Hard Evidence (19 page)

'I didn't mean to do it, Father.'

'You didn't mean to drink the bottle of communion
wine?'

'No, Father.'

'Was it the Devil that made you do it then?'

'I'm thinking it must be, Father. For sure as
you're standing there I have no inkling of why I'd
do such a thing.'

'No inkling?'

'None whatsoever. As God is my witness.'

'But God is your witness, isn't he, Jack?'

'Yes, Father.'

'So it was the Devil in you that had the inkling,
is that what you are thinking?'

'Now you come to mention it, Father, that must
be the right of the matter. For I have no inclination
in myself whatsoever to be drinking wine. It tastes
disgusting.'

'And yet you drank a whole bottle of it.'

'And was heartily sick.'

'Then maybe you have learned a valuable
lesson, Jack.'

'I certainly have learned my lesson, Father,' he
said hopefully.

'It was the Devil in you. You're sure of it now?'

'Certain sure, Father.'

'It is a bad business when you let the Devil into
your body, boy.'

'He must have snuck up on me, Father. I'll be
vigilant from now on. I promise it to you.'

'But if the Devil is in you, boy, we have to get
him out, don't we?'

'Do we?'

'The Devil is like a cancer, boy. Like a sickness.
We must purge him, son. It is our Christian duty.'

'Purge?'

Father O'Connell laid a heavy hand on Jack's
head, and Jack flinched.

'Our Christian duty, son. Come with me to the
vestry.'

And as Jack looked up into the middle-aged
man's eyes, he saw not anger but some kind of
feral hunger, and he trembled even more as he was
led to the vestry door.

The hymn came to a close and Delaney wiped the
back of his hand across his forehead, damp now
with sweat. Wendy handed him a tissue, which he
took gratefully as the twin doors to the church
opened and a procession of young children, boys
and girls, came in. The girls in white dresses, the
boys wearing red ties. They walked slowly up the
aisle in a line to the altar. Delaney smiled at
Siobhan as she passed, but Siobhan kept her eyes
ahead, looking at the cruciform figure of Christ
hanging behind the altar. Wendy put a hand on
Delaney's knee and he squeezed it, holding on just
a little too tight.

Wendy smiled reassuringly at him. 'She looks a
million dollars, Jack. A million dollars.'

Siobhan came to the altar and knelt at the little
rail. The priest made the sign of the cross in front
of her with his hand, and Siobhan shut her eyes
and opened her mouth, putting out her tongue so
he could place the communion wafer on it.

Kate looked around the empty CID office. She
paused at Delaney's desk. It was neat and ordered.
Files stacked tidily, pens in a pot, loose papers
collected, everything aligned. The desk of a man
who liked to keep control of things, Kate
surmised. Not least his emotions. A photograph
stood centrally on the desk. Silver-framed. A
smiling woman holding a young baby. Delaney's
wife and daughter, Kate guessed. She picked up
the photograph; his wife was very beautiful. Kate
couldn't begin to imagine what he must have gone
through when she died.

She put the report she had brought him on top
of his files, suddenly feeling guilty, and started as
Bob Wilkinson came across, a thinly veiled anger
in his eyes.

'Come to gloat, have you?'

'What are you talking about?'

'Come off it, Dr Walker. We all know you're no
friend of Jack Delaney.'

Kate shook her head, puzzled. 'You've lost me.'

'What are you doing here, then?'

'I promised Jack a copy of the autopsy report on
Billy Martin.'

Bob Wilkinson was a little taken aback. 'Right.'

'And for your information, whatever differences
Jack and I had in the past are just that. In the
past.'

'I'll take your word for it.'

Bob Wilkinson went to move away, but Kate
gripped his arm firmly. She lowered her voice to
a whisper. 'What are you talking about, though?
What's going on?'

'There's rumours flying around. That's all.'

'What kind of rumours?'

'About Jack.'

'What about him?'

Bob leaned in and lowered his voice too.
'They're saying he was involved in Jackie
Malone's murder.'

Kate shook her head, shocked. 'That's
ridiculous!'

'You and I know that,' said Bob Wilkinson,
letting the implication hang in the air.

'You've got to do something.'

He shrugged. 'I'm just a foot soldier, what can I
do?'

Kate looked across the office, her face hardening
as Chief Superintendent Walker came out
of DCI Campbell's office, forcefully pulling the
door shut behind him. He strode angrily down the
corridor, not even glancing at his niece.

Wilkinson looked pointedly at Kate. 'If
something bad is coming down on Jack Delaney,
and if you are his friend like you say,' he looked
across at the superintendent's retreating figure,
'then he's going to need friends with connections
in high places.'

'I'm not sure I have any influence there.'

'Maybe it's time to find out.'

Kate considered for a moment, looked down at
the photo on Delaney's desk and hurried after her
uncle. Time to swallow her pride and ask for help.

Outside the church, Delaney leaned against the
cool stone of the old flint wall and caught his
breath, telling himself it was just the heat. But the
feverish pump of blood in his heart told a different
story. He took a couple of deep breaths and forced
himself to relax. He started as the mobile phone in
his pocket rang and had to take a moment or two
to answer it. 'Jack Delaney?'

The voice on the other end of the phone was
breathy and low. A woman. 'Did you get the
film?'

'Who is this?'

'It doesn't matter who I am. Did you get the film
I sent?'

'I got the film.' Sweat was breaking out on
Delaney's forehead once more.

'Did you enjoy it?'

'Who is this?'

'You can call me a friend.'

Delaney barked a short dry laugh. '
My
friend?'

'I don't know you.'

'Whose friend, then?'

'Jackie Malone's friend.'

Delaney sighed, running his hand across the top
of his forehead again.

'What do you want?'

There was a small chuckle on the other end of
the line. A chuckle that had as much warmth in it
as a penguin's foot. 'That's the twenty-four-dollar
question?'

'You want money?'

'No. I don't want money.'

'What do you want then?'

Delaney could hear the woman on the other end
covering the phone and hissing to someone: 'Give
me a minute.' He heard a man's voice replying to
her but couldn't make out the words.

Delaney's patience was wearing thin. 'What do
you want?' He spoke curtly into the phone.

'I want justice for Jackie. I want retribution.'

'Why don't you come in and talk about it?'

Another harsh laugh. 'I don't think so, Jack.
People involved in this business seem to get
hurt, don't they? Jackie. Her dropkick brother
Billy.'

'What do you know about Billy Martin?'

'I know they both ended up getting terminally
hurt. And I never was like Jackie. I don't play the
rough games. And this is a sick business.'

Delaney frowned. 'What business?'

'Blackmail.'

Delaney sighed again. 'I see.'

'Billy Martin thought he had stumbled on a little
goldmine, but Jackie didn't want anything to
do with it. She gave me the tape to look after.
Anything happened to her, she said to send it to
you.'

Delaney nodded. 'Where's the boy?'

'I don't know anything about a boy.'

'Who am I talking to?'

'Anyway, that's it. I don't want anything more
to do with it. She said you'd know what to do
with the DVD. She said you'd take care of those
responsible. She didn't trust the police but she
trusted you to make sure they got what was
coming to them.'

Delaney could hear the man in the background
shouting at her, urgent, angry. He thought he
could make out the name Carol, or Karen.

'I've got to go.'

'Just tell me where—' But the line had gone
dead. Delaney closed his phone angrily and looked
over to the church doors, where children flanked
by happy parents were spilling noisily out.
Delaney watched them for a moment or two and
then ran to his car.

Wendy came out with Siobhan. Shielding her
eyes against the sun and squinting as she looked
around for Delaney.

'Jack?'

But Delaney had gone.

In his car he lit up a cigarette and took a few
deep drags, then picked up his mobile phone and
tapped a number in. 'Sally, it's Delaney. I want
you to get Jackie Malone's file out. Trace all her
known associates and go back as far as you can.
I'm looking for a Carol or a Karen. Probably on
the game. And do the same with Stella Trant's file
too. And I want it yesterday.'

'Yes, boss, but . . .'

'Just do it, Sally. There's something I need to
take care of.'

He closed the phone and it rang immediately.
He looked at the number. Campbell. He switched
the phone off and took a few more hits on his
cigarette as he turned the key in the ignition, his
eyes dark pools of anger.

Alexander Moffett's tongue poked thickly from
his mouth. His eyes bulged painfully, small blood
vessels in them breaking as he twisted. The veins
and muscles of his neck were thick with effort, like
cords or snakes writhing under his skin. He
grunted with desperation. With madness. His head
rocked back and the skin on his neck burned and
tore. Struggling just made the noose tighter,
however, and his breathing stopped completely
with a last horrible gurgle. His legs strained
downward but his toes couldn't find the floor. His
eyes bulged even more and red tears leaked from
the corners of his eyes, his tongue so swollen now
as to fill his mouth, blocking it even if he could
draw air. He jerked once, maybe twice more, and
was still. The eyes rolled back, and the body
swayed silently on the rope in a gentle circle like a
drunken, grotesque ballerina.

Behind him on a large flat-screen television,
Billy Martin was screaming soundlessly as Kevin
Norrell picked him up and threw him, hands and
feet tied with coat-hanger wire, into the cold night
water of the Thames.

A hand reached down, ejected the DVD and
turned off the television. His face was reflected in
the wide, staring pupils of Alexander Moffett, but
as the man left the room, his image went with him.

Parked a few doors up from Moffett's house in
Paddington, Delaney crushed a cigarette into his
already full ashtray and automatically put another
in his mouth. Flaring a match, he watched blue-suited
forensic investigators hurry into the house,
past flashing lights, and uniforms stretching out
yellow and black tape to cordon off the area from
curious passers-by. Nothing to see here. Not any
more, thought Delaney.

Inside, Chief Inspector Diane Campbell nodded
sourly at the uniformed constable who stood to
the side of the door opening into Moffett's study.
She walked into the room swearing quietly under
her breath. It was an opulent room. A man's study
from another era. Book-lined walls. A deep-pile
carpet underfoot. A large globe of the world from
a time when most of it was coloured pink. A sideboard
with decanter and crystal glasses. A large
mahogany desk with a green leather inset. A
humidor stocked with the finest cigars from Cuba.
The only modern things were the flat-screen TV
and the telephone. It was a man's room. A dead
man's room.

Moffett's body had been lowered, the rope cut
down from the three-hundred-year old beams that
spanned the ceiling. Bonner stood to one side as a
police photographer finished taking shots of the
deceased. Moffett's face was stained purple with
the blood pooling in the loose skin. His eyes were
dull and his tongue protruded like an obscene
gesture. Campbell brushed a hand angrily in the air
as a fly buzzed past, and turned to Bonner.

'Where is Dr Walker?'

'On her way, ma'am.'

She sighed and looked at her watch, then glared
back at Bonner. 'And more to the bloody point,
where's Jack sodding Delaney?'

Bonner shrugged as Campbell's mobile phone
went. She snapped it open. 'Campbell?'

She listened, her lips tightening with anger.
'Bring it in. All of it.' She snapped the phone shut
and glared angrily at Delaney as he walked into
the room. 'Your phone switched off, was it?'

Delaney shook his head. 'Must have been out
of range. I called in; Dave Patterson gave me the
shout.'

'Obviously. Or you wouldn't be here, would
you?'

Delaney picked up on her tone. 'What's that
supposed to mean?'

Campbell nodded to the body on the floor.
'Alexander Moffett. What do you know about
him?'

'Just what I was told by Slimline.' Delaney
shrugged again. 'Television producer. God slot.
Sunday morning, singing children, all that. Now
dead.'

'He certainly is that.'

Delaney looked at Moffett's grotesque corpse.
'Was it suicide?'

Campbell looked at him for a long moment.
'Did you know him personally, Jack?'

'I don't think I went to the right school.'

'Just answer the bloody question.'

Delaney's eyes flattened. 'What going on,
Diane?'

'You've never met or had dealings with
Alexander Moffett?'

'You have a point to make, why don't you just
make it?'

Campbell held up a piece of paper. 'His suicide
note.'

'And?'

'And in it, Detective Inspector Delaney . . . in it
he tells us why he committed suicide. It says that
you were blackmailing him.'

Delaney gritted his teeth angrily. 'I never met
the man.'

'Not only that, but you were selling him cocaine
and turning a blind eye to the party games he
played with young children. The private films he
made.'

Delaney nodded, the penny dropping. 'Ah.'

'For money, Delaney. Lots of money.'

'And you believe this?'

'Why would he lie?'

Delaney shrugged. 'And why would he kill himself
now?'

'Because he has a young child of his own, Jack.
Coming up to her ninth birthday. She lives with
her mum, but he has access. And he was scared of
what he might do.'

'He told you this?'

Campbell held up the sheet of paper. 'All in the
letter.'

'Convenient that it's typewritten.'

'He couldn't live with himself any more so he
thought he'd make amends.'

'It's all bullshit, Diane.'

Campbell glared at him. 'Don't call me that.'

'How am I supposed to fit into all this?'

'Jackie Malone. It all comes back to her.'

Delaney looked over at Bonner, but Bonner's
face was impassive, unreadable. He looked back
at Campbell. 'Go on?'

'Alexander Moffett didn't just make shows for
Sunday morning television.'

'I'm listening.'

'He made all sorts of films. Pornography. Like
Sin Sisters
, for example, starring your old friend
Jackie Malone.'

'What's that got to do with me?'

Campbell carried on, ignoring him. 'The thing
is, he made other kinds of films too. Films for a
specialised market. Kiddie porn and other very
nasty stuff.' She held up a DVD case. 'Jackie
Malone dying.'

Delaney went very quiet and Campbell gave
him a hard, flat look. His phone suddenly rang,
shattering the silence. Delaney answered it before
Campbell could object.

'Delaney?' He could hear Kate's worried voice
on the other end of the phone and kept his face
neutral as she spoke.

'It's Kate. Someone's setting you up for the murder
of Jackie Malone.'

'It's in hand. Don't say anything to anybody,
okay? I'm dealing with it.'

He clicked the phone off.

'Who was that, Jack?'

'If it is any of your business, it was my sister-in-law.
Some of your people have been questioning
her.'

'Standard procedure. You know how it works.'

'Anybody upsets my daughter and they'll have
me to deal with.'

'Let's get back to the kiddie porn, shall we,
Jack.'

'It's got nothing to do with me.'

'We found copies in your flat.'

'You've been to my flat?'

Campbell's look was pure granite. 'Yes, we've
been to your flat.'

'You had no right.'

'We had every right. We had a warrant and we
found the cocaine.'

Delaney shook his head angrily. 'Jesus Christ,
Diane, half a dab.'

'I told you not to call me that. And damn near a
kilo is a little more than a dab. I told you to talk
to me, didn't I? About Jackie Malone, about your
relationship with her.' She shook the suicide note
at him and pointed at Moffett. 'And now this sick
dead fuck is saying you killed her.'

Delaney sighed, resigned. He could see the way
this was going, but couldn't see a way out of it, for
now. 'This is a set-up, Diane. I didn't take that
cocaine, it's a plant. I've got nothing to do with
those films or with Moffett. I've never even heard
of him. And I sure as shite had nothing to do with
Jackie's murder. You know that!'

Campbell shrugged angrily. 'You've left me with
no choice, you stupid prick.'

'Just do it then.'

'Detective Inspector Jack Delaney, I am arresting
you on suspicion of murder. You do not have
to say anything, but it may harm your defence if
you do not mention, when questioned, something
which you later rely on in court. Anything you do
say may be given in evidence.' She turned to
Bonner. 'Cuff him and take him in.'

Bonner shrugged apologetically and held out the
cuffs. Delaney turned round and held out his
wrists, looking back at Campbell. 'Is this going to
affect my promotion?'

'Just take him away, Sergeant.'

Bonner led Delaney out of the room as
Campbell glanced down at the dead body of
Alexander Moffett and shook her head. She
looked at the shell-shocked uniforms who were
gathered about the room.

'And for fuck's sake, someone give me a
cigarette.'

Outside, Delaney walked ahead of Bonner and a
uniformed officer to a waiting car. As Bonner
opened the door for him to get in, Kate drove into
the driveway and jumped out of her car.

'What the hell's going on, Jack?'

'Unpaid parking fines.'

Kate rounded on Bonner. 'Eddie. Come on.
What's going on here?'

Bonner shook his head. 'It doesn't concern you,
Dr Walker.'

Delaney looked at her impassively. 'He's quite
right, there's a dead man in there. Stick with him.'

Kate turned back to Bonner. 'Where's
Campbell?'

'She's inside. Not in a good mood.'

'It's not going to improve any.'

She turned sharply on her heel and walked into
the house. Bonner put his hand on Delaney's head,
bending him into the car. Delaney sat in the back
and Bonner turned to the uniform. 'I can take it
from here, thanks, Jimmy.' The policeman nodded
and headed back towards the house. Bonner
walked around and got in the front seat, firing up
the engine. He tilted the rear-view mirror so he
could see Delaney's face.

'What's going on, Jack?'

'You tell me.'

'That's not the way it works. You know that.'

Delaney held up his hands. 'Not really. Not
used to sitting in this position.'

'I had to put the cuffs on.'

'Sure you did.'

'She wasn't a happy bunny, Cowboy. No point
both of us pissing her off.'

Delaney nodded his head and looked out the
window. 'You reckon this good weather will
hold?'

'We'll make an Englishman of you yet.'

'Not in this lifetime.'

Bonner laughed drily. 'As for good weather, you
said there was a shit storm coming and you were
right. And it's all coming your way, Cowboy.' He
shook his head and readjusted the mirror.

Kate walked into the study, her heart hammering
in her chest. She fought hard to stay calm. Delaney
needed her to stay focused, she reckoned. And
strangely, the knowledge made her heart beat a
little faster.

Campbell gave her a curt acknowledgement as
she entered and gestured atMoffett's body. 'I need
to know if it was suicide or if he was helped.'

Kate knelt down by the body of Alexander
Moffett, opening her police surgeon's bag and
letting the familiar routine steady her nerves. She
felt as if every eye in the room was trained on
her. She looked at the ligature marks around the
dead man's neck. Rope burns that, had he
survived, would have marked him for the rest of
his life. But he hadn't survived. The man's death
was clearly tied up with Jackie Malone, but she
didn't know how. She looked up at Diane
Campbell.

'What exactly do you think happened here?'

'We don't know, Dr Walker. He was found by
his housekeeper.'

'A suicide note?'

'A typed one, left on his computer.'

'What did he say in it?'

'Said he couldn't live with himself. Couldn't live
with the guilt.'

Kate looked back down at the swollen face,
twisted in agony. 'He chose a particularly unpleasant
way to go.'

Campbell nodded. 'I have a hypothetical for
you.'

'Go on.'

'Somebody orders a man – at gunpoint say, or
some other threat – to stand on a low stool. The
rope has been fixed, the noose tied. He tells the
man to put the rope around his own neck. He has
a gun on him, so who knows, he probably would
do it. Then the stool is kicked away and the man
is strangled.'

'What's the question?'

'Is there any way of telling that? Any way of
telling it was murder and not suicide.'

Kate shook her head. 'Under those circumstances,
probably not. If there was a struggle, we
could get some indicators – skin under his
fingernails, that kind of thing. Otherwise it's very
hard to prove.'

'What about fingerprints off the rope?'

Kate shook her head again. 'No chance. We'll
test for fibres, but the surface is too rough for
prints.'

Kate tilted the man's head and looked at the
bruising around his neck.

'I can tell you one thing.'

'What?'

'This wasn't a quick death. He would have
taken a while to die. He'd have to really hate himself
to do it.'

'Unless he had help.'

Kate looked down at Moffett again.

'Yeah. Unless he had help.'

In the back of Bonner's car, Delaney looked down
at the cuffs on his hands and flexed his wrists.
There was no chance of sliding them off, the
sergeant had made sure of that. He shifted
sideways on the seat and looked at Bonner in the
rear-view mirror.

'You getting a buzz out of taking me in, Eddie?'

'Someone had to do it, boss. That's what the
taxpayers pay their taxes for.' He shrugged.
'Nothing personal.'

'From this angle, it feels kind of personal.'

'What is it we always say? If you've done
nothing wrong, you've got nothing to be scared
of.'

'We know the system better than that, though,
don't we?'