The Wire in the Blood (34 page)

Her bitterness seemed to have infected the coffee, Simon thought ruefully, sipping the brew to give himself time to think of a reply. ‘It’s a serious inquiry,’ he said. ‘We could use your help.’

She banged her mug down on the worktop. ‘Look. I don’t care what he says. It’s not me that’s pestering him. I had this up to the back teeth just after I first married Jeff. I had cops round half a dozen times. Was I sending Jacko anonymous letters? Was I making abusive phone calls to his wife? Did I parcel up dog turds and post them to his office? Well, the answer’s the same now as it was then. If you think I’m the only person Jacko Vance has upset in his selfish journey to the top of the greasy pole, you have got a serious imagination deficiency.’ She stopped short and glared at him. ‘I don’t do blackmail, either. You can check. Every penny in and out of this house is accounted for. I’ve had that accusation to contend with, and that’s a load of flaming rubbish as well.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe that
pig
,’ she fumed.

Simon held his hands up in a placatory gesture. ‘Whoa, wait a minute. I think you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick here. I didn’t come to see you because Jacko made a complaint. Sure, I want to talk to you about Jacko, but I’m only interested in what he’s done, not what he says you’ve done. Honest!’

She gave him a sharp look. ‘What?’

Uneasy that he might have gone too far, Simon said, ‘As I said, this is all very sensitive. Jacko Vance’s name has come up in an inquiry and my job is to make some background checks. Without alerting Mr Vance to our interest, if you take my point.’ He hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this.

‘You’re investigating Jacko?’ Jillie sounded incredulous but had started to look almost cheerful.

Simon shifted in his chair. ‘Like I said, his name has come up in connection with a serious matter…’

Jillie punched her thigh. ‘Yes! And not before bloody time. Don’t tell me, let me guess. He hurt some poor bloody woman too much and didn’t terrify her enough to make her keep her mouth shut, is that it?’

Simon sensed the interview spiralling out of his control. All he could do was cling on with his fingernails and hope he wouldn’t get shaken off somewhere along the way. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.

‘It was bound to happen some day,’ she said, all but gleeful. ‘So, what do you want to know?’

By the time he got home, Tony’s eyes were gritty with staring at too many night motorway miles. He hadn’t intended to check his answering machine, but the flashing light caught his eye as he passed the door of his study. Wearily, he hit the playback button. ‘Hi. My name’s Chris Devine. Detective Sergeant Chris Devine. I was Shaz Bowman’s CID partner in London for a while. She used me to set up her appointment with Jacko Vance. Give me a call whenever you get in. Doesn’t matter how late it is.’

He grabbed a pen and scribbled the number, reaching for the phone as soon as the message clicked off. The phone rang half a dozen times, then was picked up. ‘Is that Chris Devine?’ he said to the silence.

‘Is that Tony Hill?’ The voice was pure South London.

‘You left a message on my machine. About Shaz?’

‘Yeah. Listen, I’ve had them turnips from West Yorkshire down here, and they told me they’re not working with you. Is that right?’

He liked a person who didn’t waste time. ‘They feel it would compromise the integrity of their investigation to involve me or any of Shaz’s other immediate colleagues,’ he said caustically.

‘Bollocks,’ she said in disgust. ‘They haven’t got a fucking clue, pardon my French. So are you running your own investigation, or what?’

It was like being pinned to the wall by a very large weight, Tony thought. ‘I’m obviously very keen to see Shaz’s killer caught,’ he tried.

‘So what are you doing about it?’

‘Why do you ask?’ he parried.

‘To see if you need an extra pair of hands, of course,’ she said, exasperated. ‘Shaz was a great kid, and she was gonna be a great cop. Now, either Jacko Vance topped her for reasons we don’t entirely know yet, or somebody else did. Either way, the trail starts at his front door, no?’

‘You’re right,’ Tony said. Now he knew what cement felt like under a steamroller.

‘And you’re working the case?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

Her sigh sounded like something from the Shipping Forecast. ‘Well, in a manner of speaking, I could help. What do you need from me?’

Tony’s mind raced. ‘I’m a bit stalled on leverage where Vance and his wife are concerned. Something that might help me put a bit of a wedge between them might help.’

‘Like, Micky Morgan’s really a dyke?’

‘That sort of thing, yes.’

‘You mean that’s not enough?’ Chris demanded.

‘That’s for real?’

She snorted. ‘Course it’s for real. They’re so far in the closet you’d take them for a pair of winter coats, but they’re coke.’

‘Coke?’

‘The real thing. She’s been with Betsy for donkey’s years. Way before she even met Jacko.’

‘Betsy Thorne? Her PA?’

‘PA, bollocks. Lover, more like. Betsy had a good little catering business with her ex, then she met Micky Morgan and it was wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. They used to go to a couple of very discreet places in the early days. Then they disappeared off the scene and, next thing you know, she pops up as Jacko Vance’s tottie. But Betsy’s still right there in the picture. See, Micky was on the up and up, and there were rumours that the tabloids were going to nail her for being a dyke.’

‘How do you know all this?’ Tony said faintly.

‘How do you think? Christ, twelve, fifteen years ago, you didn’t stay in this job if you were out. We used to go to the same places. Places where everybody was in the same boat so nobody ever shopped anybody else. Take it from me, whoever Jacko Vance is shagging, it’s not his wife. Tell you the truth, that’s what made me think Shaz was maybe on to something.’

‘Did you tell Shaz about this?’

‘I hadn’t thought about Micky Morgan from one year’s end to the next. It only came to me after I set up the interview. I was gonna let Shaz know when she belled me to tell me how she’d got on with Jacko. So no, I never got round to telling her. Is this any use to you?’

‘Chris, it’s fabulous. You’re fabulous.’

‘That’s what they all say, babe. So, you want me to help, or what?’

‘I think you already have.’

When Carol walked into her domain, the threesome were already there in their accustomed places, a trickle of smoke curling out of the corner of her window from Lee’s cigarette. She sensed the smoking was meant as a challenge. But although she’d never smoked—or perhaps for that very reason—the faint tang of cigarettes was something that seldom troubled her. Carol found the energy for a smile and tried not to slump when her backside hit the chair. ‘So, what have we got?’

Tommy Taylor rested his left ankle on his right knee and squirmed lower in the chair. Carol didn’t envy him the lower back pain he was storing up for later years. He tossed a file negligently on to her desk. As it slithered towards her, the edges of the papers inside spilled out. ‘We know more about this lot’s finances than their wives do.’

‘From what I hear about Yorkshire, that’s not saying much,’ Carol said. Tommy and Lee Whitbread grinned. Di Earnshaw’s dour expression didn’t crack.

‘By heck, ma’am, I think that might just be a sexist remark,’ Lee said.

‘So sue me. What have we got?’

‘It’s all in the file,’ Tommy said, jerking a thumb towards her.

‘Summarize.’

‘Di?’ Tommy said. ‘You’re the wizard with words.’

Di unfolded her arms and thrust her hands into the pockets of an olive green jacket that made her look ripe for throwing up. ‘Mr Pendlebury wasn’t very keen, but he did authorize us to gain access to payroll information which provided us with bank details, addresses and dates of birth for our suspects. With that information we were able to check county court judgements…’

‘And a little bird helped us with some commercial credit checking,’ Lee chipped in.

‘But we don’t talk about that,’ Tommy said repressively.

Carol said, ‘Can we edit out the stand-up and cut to the chase?’

Di’s lips pursed in their now familiar disapproval. ‘Two candidates stand out. Alan Brinkley and Raymond Watson. They’re both heavily in debt, as you’ll see. Both local men. Watson’s single, Brinkley’s wed about a year since. They’re both on the edge of having their houses repossessed, both got CCJs against them, both juggling Peter to pay Paul. These fires have been a bit of a blessing for the pair of them.’

‘It’s an ill wind,’ Taylor added.

Carol opened the file and took out the sheets relating to the two men. ‘Good work. You did well to get this much detail.’

Lee shrugged. ‘When you get down to it, Seaford’s a big village. Favours owed, favours paid.’

‘As long as we don’t cross the line when it comes to wages day,’ Carol said.

‘Don’t you trust us, ma’am?’ Tommy drawled.

‘Give me five good reasons why I should.’

‘So, d’you want us to pull them in for questioning?’ Lee asked.

Carol considered for a moment. What she actually wanted was to consult with Tony, but she didn’t want them to know their guv’nor wasn’t able to make her own decisions. ‘I’ll get back to you when I’ve had a chance to go through these in more detail. There might be more fruitful options than trying to sweat it out of them.’

‘We could try for a search warrant.’ Lee again, the eager beaver of the team.

‘We’ll discuss it again in the morning,’ Carol promised. She watched them leave, then shoved the file into her bulging briefcase. Time for a quick tour of the squad room, making sure the rest of the CID were doing what they were supposed to be doing with the cases dominating the stacks of paper on their desks. She hoped no one expected inspiration. Perspiration was about all she had left to offer.

She was about to walk through the door when the phone rang. ‘DCI Jordan,’ she said.

‘Brandon here.’

‘Sir?’

‘I’ve just been speaking to a colleague over in West Yorkshire. In the course of our chat, we got round to talking about their officer murder. He mentioned that their prime suspect seems to have done a runner. Some chap called Simon McNeill. He said they’d probably be putting out an internal bulletin tomorrow morning asking other forces to keep a lookout for McNeill and detain him if they find him.’

‘Ah.’

‘I thought you might be interested,’ Brandon said airily. ‘With our patch being next door to theirs.’

‘Absolutely, sir. As soon as I get the official notice, I’ll be sure to mention it to the squad.’

‘Not that I expect he’ll turn up here.’

‘Mmm. Thank you, sir.’ Carol gingerly replaced the receiver. ‘Oh, shit,’ she said softly.

Tony licked his finger and smoothed down a couple of unruly hairs in his left eyebrow. He studied himself critically in the mirror that was, apart from a pair of orange polypropylene bucket chairs, the only furnishing in a room little bigger than a cupboard where he had been asked to wait. He thought he looked appropriately serious in his one decent suit even if Carol had told him it made him look like a time-warped professional footballer. But not even she could fault his dove grey shirt and dark magenta tie, he decided.

The door opened to reveal the calm-faced woman who had introduced herself as Micky’s PA but whom he’d identified, thanks to Chris, as Micky’s lover Betsy. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good.’ Her voice was warm and encouraging, like the best type of primary school teacher. Her smile, however, was perfunctory, Tony realized, her mind clearly elsewhere. ‘Now, this is quite unusual for us, because normally Micky likes to come completely fresh to her guests. But because…well, because she feels
involved
, however tangentially, with your tragic loss, she wants to have a few words with you ahead of time. I take it you have no objection?’

There was something about that steely upper class voice that left no possible room for demurral. Lucky Micky, he thought, to have such a lioness at the gates. ‘I’d be delighted,’ he said, quite truthfully.

‘Good. She’ll be along in a few minutes. Is there anything you need? Some coffee? Mineral water?’

‘Does the coffee come from a machine?’ he asked.

The smile this time was genuine. ‘I’m afraid so. Indistinguishable from the tea, the hot chocolate and the chicken soup.’

‘I’ll pass, then.’

The head disappeared and the door snicked shut. His stomach fluttered apprehensively. Public displays always stressed him. But today there was the additional tension of his campaign to unsettle Jacko Vance to the point where he would make a mistake. Staking out Vance’s personal appearances was only the opening shot across the bows. Insinuating himself into the heart of Vance’s wife’s TV programme was an incremental upping of the stakes. There was no point in trying to kid himself otherwise.

He cleared his throat nervously and compulsively rechecked his appearance in the mirror. The door opened without warning and suddenly Micky Morgan was in the room. Tony forced himself to turn slowly to face her. ‘Hello, Ms Morgan,’ he said, extending a hand.

‘Dr Hill,’ Micky said. Her handshake was swift, cool and firm. ‘Thanks for coming on the programme.’

‘My pleasure. There’s so much misunderstanding about what we do, I always welcome the chance to set the record straight. Especially since we’re in the news again for all the wrong reasons.’ He deliberately dropped his eyes momentarily.

‘Quite. I was genuinely sorry to hear about Detective Constable Bowman. I only met her very briefly, but she struck me as being very sharp, very focused. As well as being very beautiful, of course.’

Tony nodded. ‘She’ll be missed. She was one of the best young officers I’ve ever had the privilege of working with.’

‘I can imagine that. It’s a terrible thing for police officers to lose one of their own.’

‘There’s always a lot of anger flying around, covering up for the fact that they tend to feel a death in the family is a reflection of their competence, that somehow they should have been able to prevent it if they’d only been doing their jobs properly. And in this instance, I share that guilt.’