The Wire in the Blood (35 page)

‘I’m sure there was nothing you could have done to prevent it,’ Micky said, impulsively putting a hand on his arm. ‘When I told my husband you were coming on the programme, he said the same thing, and he’s got even less reason to feel responsible.’

‘No reason at all,’ Tony said, surprised he could sound so sincere. ‘Even though we’re now coming round to thinking that her killer may have made contact with her in London rather than in Leeds. In fact, I was hoping you might give me the chance to put out an appeal for witnesses?’

Micky’s hand flew to her throat in a curiously vulnerable gesture. ‘You don’t think she was stalked from our house, do you?’

‘There’s no reason to think that,’ he said hastily.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Thanks for the reassurance.’ She took a deep breath and pushed her blonde hair back from her face. ‘Now, the interview. I’m going to ask about why the unit was set up, how it’s constituted, what sort of offences you’ll be covering and when the task force will go into action. Then I’ll move on to Sharon…’

‘Shaz,’ Tony interrupted. ‘Call her Shaz. She hated being called Sharon.’

Micky nodded. ‘Shaz. I’ll move on to Shaz, which will give you the chance to ask for any help you want to solicit. Is that OK? Is there anything else you particularly want the opportunity to say?’

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to get the message across,’ he said.

She reached for the door handle. ‘Betsy, my PA-you spoke to her earlier—she’ll come and fetch you shortly before we go on air. You’ll be the last item before we break for the news bulletin.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, wanting to say something to build a bridge between them but not knowing what that might be. She would be his best way under Jacko Vance’s defences if he could only find a way to manipulate her into unconsciously helping him.

‘You’re welcome,’ Micky said. Then she was gone, leaving nothing behind her but the faint scent of cosmetics. He’d only have one more chance to get her on his side. He hoped he’d make a better job of it.

It had better be worth it, Vance thought. He’d cancelled lunch cooked personally by Marco Pierre White for this, and the notoriously temperamental chef would make him suffer for it. He locked his office door and closed the blinds. His secretary knew better than to put any calls through, and neither his producer nor his PA knew he was still in the building. Whatever
Midday with Morgan
revealed, there would be no one to see his reaction.

He threw himself on to the long leather sofa that dominated one side of the room and put his feet up. His face a mask of petulance, he turned on the giant TV screen with the remote control just as the familiar titles started to roll. He had nothing to fear, he knew that. Whatever Shaz Bowman had thought she’d known, she hadn’t been able to convince her colleagues. He’d already dealt with the police. They’d eaten out of his hand, and rightly so. Some academic psychologist doling out half-baked theories could hardly threaten him without the backing of the plod. Nevertheless, being careful had kept him safe until now, and he wasn’t about to give in to the temptation towards arrogance that such a successful career might breed.

He’d been able to glean some information about Tony Hill from his sources, though not as much as he would have liked. Again, he had been careful to keep the questions casual, taking pains not to have his inquiries arouse curiosity. What he’d learned had pricked his interest. He’d been behind the controversial Home Office study that had led to the setting up of the profiling task force that Shaz Bowman had aspired to. He’d been involved in a serial killer hunt in Bradfield where he’d ended up with blood on his hands because he hadn’t been smart enough. And there were murmurings that there was something borderline perverse about his sexuality. That had really got Vance’s adrenaline pumping, but it was the one angle he simply had to leave alone or risk his source wondering exactly what his concern was with the psychologist.

Fascinated though Vance was with his speculations about Tony, his thoughts were no competition for the TV screen. His attraction to the glamour of television had never waned in all his years on the performing end of the camera. He loved the medium, but most of all, he loved live TV with all its high-wire risks. Even though he ought to have been wondering how to neutralize Tony Hill if that became necessary, he couldn’t resist Micky. Familiarity had bred respect rather than contempt for her professional skills and her talent. She really was one of the best. He’d spotted that right from the word go, recognized that she was one to have on his side. That he’d been able to keep her there so effectively had been a huge bonus.

She’d been good back then, but she’d improved, no doubt about that. Confidence had been part of that, Betsy another part. Her lover had shown her how to submerge the rougher edges of aggression beneath a surface of unruffled, gently probing interest. Most of Micky Morgan’s victims didn’t even realize how effectively they’d been filleted till someone played the tape back to them afterwards. If there was any ruffling of Tony Hill’s surface to be done, a live interview with Micky would do it. He’d hinted to her that there might be darkness lurking behind her guest’s facade. Now it was up to her.

He watched the first fifty minutes of the programme with a connoisseur’s eye, assessing and appraising the performance of his wife and her colleagues. That Midlands reporter was going to have to go, he decided. He’d have to tell Micky. Vance hated journalists who brought the same breathless urgency to stories of distant wars, cabinet reshuffles and soap opera plots. It revealed a lack of empathy most successful hacks learned to hide early on.

It was strange, he thought, how he’d never felt the slightest twinge of sexual desire for his wife. True, she wasn’t his type, but even so, he’d periodically found women attractive who didn’t conform to his blueprint of desire. Never Micky, however. Not even on those rare occasions when he’d glimpsed her naked. It was probably as well, given the basis of their relationship. One glimmer of what he really wanted from the female of the species and Micky would be history. And he definitely didn’t want that. Particularly not now.

‘And after the break,’ Micky said with that intimate warmth he suspected of causing erections among unemployed youths throughout the land, ‘I’ll be talking to a man who spends his days inside the heads of serial offenders. Psychological profiler Dr Tony Hill reveals the inside secrets of the new national police task force. And we pay tribute to the officer who has already tragically lost her life in that battle. All that, and the news on the hour, after the break.’

As the adverts took over, Vance pressed the record button on the video remote. He swung his feet to the floor and leaned forward, intent on the screen. The last commercial faded to the logo of
Midday with Morgan
and his wife was smiling out at him as if he were the only light of her life. ‘Welcome back,’ Micky said. ‘My guest now is the distinguished clinical psychologist Dr Tony Hill. Nice to have you with us, Tony.’

The director switched to a two-shot, giving Vance his first sight of Shaz Bowman’s boss. The colour drained from his cheeks then raced back in a dark flush. He’d thought Tony Hill was going to be a stranger. But he knew the man on the screen. He’d spotted him first three gigs ago at the sponsored sequence dancing competition. Lurking on the fringes, talking to some of the regulars. He’d initially written him off as the latest addition to the sad squad of his camp followers. But the night before, at the sports centre, when he’d spotted him handing business cards out to the others, he’d wondered. He’d planned to send someone over to check him out, but it had slipped his mind. Now, here was the stranger, sitting on a sofa talking to Vance’s wife in front of millions of viewers.

This was no routine nutter. This was no dumbshit plod. This was Shaz Bowman’s boss. This might just also be an adversary.

‘How has the tragic death of one of your trainees affected the squad?’ Micky asked solicitously, her eyes glistening perfectly to convey heartfelt sympathy as she leaned forward.

Tony’s eyes slid away from hers, the pain obvious. ‘It’s been a shocking blow,’ he said. ‘Shaz Bowman was one of the brightest officers it’s ever been my privilege to work with. She had a real flair for offender profiling work, and she’ll be impossible to replace. But we’re determined that her killer will be caught.’

‘Are you working closely with the investigating officers on the case?’ Micky asked. His response to what she’d thought was a routine question was interesting. His eyebrows flashed up and his eyes widened momentarily.

‘Everyone on the profiling task force is doing all they can to help,’ he said quickly. ‘And it’s possible that your viewers could also help us.’

She was impressed with the speed of his recovery. She doubted if one in a thousand of her viewers had even noticed the blip. ‘How is that, Tony?’

‘As you know, Shaz Bowman was murdered in her flat in Leeds. However, we have reason to believe this wasn’t a random killing. Indeed, her murderer may not even be a local man. Shaz was in London on Saturday morning, about twelve hours before she was murdered. We don’t know where she went or who she saw after about ten thirty on Saturday morning. It’s possible that her killer made contact with her that early in the day.’

‘You mean it could have been a stalker?’

‘I think it’s possible that she was followed back to Leeds from London.’

That wasn’t quite the same thing, but Micky knew she didn’t have time to quibble. ‘And you hope someone witnessed this?’

Tony nodded and stared directly into the camera with the red light showing. She could see his sincerity on the monitor in front of her. God, he was a natural, all nervousness gone as he made his impassioned appeal. ‘We’re looking for anyone who saw Shaz Bowman after half past ten on Saturday morning. She was very distinctive-looking. She had particularly bright blue eyes, very noticeable. You may have seen her alone or with her killer, perhaps filling her car with petrol—she drove a black Volkswagen Golf. Or possibly in one of the motorway service areas between London and Leeds. You may have noticed someone taking an unusual amount of interest in her. If so, we need to hear from you.’

‘We have the number of the Leeds incident room,’ Micky cut in as it appeared on a ribbon across the foot of the monitor screen. She and Tony disappeared to be replaced by a head and shoulders shot of Shaz grinning at the camera. ‘If you saw Shaz Bowman on Saturday, no matter how briefly, call the police and let them know.’

‘We want to catch him before he kills again,’ Tony added.

‘So don’t be afraid to call West Yorkshire Police or even your local police station if you can help. Tony, thanks for coming in and talking to us.’ Her smile shifted to the camera because her director was bellowing from the control room. ‘And now, over to the newsroom for the lunchtime bulletin.’

Micky leaned back and let out her breath in an explosive sigh. ‘Thanks, Tony,’ she said, unclipping her mike and leaning forward so their knees touched in the angle of the sofa.

‘It’s me that should be thanking you,’ he said in a rush as Betsy strode efficiently towards them. She reached over his shoulder to unfasten his mike.

‘I’ll see you out,’ Betsy said.

Micky jumped to her feet. ‘It’s been fascinating,’ she said. ‘I wish we could have had longer.’

Grabbing the chance, Tony said, ‘We could have dinner.’

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Micky said, sounding surprised at herself. ‘Are you free this evening?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

‘Let’s make it this evening, then. Is six thirty OK? I need to eat early, working this show.’

‘I’ll book a table.’

‘No need. Betsy’ll see to it, won’t you, Bets?’

There was a flicker of indulgent amusement in the woman’s face, Tony thought. Almost immediately, the professional mask was back. ‘No problem. But I need to get Dr Hill off set, Micky,’ she said, with an apologetic smile at him.

‘OK. See you later, Tony.’ She watched Betsy hustle him away, savouring the anticipation of picking the brains of someone really interesting for a change. The demented bleating in her earpiece brought her back to the cold reality of getting the rest of the programme out of the way. ‘We go straight to the classroom anarchy piece, yeah?’ she said peering up at the control booth, her mind back on her job, Shaz Bowman already a memory.

Carol stared out of her office window at the port below. It was cold enough to get rid of the casual strollers. Everyone out there was brisk, even the dog walkers. She hoped her detectives were following their example. She dialled the hotel number Tony had left her. She was as eager to hear about his TV appearance as she was to pass on her own news. She didn’t have to listen to the ‘Cuckoo Waltz’ for long. ‘Hello?’ she heard him say.

‘
Midday with Morgan
was great, Tony. What did you think? Did you see Jack the Lad?’

‘No, I didn’t see him, but I liked her more than I expected to. She’s a good interviewer. Lulls you into a false sense of security then sticks in a couple of awkward questions. I managed to make the points I wanted to make, though.’

‘So Vance wasn’t around?’

‘Not at the studios, no. But she said she’d told him I was going to be on, so I wouldn’t take any bets on Jack the Lad having missed today’s programme.’

‘Do you think she has any idea?’

‘That we suspect her husband?’ He sounded surprised at the question.

‘That her husband’s a serial killer.’ He was a little slow tonight, Carol thought. Normally he read any conversation as if he’d seen the script in advance.

‘I don’t think she has the faintest notion. I doubt she’d be with him if she did.’ He sounded unusually positive. It wasn’t like Tony to categorize things as black or white.

‘He really is a smooth operator.’

‘As silk. Now we have to sit back and see how much more it takes to unsettle him. Starting with tonight. I’m taking his wife out to dinner.’

Carol couldn’t help the pang of jealousy, but she kept her voice even. She’d had plenty of practice with Tony. ‘Really? How did you manage that?’