Murder Club - Mark Pearson [51]
‘What did he have for us?’
‘Our body in the churchyard this morning …’
‘Yeah?’
‘He and Lorraine fitted all the pieces together like an osteopathic jigsaw.’
‘And?’
‘And … there was a piece missing.’
‘Left behind in the grave?’
‘No. It was a piece missing,’ he put a finger to his temple, right in the middle of his temple. ‘Bullet-sized.’
‘He was shot.’
‘Yes,’ said Delaney as he hit the speed-dial on his phone.
Sally turned the key in the ignition and kicked the engine into life. ‘Back to the office?’
Delaney nodded. ‘Hi, Tony,’ he said as his call was answered. ‘It’s Jack Delaney.’
Sally reversed Delaney’s old Saab out of its parking spot and headed for the car-park entrance as he listened to Tony Hamilton on the phone.
‘Where are you now?’ He nodded again. ‘Okay, we’ll meet you in The Castle in about fifty minutes. Change of plan, Sally.’
‘Where to now then?’
‘Harrow-on-the-Hill. The Castle pub. Do you know it?’
Sally shook her head.
‘Don’t worry, the Saab knows the way.’
Sally changed gears, the crunching audible. ‘This car should know its way to the knacker’s yard, if you ask me.’
‘Well, no one is asking you! So step on it. Your boyfriend’s waiting for us.’
Sally grimaced. ‘Bloody men!’
Delaney smiled, but not for long, as what DI Tony Hamilton had told him ticked over in his brain.
Sally looked over at him as a thought struck her. ‘It’s not going to take fifty minutes to get to Harrow-on-the Hill, sir,’ she said.
‘I know, Sally, got to make a little visit first,’ he replied, all humour having vanished now from his blue eyes.
Laura was sitting on a chair by the base of Bible Steve’s bed. A uniformed constable stood outside. Next door, CID officers from Paddington Green were interviewing Dongmei Chang’s relatives.
She sipped on a clear plastic cup of water, her eyes unfocused, lost in thought.
She remembered taking the girl to a play area of the club. She remembered dark lights, throbbing music. Velvet Underground. Lou Reed, the song playing in her mind continuously – she couldn’t seem to stop it. An earworm. Lyrics about leather and boots. Tasting a whip. She remembered the whip in her hand. She remembered lashing down with it hard. Again and again. But the memories blurred. She couldn’t see who or what she was hitting. Just the song and a red mist. Flashes of images came back. Outside, in the snow, blood on her hands. Putting her hands in the snow to ease the pain.
She held her hands to her ears, trying to stop the song. Trying to remember.
‘Dr Chilvers! Are you all right?’
Her eyes flew open, startled. Dave Matthews was standing in the doorway, practically filling it with his massive shoulders and looking at her, concerned.
It took her a moment to find her voice. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, thank you, Sergeant.’ She finished her cup of water and held it out to him. ‘Just a touch of migraine; it will pass in a minute, but could you get me some more water?’
Dave Matthews left and Laura closed her eyes again. Steadying her breathing. Willing her heart to slow down. For Christ’s sake, Laura! Get a grip on yourself, she said to herself.
And then screamed as a strong hand seized her arm.
Sally Cartwright brought Delaney’s Saab to a stop in a suburban street in Harrow. Warrington Road, just a few streets away from Carlton Row, where the children had been kidnapped all those years ago and made Jack Delaney a household name for a while. His face plastered over the front covers of most of the papers. Not once, but twice.
There was a huddle of press outside a house about fifty yards up the road.
‘Do you think this is wise, sir?’ asked Sally as they stepped out of the car and shut the doors.
‘I don’t know, Sally,’ said Delaney as they walked up the road towards them. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think, sir, in the words of Chief Inspector Diane Campbell, that George Napier will want your balls dipped in chocolate and served up at the ambassador’s ball.’
‘That’s Superintendent Napier to you!