The Retribution (19 page)

You
, Ambrose noted. Not
we
. Apparently even the tangential involvement of Carol Jordan in the case had increased his boss’s disengagement from what was going on with his team. ‘I’ve got twenty officers chasing down reported sightings on our patch alone. Other forces all over the country are doing the same. I’ve got another team going through CCTV footage, trying to track the taxi he escaped in. Plus officers talking to the prison staff. The Home Office has dispatched a specialist team to protect the ex-wife. We’re doing everything we can. If there’s anything you think we’ve not got covered, then tell me and I’ll action it.’

Patterson ignored the request. ‘We’re going to look like bloody bumpkins. Can’t even catch a one-armed man as familiar to half the country as Simon Cowell. Carol Jordan’s going to be laughing up her sleeve at us.’

Patterson glared at him. ‘I know that, Sergeant. All the more reason she’ll be on our case.’

Ambrose was spared having to reply by the arrival at his desk of a weary-looking uniformed constable clutching a bundle of paper. ‘I’ve got something on the taxi,’ he said, too tired for enthusiasm.

Patterson sat upright and beckoned the constable. ‘Let’s see it, then.’

‘We’ve found it here in the city,’ he said. ‘It’s turned up in the Crowngate car park.’

‘Good work,’ Patterson said. ‘Alvin, get a forensics team over there to give it the once-over.’

‘That’s already been actioned,’ the constable said, flushing at Patterson’s glare. ‘The chief super was in the control room when the report came in. He actioned it, sir.’

‘Typical,’ Patterson muttered. ‘The one chance we get to look like we’re doing something and the brass nick it.’

‘As long as somebody’s chasing it up,’ Ambrose muttered.

‘Lovely,’ Ambrose said. ‘Cracking job. Can we see where Vance went after he parked the car?’

‘Not so far. He either went to another car, or inside the services building or to the motel. That’s his only choices. We’re working on all the footage right now. Everybody’s being really helpful for once.’

‘Nobody likes a serial killer,’ Ambrose said. Re-energised by the new information, he jumped to his feet. ‘I’m going out there right now with a team. Print me out a sheaf of those shots. And keep me posted with whatever you find out about Vance.’ He looked a question at Patterson, who shook his head.

‘Just send a team, Sergeant. You need to be here, keeping an eye on things.’

‘But sir—’

‘You’re wasted out there. That’s a job for foot soldiers, not for anybody who wants to make a good impression on the new regime.’

Ambrose felt the urge to punch Patterson on the nose, to knock some sense into a man who had taught him much of what he understood about being a good detective. If this was what thwarted ambition did to a man, God spare him from that particular lust. Deflated, he sat down again. ‘Good job,’ he said to the constable. ‘Keep me in the loop.’ Then he reached for the phone. ‘I’d better get a team organised, then.’

‘You better had,’ Patterson said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll be in the canteen.’

‘That’s even supposing it was this club she worked at. We could be totally wasting our time here. There’s a burger van about a mile down the road. We could fuel up to keep us going while we wait.’

Sam sighed. It wasn’t his idea of a good time, but anything was better than sitting here doing nothing. Kevin started the engine and headed for the exit. Sam kept his eye on the club and just as they were about to turn on to the main road, he yelped, ‘Wait! Back up!’

Kevin jammed on the brakes, throwing them both against their seat belts. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Just back up, slowly.’

‘What is it?’ Kevin said, easing the car back towards a parking slot.

‘We’re idiots,’ Sam said, flicking through the photos Jamie had printed for them.

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘Her bike,’ Sam said, pulling out the shot of Leanne with her bike. ‘She rode her bike to work. Remember what Tara said?’

‘So?’

‘So the bike should still be where she left it. And I’m sure I saw a bike in the headlights as you turned. I’m going for a closer look.’

‘Please yourself,’ Kevin said. ‘Give me a shout if you’re right.’

He slipped inside and saw at once he’d been right. The car headlights had caught the reflective fixtures on the back wheel and mudguard; the bike itself was tucked in behind one of the skips, chained to the fence with a heavy-duty chain. Sam compared it to the one in the photo. It was hard to be sure in the limited light, but he thought they matched. He was about to walk back to the car with the news when he heard a door sigh open then click closed nearby. He heard the snap and flare of a cigarette lighter and risked a peek round the edge of the skip.

In the glow of the cigarette, he could see the hard-faced bitch who’d given him and Kevin their marching orders. Sam glanced back to the car. Kevin was leaning against the head rest. He looked like he was taking a nap. It was just Sam and the woman. He considered for a moment. Sam was always driven by what would produce the best result for Sam. Normally, that didn’t include monstering a witness, because there were usually other people around to testify to his bad behaviour. But out here in the dark, behind a dodgy club, it would be his word against hers. And who was the credible one here? She’d already lied to him and Kevin, so he reckoned he was on solid ground.

Light on his feet, he edged round the skips so that he came up behind the woman. He was close enough to smell the heavy musk of her perfume, cut with the cigarette smoke, and still she was oblivious. Swift and sure, he snaked his arm round her throat and jerked her backwards. She stumbled into him, he shifted his hand over her mouth and with his other hand ripped her cigarette from her fingers. No nasty little burns for him.

‘Fucking copper.’ She spat at him but he was fast enough to avoid the gob of spit.

‘You lied to me, bitch,’ he said. ‘I could really hurt you, and nobody would believe you. But that’s not what I want. I just want the truth. I don’t want the bastard who killed Leanne to do the same thing to another woman. I’ve just shown you how easy it is. How very, very vulnerable you are. So what happened on Tuesday night?’

‘You wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me,’ she said. ‘I’ll have you for assault, attempted rape, the lot.’

Sam laughed. ‘Like anyone would believe a slag like you.’ He shifted his weight, straightened his fingers and jabbed his stiff hand under her ribs. She gasped with pain and shock. Sam remembered the secret thrill of being bad and tried not to let it ride him too hard. ‘I don’t want to hurt you – but I will. Tell me about Tuesday night.’

‘It was just like any night. Leanne came on about nine and did a few dances. She left around midnight. That’s all I know.’

‘Not good enough.’ Sam jabbed under the ribs again. ‘There’s more than that. What about the CCTV? You’ve got cameras on the car park. You’ve got cameras all over the club.’

‘Did you look at the tapes before you wiped them?’

She looked away. A guilty look, Sam thought.

‘What your barman didn’t know, because we haven’t told anybody yet, is that the bastard who killed Leanne wasn’t a beginner. He’s done this before. More than once. And if we don’t get him, you can bet he’ll do it again. And since you’re showing him what easy pickings he can get around here, chances are it’ll be one of your girls.’ Sam gave a jeering smile. ‘Or maybe even you.’

The look she gave him was loaded with hate. ‘I took a quick look at the car park tapes around the time she left. I was curious. If one of our clients had anything to do with it, I wanted to know who it was. For safety’s sake. Whatever you might think, I don’t want my girls hurt.’

Sam eased the pressure on her. ‘And what did you see?’

‘I saw Leanne walk out the back door and across the car park to the far corner. She got into a car and the car drove off.’

Sam wanted to punch the air. Or failing that, punch this bitch for the casual way she’d fucked over the investigation into Leanne’s death. ‘What kind of car? What colour was it?’

‘How the fuck do I know what kind of car? Do I look like Jeremy fucking Clarkson? And the CCTV’s black-and-white. So all I can tell you about the colour is that it wasn’t black and it wasn’t white.’

Now he really wanted to go to town on her. ‘I don’t suppose you saw the driver either?’

‘A white blob. That’s all I saw.’

‘Fucking great.’ Sam didn’t bother hiding his disgust. ‘I don’t suppose you took a note of the number either?’ He stepped away. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll have a uniform swing by for your statement tomorrow.’

Sam gave her a considering look. ‘You’re the licensee, right?’

‘Right. So you’ve got my name and address. It’s not like I can do one.’

‘Come in under your own steam tomorrow. BMP HQ, not Northern Division. Ask for MIT. Have you got that?’

She nodded. ‘MIT.’

‘If you’re a no-show, I’ll be here tomorrow night, mob-handed. Whether you’re here or not, your boss will know all about how helpful you’ve been to the police. Are we clear on that?’

She glared at him, eyes sparkling with frustration. ‘I’ll stick to my end, you stick to yours.’

He heard her swear at him as he walked back to the car, but he didn’t care. She might have wiped the tapes in the club, but her boss didn’t control all the road cameras. Sam was pretty sure that, whatever direction Leanne’s killer had taken, he would be picked up. This killer’s days were numbered and it was all thanks to Sam Evans. Jordan would have to acknowledge this piece of work. She might be on her way out, but Sam was on his way up.