The Retribution thacj-7

by Val McDermid

  Stacey always delivered her reports as if she was in the witness box. Carol loved the clarity, though she would sometimes have preferred more adamantine certainty. ‘Great job, Stacey,’ she said. ‘Anything from the plates?’

  ‘They’re fakes,’ Stacey said succinctly. ‘They belong to a Nissan that was scrapped six months ago.’

  ‘What about enhancing the driver’s face?’

  ‘I don’t think there’s enough visible to make it worthwhile. Certainly not for something we could release and hope to get a result from.’

  Sam slammed the flat of his hand on the desk. ‘So it doesn’t get us anywhere.’

  ‘It tells us that the man in the car is almost certainly the killer,’ Tony said. ‘If he was just a punter, he wouldn’t go to all the bother of fitting fake plates to his car. That speaks to forward planning.’

  Stacey turned to Sam and bestowed one of her rare smiles on him. ‘Actually, Sam, I don’t think it’s a dead end. We need to come at it laterally, that’s all. Like everywhere else in the UK, Bradfield has an extensive Automatic Number Plate Recognition CCTV network. These days, traffic cops and the security services track car movements on main roads all round the country. On A-roads, they can latch on to any car and follow it in real time. Or as near as damn it. And here’s the killer: all those detailed vehicle movements are stored for five years in the National ANPR Data Centre so they can be analysed for intelligence. Or used as evidence. All we have to do is ask for any records for that plate number after the date the Nissan was scrapped. That could practically lead us to his front door. Or at least give us a good enough likeness for somebody who knows him to recognise him and come forward.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Isn’t that beautiful?’

  ‘Beautiful? It’s better than beautiful,’ Carol said. ‘Can you contact them, Stacey? Impress them with the urgency. Life at stake, all the usual. We need this yesterday.’ The headache was in retreat. As always in this job, a little good news went a very long way. ‘We’re on to something, guys. And this time, it stays inside these four walls.’

  29

  After the soup, the cheese and biscuits and fruit. Waste of time, all that healthy eating, Vance thought. They were going to be dead soon, regardless of the quality of their diet. He shifted in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. If they both went back to work, it would be a while before he had the chance to take them by surprise. It could be hours. But that was OK. He was from the last generation to believe in deferred pleasure. He knew that all good things come to those who wait. It sounded like one of those mnemonics schoolkids learned – Every Good Boy Deserves Favour, or Richard Of York Gave Battle In Vain. For him, it had become a mantra.

  But this time, he’d guessed wrong. When they finished eating, they loaded their plates into the dishwasher. Then the woman turned to the man and ran her hand over the front of his cargo pants, stepping into him as she did so. His head tipped back and his hands found her breasts, gently moving his palms over them like a mime pretending to meet a window. She kissed his throat and he pulled her close in a tight embrace, pulling her blouse out of her skirt and running one hand up to find skin, caressing her backside with the other. She took a couple of steps forward, making him back up towards the stairs.

  They let go of each other. She pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. In turn, he unzipped her skirt and she stepped clear of it. ‘Oh my,’ Jacko breathed, seeing her stockings and suspenders. Sex had been the last thing on his mind, but he was already growing hard at the unwitting show the couple were staging for him.

  He struggled upright in his seat, realising this could be his best opportunity. If they were fucking each other’s brains out, they wouldn’t be paying much attention to anything else. He grabbed a small holdall from the passenger footwell then got out of the car, still clutching the tablet, and set off on foot towards the barn. There was a path from the road to the main door. He’d seen it on Google Earth. Half his attention was on the screen, the other half on the terrain.

  By the time he’d found the path, Vance had had to change screen views because they had made it upstairs to the gallery, a trail of clothing left behind. She was still wearing her stockings and suspender belt, he was down to one sock. Vance stumbled onwards, unable to stop watching as she kneeled on the bed and took his erect cock in her mouth. His hands were in her hair, then he was gently pushing her away, rolling her on to her stomach and entering her from behind, hands on her breasts, mouth biting her shoulder.

  Vance broke into an awkward run. This was too good a chance to miss. The door, of course, was unlocked. This was the countryside, in the middle of the day. Nobody locked their doors. He opened it silently then kicked off his shoes. He stepped inside and suddenly the screen had a soundtrack of groans and grunts and half-swallowed words. Vance put down the tablet then took a pair of latex gloves out of the holdall and put them on. Next he took out the same knife that had worked so well on Terry. Noiselessly he mounted the stairs.

  When his head cleared the stairway, he could see there was no need for silence. They were fucking like their lives depended on it, and Vance could feel his cock pressing hard against his clothes. Jesus, it had been so long since he had fucked a woman. For a mad moment, he thought about killing the man and taking his place. That would be the fuck of a lifetime. Then caution tripped in. Too many risks, too many chances for things to go horribly wrong. Hard enough to restrain a terrified woman with two strong arms, never mind one.

  He climbed the remaining stairs, moving with ease and confidence. He was always at his best in situations where he’d planned ahead. But this was working out even better than he’d expected. He came up behind the couple just as the man moved into the final stages, his buttocks pumping, his breath coming in gasps. She was yelling too, pushing against him, her hand between her legs as she worked to bring their orgasms together.

  Vance allowed himself to fall forward on top of them, his good arm snaking round under the woman’s throat. He ripped the blade from one side to the other before either of his victims had even realised what was happening. Blood began to gush from her throat as Vance grabbed the man’s hair with his prosthetic hand and pulled his head back. The man was panicking now, trying to buck Vance off. But the elements of surprise and control were against him. Vance dragged the knife across his throat and at once there was blood everywhere. He stepped back and flipped the man on to his back. The blood foamed and sprayed and fountained from the carotid arteries, driven higher and faster by the increased blood pressure provoked by the vigorous sex. His eyes rolled in panic, then dulled in seconds.

  Vance rolled the woman over. She was already beyond help but the blood still spewed out of her neck, her skin visibly paling as he watched. He quickly stripped off his blood-soaked clothes and stood over her, hard and ready. He knew she was dying or dead, but life was so close, this wouldn’t be some weird perversion. Because he wasn’t a pervert. He was very clear about that. He didn’t enjoy killing and he certainly had no interest in necrophilia.

  But still. The blood was amazing. And it wasn’t the killing that had aroused him, after all. She’d been responsible for that while she was alive. And yet … He didn’t want to look at that wound and the almost severed head. Her boyfriend had had the right idea. Vance turned her back on her stomach, then, slick with the blood of both his victims, he lowered himself on top of her.

  30

  Tony followed Carol into her office and hovered in the doorway. ‘I’ll head off home, then,’ he said. ‘Now Penny Burgess has her story, I don’t suppose she’ll be bugging me any more.’

  Carol gave him a shrewd look as she sat down. ‘You seemed to be unsurprised by anything in Penny’s story,’ she said. ‘Or by what Stacey was working on.’

  Tony’s smile betrayed his nervousness. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. ‘I guess I’m getting better at keeping my reactions hidden.’

  ‘Or else you knew everything already.’

  He shrugge
d, trying to look casual. ‘Most of these investigations follow the same basic patterns. You know that better than me.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said, without conviction. A movement in the squad room caught her eye and she said, ‘Oh, shit. It’s Blake. And you’re not supposed to be here.’

  ‘I’m here to talk about Vance,’ Tony said indignantly. ‘That’s Home Office business. Nothing to do with him.’ But he knew that wouldn’t matter if Carol’s boss had come looking for a fight.

  Blake was headed straight for them, his expression serious, his pink-and-white skin flushed around the eyes. Carol stood up as he reached the threshold. The Chief Constable nodded at Tony. ‘Dr Hill. I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ There was a surprising lack of hostility in his attitude.

  ‘I’m working with the Home Office on the Jacko Vance escape. I needed to talk to DCI Jordan. But I’ll be off now,’ Tony said, easing round Blake, hoping to get out before the trouble started.

  Blake’s eyes wrinkled in a pained expression. ‘Actually, Dr Hill, I’d rather you stayed.’

  Tony and Carol shared a quick glance of bafflement. He couldn’t remember Blake ever welcoming his presence, even when he’d been unequivocally on the side of the angels. Tony edged back into the room.

  ‘Could you close the door, please?’

  Now Tony was seriously worried. Blake was behaving like a man on a grave mission. If that mission involved Tony as well as Carol, the overwhelming chances were that somebody was dead. He closed the door and moved round to lean against the filing cabinet, his arms folded across his chest.

  Blake smoothed his perfectly barbered hair in a nervous gesture. ‘I’m afraid I have some rather bad news,’ he said, the West Country burr in his voice more noticeable than usual.

  Carol’s eyes flitted to the squad room. Tony could see her checking. All present and correct, apart from Kevin. ‘Has something happened to DS Matthews?’ she said, formality disguising fear.

  Blake looked momentarily wrong-footed. ‘DS Matthews?’ He clearly had no idea who she was talking about. ‘No, nothing to do with any of your officers. Carol, I’m afraid there’s been an … incident.’

  ‘What do you mean, an incident? Where? What’s happened?’ Now agitation was slipping out from behind Carol’s professional mask. Tony straightened up. He could see an ominous sheen of sweat on Blake’s upper lip.

  ‘Your brother and his partner – there’s been an incursion in their home. A violent incursion.’

  Tony felt the shock in his chest, knew it must be worse for Carol. She was on her feet now, eyes wide, mouth moving without a sound issuing from it.

  ‘Are they alive?’ Tony said, crossing to Carol and putting his arm round her shoulders. It didn’t come naturally to him, but he knew how people were supposed to behave in a crisis. He felt more for Carol than any other human being; the least he could do was what was expected of someone who cared.

  Blake looked hangdog. He shook his head. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Carol. They’re both dead.’

  Carol slumped against Tony, shivering like a wet dog. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, no, no.’ The pitch and volume decreased with each word till she was virtually growling the last ‘no’. He could feel the terrible tension vibrating in her as he held her close. She caught her breath, teetering on the edge of a sob, but somehow dragged herself back from the edge.

  ‘What happened?’ Tony asked, driven towards the story as he always was.

  Blake signalled with his eyes that he didn’t want to answer.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Carol cried, turning back to face the Chief Constable. ‘You have no right to keep this from me.’

  Blake wrung his hands. Tony had heard the expression, but he’d never seen so vivid a representation of it. ‘The facts I have are very sketchy. Your brother and his partner—’

  ‘Michael and Lucy,’ Carol said. ‘They have names. Michael and Lucy.’

  Blake had a hunted look about him now. ‘I apologise. Michael and Lucy were surprised by an intruder who attacked them both with a knife. It appears to have been very sudden.’

  ‘This happened at the barn? During the night?’ Tony said. He’d been there for dinner three or four times with Carol. He couldn’t picture it as a crime scene. He certainly couldn’t imagine anyone approaching in broad daylight without being spotted.

  ‘As I said, I have very few details. But the officers at the scene believe the crime took place within the last couple of hours.’

  ‘Who found them?’ Carol said, attempting to cling to composure. She was defending herself now, building a wall of ice between herself and the rest of the world. Tony had seen her bulldoze her way through an extreme personal crisis before. He had also seen the aftermath, when the wheels well and truly came off.

  ‘I don’t know, Carol. I’m sorry. I thought it better to share what little I know as soon as possible rather than wait for more details.’ Blake looked at Tony, seeking help. But Tony was as much at a loss as he was. He couldn’t make sense of what he was hearing. He felt numb, but he knew the impact would hit him before long. Two people he had known were dead. Murdered. And it was hard to resist believing that he knew the culprit.

  Carol drew away from Tony and collected her coat from its peg. ‘I need to go there.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Blake said, trying to exert authority.

  ‘I don’t care what you think,’ she said. ‘My brother, my choice.’ Her voice cracked on the words. She returned to her filing cabinet and took two miniatures of vodka from the drawer. One after the other, she swallowed them without pausing. As the alcohol hit, she clenched her jaw, blinking hard. Then she visibly collected herself and said, ‘Tony, I need you to drive me.’

  ‘If you’re determined to go, I can have an officer drive you,’ Blake said.

  ‘I want to be with someone I know,’ Carol said. ‘Tony, will you drive me? Or shall I get Paula to do it?’

  It was the last thing he felt like doing. But choice didn’t come into it. ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said.

  ‘Obviously, you must take whatever time you need,’ Blake said as Carol pulled her coat on and started past him. She moved gingerly, as if recovering from a bad tackle on the sports field. Tony hovered behind her, not sure whether to put his arm around her or to leave her alone. Paula, Chris and Sam stared openly, bemused at what news could have so diminished their boss.

  ‘Tell them,’ Tony said over his shoulder to Blake as they reached the door. ‘They need to know.’ He nodded towards Chris. If he was right about what had happened to Michael and Lucy, she needed to be aware. ‘Especially Chris.’ He saw the shock on her face, but had no time to deal with it. Carol was the person who mattered now.

  31

  Every regular pairing has its own codified car behaviour. One always drives, the other is invariably the passenger, or the driving is shared along prearranged demarcation lines, or one drives except when they’ve been drinking. The passenger navigates or stays out of it; the passenger criticises the driving either directly, or indirectly, by drawing their breath in sharply whenever there is the faintest risk of disaster; the passenger falls asleep. Whatever the pattern, it takes a deep crisis to alter it.

  Carol passively handing over her car keys and allowing Tony to drive was a measure of how stricken she was. Where she was a confident, assured and fast driver, he was nervous, hesitant and inconsistent. It had never become second nature to him. He still had to think about his manoeuvres and, given how easily he was distracted by thoughts of patients and killers, Carol always complained she felt like she was taking her life in her hands when she had to be his passenger. Today, her life was the least of her concerns.

  He programmed the satnav and set off through the late afternoon traffic. Even though the recession had cleared some of the blockages in the city’s rush-hour arteries, their progress was slow. Normally, Carol would have sworn at the traffic and found some route through the back doubles that might not have saved time but ha
d the merit of movement. That afternoon, she simply stared out of the window, eyes blank. She had closed down, like an animal hibernating through the worst of the winter, building up its strength for when it mattered.

  Once before he had seen her like this. She’d been raped and brutalised, battered and bruised, beaten but not quite defeated. She’d protected herself with an inward retreat just like this. She’d locked herself away for months, denying herself any comfort that didn’t come out of a bottle, keeping friends and family beyond the curtain wall. Even Tony, with all the skills at his disposal, had barely been able to stay in touch. Just when he’d feared she was slipping away completely, the Job had saved her. It had given her something to live for that he hadn’t been able to provide. It was just another instance of his many failings, he thought, never stopping to ask whether she believed that too.

  They’d barely cleared Bradfield when her phone rang. She declined the call without even looking at the screen. ‘I can’t talk to anyone,’ she said.

  ‘Not even me?’ He glanced away from the road to check her expression.

  She’d given him a look he couldn’t fathom. There was nothing related to affection and plenty of ice. She said nothing, simply curling closer into herself. Tony focused on the driving, trying to put himself in her shoes and failing. He had no siblings. He could only imagine what it must be like to have that pool of shared memories at the heart of your childhood. Something like that could fortify you against the world. It could also be the first step on a lifetime journey of distorted relationships and twisted personalities. But everything Carol had said about her brother put them in the former camp.