tissue to shrink. Also, to begin with the baggy trousers made the legs look bulkier, so it was harder to notice.’

  ‘Notice what?’

  ‘Just like me, he had a left leg that was stronger than his right. It bore the brunt of his weight. In fact, his right leg was almost entirely wasted. My guess is polio as a child. Knowing what we do about his lifestyle and eating habits, it’s pretty safe to assume he was born into a poor family. Back then, vaccination wasn’t nationwide; he’d have eaten a poor diet, had a low immune system as a result and contracted polio.’

  ‘How severe would this limp have been?’

  ‘Much worse than mine. You couldn’t miss it.’

  But everyone had. None of the police paperwork she’d seen listing the descriptions and sightings of Doyle, none of the countless articles that had been written, had mentioned a limp.

  ‘Any chance he could have disguised it?’

  Dominic shook his head. ‘Only by staying still.’

  ‘There was a nationwide search for this man, rewards were offered, he was known in the area …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘There was a search for someone, but not this guy.’

  ‘Are you absolutely –’

  ‘Certain? Yes. But you can get Sally Grimes down here if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘No, I trust you. It’s just disappointing.’

  ‘Who first described this Ian Doyle?’

  ‘According to Mr Romano, a friend of his son’s.’

  ‘Can you find him?’

  ‘We can find anyone.’

  ‘Well,’ said Dominic, ‘that’s your answer. But if Ian Doyle didn’t have a limp, then this is not Ian Doyle.’

  10

  Jessie threw the file across her desk. ‘Damn it!’ She swore loudly enough for Burrows, now ensconced in Mark’s old office across the hall, to look up. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Swearing.’

  He looked away, disappointed.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Jessie.

  He didn’t reply. Normally in synch with one another, she and Burrows were missing the target in every conversation.

  ‘I was trying to be polite,’ she protested.

  ‘No you weren’t, you were walking on eggshells around me. You’ve been doing it ever since I told you about my faith. And to be honest, boss, it’s getting very wearing.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Then stop trying to curb your language in front of me. I’m not going to start saying Hail Marys.’

  ‘So I can say “Fuck it”?’

  ‘You can say fuck, shit, wank, cunt, if you want. Just don’t ask me to.’

  Jessie smiled for the first time since she had begun her search for a missing limp. ‘So cock-suckingmotherfuckersonofabitch doesn’t bother you?’

  ‘You’re like that petulant child in Malcolm in the Middle.’

  ‘I don’t watch TV, but I have a feeling I’ve just been insulted.’

  ‘You have.’

  ‘Touché.’

  Niaz put his head around Jessie’s door, noticed the relaxed atmosphere, and relaxed himself.

  ‘I can’t sit here all day bantering, let’s get a search going on NIB 74c.’

  ‘Please remind me, what is this NIB 74c?’ asked Niaz.

  ‘Burrows, you explain.’

  ‘It’s the form you fill out after an arrest, describing the perp. Hair colour, height, weight, distinguishing features, like scars, tattoos –’

  ‘Limps,’ added Jessie.

  ‘All that information gets fed into the National Identification Bureau database, which is supposed to assist us in catching persistent criminals. Trouble is, it’s subjective, and therefore open to enormous variance.’

  ‘A limp isn’t subjective,’ protested Jessie.

  ‘What makes you believe this man was a criminal?’ asked Niaz.

  Someone in here needs forgiveness. ‘Because it requires an extreme level of hatred to chain up another human being, dump them in a pit and leave them to be eaten alive by rats. If you ask me, this has all the hallmarks of a revenge killing.’

  ‘What about the IRA? They were active in the eighties.’

  ‘Good idea, Burrows – run it past the anti-terrorist unit.’

  ‘It could have been an accident,’ said Niaz.

  ‘How do you accidentally chain a man up and suspend him over a hole in the ground?’

  Niaz did not answer, but Jessie knew that didn’t mean he had nothing to say.

  ‘Let’s start with the search, if only to cross it off the list. Stick to what we know: limp and dark hair. Less room for error that way.’

  Niaz suddenly looked over his shoulder, then back to Jessie. ‘Take cover,’ he whispered. ‘Incoming missile.’

  Jessie knew what that meant and rose to her feet. She’d had enough of being talked down to. ‘Take a seat, Driver,’ said DCI Moore sharply. ‘This isn’t a social call. Is it true that you ordered CCTV footage from the NCP adjacent to the baths?’

  Jessie glanced over DCI Moore’s shoulder at Burrows, who sat quietly at his desk. He was the only person she had shown the CD-ROM to. He met her look with an impenetrable stare. DCI Moore glanced back at Burrows. ‘I take it from your silence that my information is correct. I would be fascinated to discover what poss
ible link exists between that footage and the body DI Ward discovered.’

  Nifty little spin that, thought Jessie. She made it sound as if Mark had gone out of his way to locate the missing man’s corpse.

  ‘I was looking for a man who claimed he had information that would help me. He’d approached me in the baths while I was there alone, and seemed to know more about the case than he should.’

  This answer obviously took DCI Moore by surprise.

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Mark, stepping into the doorway.

  ‘Hello, Mark, I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘You’ve been tampering with my case.’

  ‘Why would I do that? I want your men clear of Marshall Street Baths, not extending their stay.’

  ‘We’ll be back there as soon as the flood water has subsided,’ he challenged.

  ‘There’s no point, Mark. Anna Maria is not there. She took herself off as far as her six-inch heels would carry –’

  ‘Did you find this man, Driver?’ Moore cut in, manoeuvring herself slightly so that she stood between her two DIs. Jessie found this interesting. Moore may have sided with Mark Ward, but she obviously knew he was a danger to himself when he felt threatened, challenged or made to feel stupid. If he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to her, so it was in her interest to control the situation. Knowing this made Jessie even angrier. Deep down, DCI Moore knew that Mark was shit-stirring, but still she wouldn’t disarm him. Jessie recalled what she’d said to Jones: it wasn’t fair that she was being punished for another person’s wrong doings.

  Life isn’t fair, said her mother.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, did you find this man?’

  Jessie’s brows knitted in confusion.

  ‘Are you feeling unwell, DI Driver?’ asked DCI Moore, leaning closer to her with a concerned expression.

  ‘Good stalling tactics,’ said Mark.

  ‘Mark, enough now. She doesn’t look well.’

  Jessie cleared her mind and focused on DCI Moore’s red mouth. ‘I did find him. His name is Father Forrester. He was at Marshall Street Baths the day Anna Maria went missing, he was there the day the body was found and he was there the day after. I did of course ask him if he knew anything about the missing girl, but he claims to have been attending a seminar at St Martin-in-the-Fields. The seminar organisers have confirmed this. He is a slightly old and forgetful man who fancies himself to be an exorcist. The news of a body piqued his interest and he came to offer his services. I may be missing something and the place is haunted, but I didn’t believe the budget would stretch to a full exorcism. Don the caretaker doesn’t seem to mind the voices, so I let Father Forrester go on his merry way.’ Jessie looked at Mark. ‘If you’re easily scared, you could always take a cross with you. Or Burrows,’ she said spitefully.

  Burrows stood up and walked to the door. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, pushing it shut, ‘I have some phone calls to make.’

  Moore started to laugh. ‘Do you mean Father Eric Forrester?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jessie grumbled, instantly regretting having brought Burrows into the fray.

  ‘Jessie, Father Forrester is one of the most respected men in the clergy – you thought he was a suspect? You must be losing your touch.’

  Mark laughed hard at that.

  ‘You’ve used him then, in investigations?’

  Mark stopped laughing.

  ‘Not personally, no, but he is an exceptional man, Driver. Exceptional. You could do worse than to listen to what he has to say. Old souls are his speciality, I believe. Now, tell me what you know about the dead man.’

  Mark jumped in. ‘You must have ID’d him by now, surely.’

  Jessie gave her boss a breakdown of the situation.

  ‘So, it isn’t Ian Doyle?’ said DCI Moore finally.

  ‘But he looks like him in every other way; he’s a dead ringer for the photofit. I’ve also discovered that the deceased boy’s father got to the scene very quickly and talked to the kids before the police did. He knew about the drugs but didn’t say anything to the authorities – that strikes me as pretty odd behaviour.’

  ‘This Mr Romano lost his son, he should be forgiven for not acting normally.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘You don’t have children, Driver, you couldn’t possibly understand.’

  ‘No, I don’t, but I have nieces, I can empathise. I know what it’s like to lose someone, I know what it feels like to behave irrationally, I know what it’s like to want to lash out at everyone. I do understand, DCI Moore.’

  For a moment there was an impasse. DCI Moore stared at Jessie and Jessie stared back. But just as she sensed the trace of a thaw, Mark bulldozed his way in.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be concentrating our efforts on finding the missing teenager?’

  Jessie had her neck in front for the first time, she didn’t want to lose her lead. ‘I’ve already found her, Mark. She went into the NCP car park, changed her clothes and tottered off in disguise – wig and everything. She staged this. I suggest you ask her mother why.’

  ‘You’re having me on, right?’

  Jessie shook her head. ‘It’s all on the NCP security footage. The silly girl didn’t even check for CCTV cameras. I’ve got the tape.’

  ‘Very good, Driver. That’s very good. I didn’t want a dead girl in my first week. Well done. Perhaps Jessie is right, Mark, and you should start checking out hotels in the area. You can do that, can’t you?’

  Mark was too much of a self-preservationist to react the way he wanted to. He simply nodded.

  ‘Good.’ Moore glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got a meeting with the Chief Constable. Let’s get him some more results soon.’ She turned back to Jessie. ‘Look, I’m sorry to have to bring this up again, but the trousers, Jessie … Please, I’d rather not make this official.’

  It took a second or two before Jessie realised that DCI Moore had not turned back to congratulate her. She saw the smirk on Mark’s face. Sometimes she hated her job. She hated her colleagues. She hated the line of command and the required subordination that came with it. She wondered what the hell she was doing there. Her friends had chosen such different paths to her. From university they had gone on to banking, TV, film, PR; most of them were grossing fat salaries and large expense accounts. They had perks. What were hers? Getting through the day without being insulted, hit, shot at, run down, bawled out. True, they all had problems; true there were politics in companies the world over, but nothing that compared to the Force.

  A tense silence remained until the double doors at the end of the corridor clattered shut. The fight had barely started.

  ‘You’re a back-stabbing bitch, Driver,’ said Mark.

  ‘Ditto.’

  ‘Will you please get over that? I did try and call you, it wasn’t my fault you were out getting bladdered. You’re fucked because you can’t work your special brand of magic on her.’ Mark looked at Niaz. ‘Surrounded by too many yes men, that’s your trouble.’

  ‘Niaz, I think you’d better go.’

  He hovered.

  ‘Please,’ said Jessie firmly. She did not want to give Mark the opportunity to say something to Niaz that she would not be able to ignore. He left them.

  ‘Let’s end this now, Mark, before it gets really out of hand.’

  ‘You think I’m going to give you my office?’

  ‘I don’t care about the fucking office. I can’t stand this animosity. It’s creating a barrier between everybody – and you should apologise to Niaz, too.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Burrows opened the door, looked at Jessie, then followed Niaz out of CID.

  ‘You had a little tiff with lover boy?’

  It was a stab in the dark, thought Jessie. No one knew she’d seen P.J. ‘What is wrong with you at the moment, Mark? Is there anything you want to talk about?’

  ‘I really thought a boy like that would have had more taste.’

  ‘Mark, if you aren’t capable of having a
n adult conversation, then just go away.’

  ‘Huffing and puffing and pouty lips. Did you forget his birthday or something?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Doe-eyed Detective Sergeant Burrows, of course. Your little lover boy.’

  She stared at him, speechless.

  ‘You don’t deny it then?’ he said, chuckling.

  Jessie squinted at him. ‘Have you been drinking cappuccino?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The chocolate seems to have come off on your nose.’

  Mark rubbed it instinctively.

  ‘Oh,’ said Jessie. ‘Must be something else – can’t imagine what. And by the way, a bet’s a bet. That office is mine and I’ll let everyone know you’re a welch if you’re not out of there by the end of the day.’

  Her mobile phone rang. She quickly answered it before Mark could retaliate.

  ‘Hello, you,’ said P. J. Dean. ‘Can I tempt you away from whatever you’re doing? The press junket is over, I’m all alone at the Ritz and I was hoping I could play field nurse again. You must need fresh bandages by now.’

  Jessie looked up at Mark. He mouthed something at her, which she didn’t catch but might have been something as infantile as ‘I’ll get you.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ said Jessie.

  ‘Really? Great! It’s the St James’s Suite. You’re not fobbing me off, are you? You really are coming over?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jessie, leaving Mark gawping behind her. ‘I really am.’

  ‘Well hallefuckinglulya! My first aid must have been good. I’m ordering champagne.’

  Jessie climbed on to her bike and revved away from the police station. At that moment in time, she would have been happy never to return.

  A well-girthed man in a long green coat opened the door for her as she approached. It seemed only the police force discriminated against leather trousers. The Ritz welcomed them with a slight bow and a smile. She didn’t ask for directions, she simply walked to the lift and pressed the button to take her to the top floor. A brass plaque helpfully pointed out the way. The St James’s Suite was somewhere off to the right. She walked along the corridor; hotel-like in every way, except that the doors did not line the route like soldiers on parade. Here they were widely spaced and intermittent. She found the St James’s Suite and knocked on the door. There was a bell, but she felt daft ringing it. After waiting more than a minute, however, she tried it. Could a suite really be that large? P.J. opened the door wearing his signature faded jeans and white T-shirt. He had bare feet. They were brown. Jessie knew he was brown all over. He leant forward, his face edging closer. Jessie leant closer. He sniffed loudly.