Hard Evidence (21 page)

'For God's sake, Jack, what are you doing here?'

'Waiting for you.'

'You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.'

'Sorry.'

Kate blinked at him, astonished. 'Is that it?
Sorry!'

'I didn't mean to scare you, but I had to make
sure you were alone.'

'What the hell are you doing here anyway? How
did you get in?'

'You keep your back door key hidden under a
pot in your garden. Not wise.'

'You were arrested. Shouldn't you be in jail?'

'I didn't like the idea.'

Kate shook her head. 'You better come in, make
yourself at home.' The words seemed ridiculous
given the circumstances.

She led him down the hallway, opening the door
at the end to the kitchen. Delaney followed her in
and looked around. 'Nice.'

A stone-flagged floor, high ceiling and a
conservatory that had been added to make a
dining area. The late evening sunlight spilled in
through French doors leading to a well-designed
and very well-maintained garden. Kate picked up
a large kettle from the hotplate of her Aga and
filled it with water at her original butler's sink.

Delaney called out to her, 'Have you not got
something a little stronger?'

Kate put the kettle down and opened a cupboard,
taking out a bottle of single-malt whisky.
'No Irish, I'm afraid.'

'That's okay. Maybe I'm starting to appreciate
what the mainland has to offer.'

Kate picked up two glasses and carried them
across to the farmhouse table that Delaney was
sitting at. She poured out a couple of hefty
measures and clunked her glass quickly against
his. '
Slainte
.'

'Yeah.' Delaney took a quick swallow and
smiled gratefully at Kate.

'What did you do, Jack?'

'I escaped.'

'How?'

'I throttled Eddie Bonner. Made him crash the
car.'

Kate took a swallow of her whisky, winced a
little, and then took another.

'Do you think that was a good idea, all things
considered?'

'I had to do something. I didn't murder Jackie
Malone.'

Kate looked at him for a beat. 'Did you sleep
with her?'

Delaney looked back at her, surprised by the
question, then shook his head. 'No. I didn't sleep
with her.'

'Just good friends?'

'Not even that. I just looked out for her now and
again. I could talk to her.'

Kate nodded sympathetically. 'She's certainly
landed you in a whole world of trouble.'

Delaney shook his head again. 'Not Jackie.
Whoever killed her has put me in the frame for it,
and that is something they are going to live to
regret.'

'I know you didn't kill her, Jack.'

Delaney finished his whisky and Kate picked up
the bottle to pour him another.

'And what makes you so sure?'

'You told me you'd spent the day at your wife's
grave.'

'I did.'

'Did anyone see you?'

Delaney shrugged. 'Not that I'm aware of.'

'Other mourners? Someone who runs the
place?'

'I don't know, Kate. I wasn't really in a state to
notice much.'

'So you have no alibi?'

'No.'

'And no clue as to who really murdered Jackie
Malone or Billy Martin, or Alexander Moffett?'

'None at all.'

Kate took a sip of her drink and looked at him
sympathetically. 'Then you really are in the shit,
Jack.'

Delaney finished his second glass. 'Neck high.'

Chief Inspector Diane Campbell leaned forward to
look at the film that was playing in miniature on
her laptop computer. A Victorian front room.
Thick curtains drawn over lace nets, a small gap
throwing a golden shaft of diffuse sunlight into the
room. A piano with old photos in silver frames on
top of it, the floor plain dark wood but polished
so it shone, with a single faded rug. Dark furniture
in the background, a display case on thin sculpted
legs, a sideboard with broad gothic doors. A jardinière
stand with a white ceramic pot on it, but no
flowers.

And music playing. 'Pie Jesu'. Campbell licked
her dry lips as a young girl walked into shot. She
was around nine years old and you could see she
was nervous. She walked slowly towards the
camera wearing a simple white dress with
ribbons in her long dark hair. She stopped and
knelt down like a supplicant, opening her mouth
into an oval. A dark-suited figure moved in front
of her and then gestured off camera. A young
boy, only just in his teens if that, walked into
shot. A pretty boy, with long dark curly hair,
dark eyes and red lips.

The girl and the boy looked at each other as the
man held his arms out like a Louisiana missionary
and spoke with a dead man's voice.

'It's time to make some beautiful music, children.'
The voice of Alexander Moffett.

There was a knock on the door and Campbell's
heart leapt in her chest. She quickly closed her
laptop and called out, 'Come in.'

Bonner came through the door. Campbell
looked at him angrily. 'Do you have any good
news for me, Sergeant Bonner?'

'I don't, ma'am.'

Campbell's temper rose as she shouted back at
him. 'Then find him, for Christ's sake. Bring him
in, Eddie. I don't care how and I don't care in
what condition. We clear on that?'

'Ma'am.'

Campbell fixed him with a long, cold look. 'I'm
not going down on this alone, Sergeant. If I go,
you go with me. This is your fuck-up, you sort it.
You hear me?'

'Loud and clear.'

'Get the fuck out of my office then.'

Bonner left, pulling the door hard behind him.
Campbell looked at her laptop and folded her
hand into a tight fist.

Kate poured a splash more whisky into Delaney's
glass and a last measure into her own. She looked
at Delaney, her voice slurring a little now, a smile
tugging the corners of her lips and mischief definitely
dancing in her eyes.

'What made you think you could trust me?
Coming here?'

Delaney smiled, the strain showing in his tired
eyes, but enjoying her company.

'Woman's intuition.'

Kate laughed, a musical laugh. 'Oh yeah.
Yours?'

'Yours.'

'Pretty sure of yourself.'

'And they're not going to look for me here, are
they?'

'Why not?'

Delaney leaned forward. 'Because everyone
knows we can't stand the sight of each other.'

'People change.'

'Like hell they do.'

And the smile was in his eyes too. He leaned
forward and Kate tilted her chin upwards, her lips
warm and parted. And they kissed.

Delaney lost himself in the warmth, the taste of
whisky on her, the openness in her wide, beautiful
eyes. Eyes he could drown in. Then he caught himself
and pulled back.

'Sorry.'

Kate shook her head. 'You've got nothing to be
sorry about.' She held his head and pulled him
back in to her, her teeth nipping his lower lip,
hungry now. Passionate.

They stood up, Delaney shrugging out of his
jacket and wrapping his strong arms around her
pliant body. Holding her, needing her. Kate stood
back, catching her breath, her ivory face flushed
with desire. She held her hand out and Delaney
took it, and she led him from the kitchen, to the
stairs towards her bedroom. And Delaney almost
made it.

'No. This isn't right, Kate.'

'Jack . . .'

But Delaney put a hand to her lips so that she
couldn't speak.

'Don't, Kate. This isn't the right time.'

'It feels like it to me.'

He shook his head. 'With everything that's
going on. I've already involved you in too much
already.'

Kate looked at him for a moment. 'I haven't
done anything that I haven't wanted to do.'

Delaney nodded, conflicted. 'I'm sorry.'

Kate looked away, embarrassed suddenly.
'There's a big sofa you can sleep on.'

She led him through to the lounge and Delaney
sat gratefully on a wide red leather sofa.

'What are you going to do, Jack?'

'I don't know. Someone's very scared. I have to
find out why.'

'It all comes back to Jackie Malone?'

Delaney nodded. 'Yeah, I think it does.'

'Somebody murdered her. And whoever it was,
someone on the force is protecting him. Setting
you up for the fall.'

'Looks that way.'

'I hope you find the bastards.'

Delaney's eyes hardened. 'Oh, I'll find them,
Kate.' He was lost in his own thoughts for a
moment and then smiled apologetically at her. 'I'll
be out of your hair in the morning.'

Kate looked at him and then nodded, finally,
with a small smile of her own and left.

Delaney lay back on the sofa, his mind dancing
with thoughts he wasn't sure he wanted to be
having. This wasn't a time to be getting emotionally
involved with someone. And he knew that
that was exactly what it was. It wasn't about sex.
If it was, he'd already have been in Kate's bed.
He'd lied to her earlier about Jackie Malone. They
were more than just friends; he had slept with her.
Not often, but every now and again, when enough
Guinness and whiskey had chased the guilty
thoughts of his wife out of his turbulent and
troubled brain, he had visited her and they had
slept together. And she had written about it in her
diary. But they were just friends, there was no
emotional context at all apart from that. They
could talk, they could relate to each other and they
could have sex without it meaning a damn thing.
Until the next morning, of course, when Delaney
would wake with more than a hangover. He'd
wake with the guilt returning tenfold. Guilt that
made his stomach cramp and his throat gag drily.
That made him hate himself all over again.

Kate coughed quietly, and Delaney snapped out
of his reverie. She had returned with a duvet under
her arm and a new bottle of whisky in her hand.
She put the whisky on a small table and handed
Delaney the duvet.

'Are you sure this is what you want?'

Delaney nodded, not meeting her eye. 'Thanks.'

Kate paused, then smiled and ran her fingers
gently through his hair. 'If you need anything, you
know where I am.'

She walked back to the door and Delaney called
after her. 'Kate.'

She turned back, surprised. 'Yes.'

'Thanks.'

'Sure.'

And she left.

The nurse was a small, dark-haired woman in her
early twenties with delicate, almost Oriental
features. Her hands were small too, delicate again,
but precise. She moved a pillow under the
woman's head. The woman's eyes were closed, her
breathing operated by an artificial respirator. The
mechanical pumps making an obscene sound. Her
body was invaded by tubes and wires, and the beat
of the heart monitor sent out a contrapuntal and
discordant rhythm to the respirator. She was
living in form only.

Delaney stood at the bottom of the bed as the
nurse finished adjusting the pillow so that the
woman's dark hair fanned out neatly on it. There
was no twitch beneath her eyelids, no smile
tugging at the corner of her lips, and there never
would be again. She was dead. All it needed was
for Delaney to let them turn the machine off.

The consultant was sympathetic. 'If there was
any hope at all, I would advise against it, of
course, but the brain stem has suffered too much
damage. To all intents and purposes she is already
dead.'

Delaney looked at him for a long moment,
scared to ask the question but needing to know the
answer. 'And the baby?'

The consultant shook his head sadly. 'I'm
sorry.'

Delaney's head nodded downward as he gave
permission. He couldn't hold back the tears any
longer. As the obscenity of the pump ceased and
the heart monitor line became still, his world went
dark.

The small nurse passed him with a sympathetic
look, and he wanted to reach out and hold her. To
beg her to do the same for him. To pull his plug,
because he couldn't bear it. He couldn't live with
his wife's death, and what was more, he didn't
want to. But he didn't do anything. He was
powerless. Impotent. Wasted. All he could do was
stand there and sob.

Delaney lay curled, almost foetus-like, on the sofa,
his head twitching as in his dreams he looked
down once again on the face of his wife. He could
almost hear her heart slowing and stopping, the
blood lying still in her veins, her breath sighing to
a close, and tears fell from his eyes all over again.

Kate sat gently beside him and put her arms
around him, cradling him like a child. Delaney
awoke, the memories clinging to him like a
physical presence, a thick cobweb of pain. Kate
murmured reassurance and Delaney held her as
though a hurricane might blow him away if he
didn't. Kate looked into his eyes and touched a
finger to his lips.

'Come to bed.' She took his hand and stood up,
and Jack didn't even hesitate as he let her lead him
from the room.

Kate stood under the shower. The pressure was
turned to maximum but she didn't have the water
as hot as she normally did. In fact there was a lot
about her this morning that wasn't normal. For
one thing, she was smiling quietly to herself, and
for another, as she soaped her body with a sponge
it was more of a caress than a scrub. She hummed
as she poured shampoo into her hand and worked
it through her thick tresses of hair.

She rinsed the soap clear and sang too. It was
the first time she had sung in the shower for a long
time. She bit her lower lip a little guiltily as flashes
of memory came back.

'Tell me, Jack. Talk to me.' Low, breathless,
husky.

'Dig your nails in. I want to taste blood.'

'Pleasure and pain, Detective Inspector. Very
Catholic.'

Delaney laughed, looking into her eyes, at the
mischief sparking within them. 'I want to
remember the moment.'

And Kate dug her nails into his buttocks, pulling
him deeper into her. 'Oh, you'll remember. I'll
make sure of that.'

And she set about keeping her promise.

The water pooled at Kate's feet as she leaned
into the jet and caught her breath. Just remembering
the night before made her hot and bothered
again. Hot and bothered in the nicest possible
way, and Kate shook her head at herself. Delaney
was on the run. He was a wanted man. Wanted
for murder. This was certainly not the time to be
getting involved, or the man to be getting involved
with.

She wrapped her robe around her as she walked
into the kitchen and put the large enamel kettle on
the range to boil; then, smiling playfully, she
slipped the robe off again and walked into her
bedroom.

'Time to go to work, Jack.'

But Delaney already had.

Kate sighed; she should have known better.

DC Sally Cartwright was having a bad Sunday
morning. Jack Delaney doing a runner meant no
one was getting a day off any time soon. She sat at
her desk in the CID room with her head reeling.
She couldn't believe that Delaney had been
arrested and was now somewhere on the loose.
Maybe she hadn't been on the force long enough
to develop what Bob Wilkinson called his
infallible gut instinct for slags, but she knew one
thing for sure, and that was that Jack Delaney was
no slag. She drank her coffee thoughtfully as Bob,
perched on the edge of her desk, leaned in.

'I'd watch your back if I were you, Sally.'

'Why?'

'Because people reckon you were close to him.'

Sally shook her head, shocked. 'What are you
saying?'

'Just rumours. He has got a reputation, you
know.'

'For Christ's sake, Bob, he's old enough to be
my dad.'

Wilkinson laughed. 'From what I've heard, most
of the women on the relief would've been banging
him like a drum.'

'Well he wasn't banging me, and this isn't
funny, Bob.'

Wilkinson nodded seriously. 'I know.'

'What are we going to do?'

Wilkinson shrugged. 'Who was it said there's
something rotten in the state of Denmark?'

'Hans Christian Andersen?'

'Whoever it was. Something in this whole set-up
stinks.'Wilkinson looked across as Bonner walked
in at the end of the room, his face a picture of
bruised pride and even more bruised flesh. 'And
that slag's not so squeaky either.'

'You don't trust him?'

'Put it this way, love, You turn your back on
him, you'd best be wearing iron knickers, you
know what I'm saying?'

'I thought he was quite close to the inspector.'

'Trust me. The only thing that slag is close to is
his own right hand.' He looked at Sally pointedly.
'He'd fuck his own grandmother and her postman
if he thought there was something in it for
him.'

Bob stood up and finished his coffee. 'I'd better
get back. Like I said, just watch your back.'

Sally turned back to her paperwork but couldn't
concentrate. She went across to open the window;
the heat in the office was unbearable. She leant a
little into the cool breeze as it blew through the
open window, running her hand around her neck,
wiping a damp palm on her skirt.

'Hot, isn't it?'

Sally turned back, startled and flustered, to see
Bonner standing right next to her.

'Yeah.'

He leaned in and spoke quietly. 'You heard anything
from Jack?'

Sally shook her head.

'The damn fool. What's he playing at?'

Sally looked at the bruising spoiling Bonner's
normal good looks. 'I'm guessing you're not too
happy with him?'

Bonner ran a hand over his face. 'I don't blame
him for this.'

'You don't?'

Bonner shrugged. 'Maybe a little. But I would
have let him go if he'd asked. He didn't need to
kill us both to do it.'

'You'd have let him go?'

Bonner nodded, his face a picture of sincerity.
'Murder. It's not Jack's style, for Christ's sake.
He's been fitted up.'

'It's what a lot of us think.'

'We're going to have to stick together, Sally. He
needs our help.'

Sally shook her head. 'What can we do?'

Bonner stood up straighter as Diane Campbell
walked into the room, her face thunderous. He
lowered his voice. 'I'll let you know. But if he gets
in touch, tell him I want to see him.'

'Bonner. My office, now,' Campbell barked at
him.

Sally watched as Bonner walked across to
Campbell's office. As he closed the door she pulled
out her mobile phone and looked at a text
message. She stood for a moment or two in
indecision, then, making her mind up, snatched
her jacket off the back of her chair and hurried out
of the office.

Kate was sitting at her desk, trying to work but
unable to concentrate, when her mobile rang. She
snatched it up and frowned angrily at the withheld
number, then answered it. 'Kate Walker?'

'Kate, it's Delaney.'

'Jack, where the hell did you go?'

'Sorry.'

'Sorry? For Christ's sake, do you know how I
felt?'

'I didn't want you to get involved.'

'And you thought fucking me was the best way
to achieve that, did you?'

'It wasn't like that.'

'Then what was it like? I had to check my
bedside cabinet to see you hadn't left a couple of
twenty-pound notes behind.'

'Kate . . .'

'My name's not Jackie Malone, you know.'

'I didn't want you getting hurt.'

Kate snorted angrily. 'Good job!'

'It's your career. You can't afford to be associated
with me. Not right now. I just wanted to do
the right thing.'

'Then don't patronise me, Jack. I want to help.'
There was long pause and Kate could hear
Delaney breathing, thinking.

'Okay.'

'Okay? Is that it?'

'Yeah, Okay.'

Kate smiled. Damn the man.

Half an hour later, Kate was looking out of a
wooden-framed window on to a picture of English
tranquillity. Lush green grass, sedate willows
lining ordered and well-tended gravel paths.
Somewhere a fountain tinkled and Kate could
imagine the cool water in the air, giving gentle
relief from the relentless sun. In the centre of the
park was a small lake with a semicircle of trees
behind it, and splashing on the water was a family
of moorhens. It was a beautiful spot to spend
eternity, she thought.

She turned back to the caretaker who looked
after the cemetery. 'It's a lovely place, Mr
Hoskins.'

The caretaker nodded. 'I try and keep it nice.'

'You do it very well.'

'People don't get the respect they deserve in life,
do they?'

Kate shook her head in agreement. 'Not often.
Not in this world.'

'So when they die and come here, I like to think
they all get respect. At least they do from me.'

'And Jack Delaney's grateful for it?'

'He always brings fresh flowers. Always leaves
a little something in the donations box. He
doesn't think anyone sees, but I do. I see everything.'

'I can imagine.'

'I don't spend it on myself. Now and again I buy
flowers for them as don't get any visitors.'

'That's good of you.'

He grimaced. 'Yeah, well, no one's going to be
putting any flowers on my grave, miss.'

Kate gave him a small smile. 'You're absolutely
certain of the date?'

'Positive. I never forget a date. It goes with the
job really. Spend all my day looking at them.'

Kate nodded gratefully. If Delaney was here
grieving for his dead wife all day long, then he
couldn't have been in Ladbroke Grove murdering
a prostitute. 'I might need you to make a statement
later.'

'I've already done that.'

Kate looked back at him, surprised. 'I'm sorry?'

'At the nick. One of your sergeants, he's got my
written statement.'

'Which one?'

'Can't remember his name, arrogant little
cockerel.'

Kate nodded again gratefully, pretty sure who
he was referring to.

Outside in her car, Kate hesitated for a moment,
flipping her mobile phone round in her hand. She
watched as a young couple came and placed a
bunch of flowers by a small memorial marker,
then made a decision. She thumbed the number in
quickly and set her jaw firmly as the call was
answered.

'Superintendent Walker, please.'

There are all kinds of secret places in London.
Buildings hidden away in the labyrinths of old cul-de-sacs
and dead ends that lie moments away from
the main thoroughfares. The Church of Saint
Mary is one such place. A small gothic church,
with its own walled garden, set back at the top end
of a cul-de-sac just a stone's throw from the
middle of Oxford Street, but, as the morning
services had finished, it was as quiet now as a
building can be in London.

The sun still beat down, as relentless as it had
been all summer. Dazzling the pavements with
light and melting the tarmac of the roads, so that
the tarry smell hung in the air like a modern-day
smog. But inside the church it was cool. As cool as
a mountain stream and a menthol cigarette. As
cool as a Martini served dirty in a New York
cocktail bar. But still Delaney sweated, and it
wasn't the fact that he was wearing his leather
jacket that moistened his neck and sent small
beads of perspiration running from his broad
forehead to drip into his eyes and along his nose.
It was the church itself. He tasted the sweet
saltiness of his own sweat and dragged his coat
sleeve across his brow. Ever since he was a child,
churches had unsettled him. He had a rational
mind, but he nonetheless felt a tangible presence
whenever he was in a church. He didn't think it
was God. In Delaney's opinion, God was just as
likely to be in a hotel bedroom, or a supermarket,
or a bowling alley as in a church. Given the
amount of horror perpetrated on a daily basis in
His name, it was perhaps more likely that He
wouldn't
be in a church, or a mosque, or a
synagogue.

Delaney looked around the small, beautifully
constructed church with its sweeping stone pillars
and exquisite carvings, its Renaissance paintings
and heart-breaking realistic statuary, and felt the
weight not of the presence of God, but of his own
ever-present guilt.

He closed his eyes in silent thought for a
moment or two, lost in unbearable memories. So
lost that he didn't notice the figure slide quickly
into the pew next to him and press something into
the side of his ribs.

Startled, he opened his eyes to see Sally sitting
beside him. He looked down as she pulled back
the mobile phone with which she had just prodded
him.

'You trying to give me a heart attack?'

'I thought you were asleep.'

Delaney looked at her, and then laughed. His
voice echoing around the small church like a rude
intrusion. 'Christ, Sally. I think you just put ten
years on my life.'

Sally looked around, shocked. 'Don't, sir.'

'Don't what?'

'Blaspheme.'

'Blasphemy is the least of my problems.'

'Still, sir. You know. In a church.'

'Don't tell me you're a Catholic too?'

'Church of Scotland, sir.'

Delaney looked at her, surprised. 'I didn't know
you were Scottish.'

'On my dad's side. I grew up in north-west
London. Went to church there. St John's. Run by
an ex-padre, reminds me a lot of you.'

'How?'

'He could be an irreligious bastard at times too,
sir. And he liked a drop of whisky.'

Delaney laughed again, gently this time. 'Well, I
do thank God for you, Sally, that's all I say.'

Sally looked at him, suddenly serious. 'What are
you going to do?'

'What I do best.'

'What's that?'

'Fuck things up regally.'

Sally took his hand. 'That's rubbish, sir. You're
the best detective on the squad.'

'And who says that?'

'You do.'

Delaney smiled.

'And so do I.'

Delaney looked at her. 'How long have you
been a detective constable?'

'Maybe it's just a week. But it's long enough to
know the truth when I see it.'

Delaney patted her hand gratefully. 'So what
have you got for me?'

'My dismissal, probably.' She reached into the
inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a sheet
of paper.

'My best guess is that the woman who called
you about the DVD was Karen Richardson. A
prostitute who used to work with Jackie Malone.
They were busted together in a massage parlour
out in Cricklewood some years back.'

'You got an address?'

'I'm working on it.'

'I need to know where she is, Sally. It's really
important.'

Sally sighed, frustrated. 'I'm doing the best I can,
but it's very hard with everyone watching me. I'm
just a constable. They catch me . . .'

'I know. You're putting your career on the line
for me, and I'm grateful.'

Sally shook her head. 'I'm just doing what I
signed up to do. You're not the bad guy, boss.'