Hit and Run (21 page)

As they drew closer, she could hear he wasn’t speaking English; she guessed it was Polish. No doubt making plans to disappear once he got to Germany. He wore a warm, camel overcoat, a smarter look than she’d come to expect from Harper. His hair was slicked back too. But it was his stance more than anything that had altered. Sulikov held himself upright, he’d the assurance of a professional, he appeared energetic in contrast to the slightly shabby, gutless persona of Harper.

‘Mr Sulikov,’ she kept her tone light. He turned. His face changed as he saw them, a flare of anger then resignation. ‘Konrad Sulikov,’ she smiled, ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Rosa Milicz and Jeremy Gleason. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Is there anything you would like to say?’

He simply stared at her, his mouth twisted in a spasm momentarily. Janine felt the pressure in her chest ease and relief edge down her spine. Got him. She nodded to Butchers who stepped forward with the cuffs.

Afterwards, as they made their way back through the airport along the travelators, Richard was teasing her. OK, she was swaggering a little. Why the hell not? It had been a killer of a case.

‘You are such a show off!’ he said.

‘If you’ve got it … You didn’t do so bad yourself, you know.’

‘Need to seal off his place, see what else we can find. A telltale brick, perhaps.’

She grimaced. ‘The blood and the DNA’ll clinch it.’

‘It’ll keep till morning. He’s got to have his eight hours, by rights.’

‘More than I’ll get.’ Then thinking about Rosa, about the whole sorry story, ‘Why couldn’t he just let her go? None of this …’

‘Crime of passion?’

‘No, I don’t think he cared for her. Marta was right. He killed her to protect himself. Back home with a baby, his baby, she’d be beyond his control. He did it in the heat of the moment; he was probably enraged but it was fear of what he might lose rather than anything else. Once he’d done it, he blamed Sulikov, and turned it to his advantage – look what might happen if you rock the boat. Except we found Rosa and it all started to unravel.’

‘Do you think Rosa ever knew? About Sulikov?’

‘How could she? He’d never have told her. She was just another girl. A way of making money.’

Rosa gone, Ann-Marie gone, Jeremy Gleason gone. There may well have been others, she thought, over the years, silenced by Sulikov if they threatened his empire. Bystanders too, hit by the violence inherent in his enterprises. There may well have been some truth in the myth of the ruthless criminal.

She remembered the little dictionary Rosa had studied; she hoped to teach, Marta had said. She thought of Debbie and Chris Chinley, adrift on the wreck of their lives. The loss of Ann-Marie would define them for ever. And Jeremy Gleason’s mum, burying her wayward son; and a little boy who would grow up to find out one day that his dad had been walking on the wrong side of the tracks, had been shot and killed one miserable Manchester night.

‘Good to have you back,’ Richard said.

‘You’ve changed your tune. You weren’t saying that when Hackett passed you over.’

‘No, really.’ He looked intent. ‘I’d forgotten.’ He dipped his head towards her. ‘You and me – something special.’

She felt a small swirl of panic, a thrill of nerves in her stomach as she recognised he was flirting with her. Just play the game, she told herself, enjoy it. He knows it’s early days, what with the baby and everything. ‘You reckon?’ Her mouth felt dry

‘Oh, aye, always have done.’

She waited, wondering if he’d ask her out again, hoping he wouldn’t, not wanting to disappoint him. But he left it at that. Smiled and shook his head at her.

She folded her arms and stared at the adverts installed along the walls, touting Manchester to the world, a place for culture, business and opportunity. In the arrivals hall they skirted the mêlée of baggage reclaim. The hall looked seedy, she thought, undermining the gloss of the advertising, harsh lighting, scuffed paint. In need of a make over.

A wave of fatigue crashed over her. She could sense the downer waiting, the peculiar limbo that followed a catch. Still plenty to do but none of the adrenalin that kept them all going.

Richard stopped her at the door. ‘Janine.’

Oh no, she thought. Not another declaration. Not now. She shook her head.

‘You’d rather get a taxi?’

Damn! She gave him a sour grimace. ‘No.’

‘What did you think I was going to say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Go on, what?’ he insisted as they passed through the big glass doors.

‘Nothing.’

‘There was.’

‘Richard, leave it.’

They got into his car, bickering gently. She settled back and let him drive her home through the cold, dark, rain drenched night.