Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (33 page)

“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms
Rodway
.
Truly.”

Di
Rodway
looked up at Chase
through tear-streaked eyes. “How did he die, Inspector?” she asked. “That cow
Hopkins won’t tell me a thing.”

Chase settled himself in the chair on the opposite side of
the interview room table. “I don’t really know much about it,” he said. “I know
some of DCI Hopkins’ team found him in a warehouse late last night. He’d been
chained to a rafter and severely beaten. They tried their best to save him, but
he died before the ambulance arrived. That’s all.”

“But I thought he was here?”

“He was, that’s true. DCI Hopkins’ team brought him in for
questioning earlier in the evening, but he was only here for what, an hour? Two
at most? Isn’t that right, Constable?”

“Yes Sir,” replied PC Gupta, stonily.

“Did he say anything before he died?” asked Di
Rodway
.

“I don’t know, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t suppose you know who did it, either?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged.

Chase checked that the recording equipment was switched on.

“Can I ask you a question, please, Ms
Rodway
?”
he asked, quietly.

She sipped the plastic cup of tea she held in her left hand
and said nothing.

“Why did you send me those texts?”

Her dull eyes flashed for a moment. “Because you came
swanning into the office, all cocky like, and you knew fuck-all about what was
really going on.”

“And the picture of Lucy Kelmarsh and me?

“Couldn’t resist it. One of Dmitri’s mates was in that
restaurant when you was. He took the photo and sent it to me.”

“But why did you use Amy’s phone?”

“Little Miss Wonderful?” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone
thinks she’s so wonderful, but she’s just a spoilt brat. A gym bunny. If she
hadn’t been to university, she’d be nothing. Nobody.”

“Bryn Lewis rates her, though, doesn’t he?”

“Rates her? Fancies her, more like.”

“But they’re not having an affair or anything, are they?”

“Nah! Why do you think he kept choosing her?”

“Tell me.”

“Because she’s a prick-teaser, that’s why.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s desperate to get into her knickers. Just like that
horny bastard Frank Usher. And Les Salter. And you, Inspector.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know all about you and her Mum. But I’ve
seen the way you look at her. And let’s face it. Why would anyone want to be
with that fat old slag if they could have Little Miss Wonderful, eh?”

Chase couldn’t muster the energy to be angry. “Why did you
want to be with Dmitri?” he asked instead.

She blew her nose loudly into a tattered scrap of tissue.
“Because I love him, Inspector,” she replied. “I’ve loved him for years, ever
since Mum and Dad first fostered him. God, I love him so fucking much!”

Chase stood to leave. At the door he turned. “That’s the
answer to your question, Ms
Rodway
,” he said,
despondently.

“What question?”

Chase said nothing, but quietly closed the interview room door
behind him.

*

Back in his office, Chase slumped into his seat. He sipped
his mug of tea, and grimaced when he realised it was cold as well as
unsweetened. He took out his mobile and tried Anna Birkdale’s landline and
mobile again, but without success. He tossed the phone on to his desk in
despair and buried his head in his hands.

There was a tap at the door. Before he could respond, it
swung open, and there stood Chief Superintendent Royce.

“Well done, Allen,” he boomed, striding into the office and
perching on the desk. “A great result all round. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sir,” murmured Chase.

“And best of all, the Chiltern Park Neighbourhood Watch
won’t tear me limb from limb tonight now,” Royce added, with a smug smile. Then
his smile faded. “What’s up, Allen? Why so gloomy?”

“Just tired, that’s all. It’s been a bit full-on, the last
few days. Late nights, you know the kind of thing.”

“You want to be careful, Allen. You used to be a shining
example of work-life balance. What went wrong?”

Other than my wife leaving me, you mean, Sir? Chase thought.
Other than the way you always favour Hopkins over me? Other than this fucking
pointless job fucking up my last fucking chance of happiness?

“Go home, Allen,” ordered Royce. “Have some dinner, get
drunk, sleep round the clock. That’s my advice. You’re no use to man or beast
like this.”

“All right,” Chase sighed. “I was just about to head off
anyway. What was going on at the front desk just now?

“Oh, just a couple of young lads. Drunk and disorderly, you
know. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Chase nodded and said nothing.

“One question, though, before you go. How’s T/DC Halshaw
getting on?”

“Very well, actually. She’s still got a lot to learn, of
course, but she’s young and keen. She had some useful insights, picked up on
some things we’d all missed. She’s a good leader, too. All in all, she’s an
excellent prospect.”

“You really are impressed with her, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Chase replied. “I actually called her DS Halshaw
at one point.”

“A Freudian slip?”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“That’s good. No evidence of sharp practice, anything like
that?”

“Of course not.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, goodnight, Allen. See you in the
morning.”

The daylight was beginning to fade as Chase drew up in
Sutton Mews once again. Warm lights blazed from every house, including, to his
delight and terror, Number 5.

He turned off the engine and stared at the houses. There’s
still hope, he thought. While I’m sitting here, there’s hope. Once I ring the
doorbell, that’s it. The die is cast, for better or worse. God, Anna, I want
you so much!

How the hell had he got himself into this mess? A week ago
she was just another bystander in just another investigation. But then
something happened, and he had let himself believe his luck had finally changed,
that he’d found someone he cared about, and who felt the same way about him. It
was nobody’s fault really. Not Jim’s, not Barb’s, not Anna’s. Not Lauren’s,
really. Not even his. All relationships turn to shit eventually, Amy had said.
But why couldn’t it be different this time? Or if not, why did it have to
happen quite so quickly?

What is there left to live for, after she dumps me? Work? An
endless procession of thugs, psychos, and other assorted villains. A
never-ending chain of personal tragedies, large and small. Another
relationship? The chances of meeting anyone even half-way comparable are
infinitesimal. Jim will carry on winding me up about Lauren Halshaw, of course.
But that’s all Lauren will ever be. Jim’s wind-up.

But what if Anna doesn’t dump me? Chase tried to imagine how
the scene might play out. An affectionate greeting, a Vodka and Tonic (good and
strong), a calm, matter-of-fact discussion? Unlikely. A grim face at the door,
a full-scale row, complete with tears, maybe even a thrown plate or two, before
yet another heartfelt reconciliation? A shouting match in the street, followed
by frenzied make-up sex? No, none of them rang true.

What would Ken say? Not a lot. Ken never had much sympathy
with any kind of dithering or faffing around. Get on with it, you dozy bugger,
he’d say, right before he started misquoting Kipling about facing triumph and
disaster and being a man. And he would be right, of course. He always was.
Well, nearly always.

And My Lady? What was it that she demanded of her vassals?
Faith, forbearance, and utter devotion? Yes, that was it. Not such a bad
philosophy, really. Not bad at all.

Chase smiled resignedly and clambered out of the car. He
retrieved the bunch of flowers from the passenger seat, then shut the door and plipped
the central locking. He took a deep breath and gradually let it out. He squared
his shoulders and sucked in his gut, like an ageing gunslinger about to face
the new kid in town. Then, slowly and deliberately, he strode across the road,
up to the navy blue front door, and rang the bell.