Murder Club - Mark Pearson [90]
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Do that.’ She handed the detective a piece of paper. ‘Name and address. If she’s still there, that is.’
‘How did you get hold of this?’
‘The old dragon’s phone book. All their old numbers.’
‘You consider a career change, come and look me up.’
‘And if you fancy making the world go round, come and do the same.’
She winked at him and walked back into the bar.
A couple of minutes later, DI Halliday came out of the Ladies and up to the bar. Tony had his coat on and his beer remained untouched. She looked at the piece of paper in his hand.
‘Give you her number, did she? And where’s my wine, by the way?’
‘She gave me a number, yes. And you won’t be needing the wine.’
‘I bloody will, if I have to sit here and look at your “cat that’s got the cream” smile much longer.’
‘They’ve cleared the jack-knifed lorry on the M11 and the B-roads are clear enough now. We’re good to go.’
‘Thank Christ for that!’ She stood up and fished the car keys out of her pocket.
Tony took them from her. ‘You’ve had three glasses of wine, I’ve had a pint and I only took a sip of that gin.’
Emma Halliday was going to snap back but realised he had a point. ‘Fair enough. Come on then,’ she said, putting on her coat and heading for the door. Tony Hamilton shrugged apologetically at the barmaid and followed her.
‘So what’s the number you’ve got?’ asked DI Halliday as the night air hit them.
‘It’s what you might call a bit of a clue.’
‘Go on.’
‘Michelle Riley. Used to work for Andrew Johnson when they ran a pub in Harrow-on-the-Hill.’
‘And?’
‘And,’ replied Tony as he beeped the car door open, ‘seems she claims that Andrew Johnson raped her one night in the pub cellar.’
‘Ah!’ Emma moved the seat back a little to accommodate her long legs.
‘Ah, indeed. And it seems likely he did, because they paid her fifty large to keep her mouth shut about it.’ Tony Hamilton pulled his seatbelt around him and clicked it into place.
‘Michael Robinson. Andrew Johnson. Both from Harrow. Both rapists. Some kind of club, you’re thinking.’
Tony fired up the ignition. ‘Rape club? I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Somebody used a police-style Taser to make them jump in front of a train. Maybe we have a vigilante?’
‘I’d say we definitely have!’ said Tony Hamilton as he flicked on the windscreen wipers to clear away the fallen snow and pulled out into the High Street heading back to London.
62.
DEREK ‘BOWLALONG’ BOWMAN was whistling rather tunelessly as he laid out his instruments on the trolley by the mortuary table. He looked at his watch and smiled as Kate Walker came into the room, followed by Diane Campbell.
‘I was just about to start without you,’ he said.
‘That’s okay, Derek. You can start when we’ve gone,’ said Deputy Superintendent Campbell.
‘Fair enough,’ replied the pathologist, laying down the circular Stryker saw.
Diane and Kate walked across and looked at the naked body of the young woman lying on the table. Her hair had been straightened, her arms laid flat alongside her. Her eyes were closed, the blue veins in her eyelids even more prominent now.
Diane Campbell pulled out a photograph and compared it with the dead woman. She handed it to Kate. ‘Looks like we found her,’ she said.
‘Who is she?’ asked Derek Bowman.
‘She’s a statistic, Derek,’ said Diane Campbell. ‘More proof that we’re not doing our job.’
‘The police aren’t responsible for homelessness, Diane,’ said Kate.
‘I meant as human beings.’
‘She was living rough?’
‘Had been on and off since she was fifteen years old. She ran away from abuse at home, into prostitution, drugs, prison. Seemed she’d been let down by society her whole life. According to the homeless shelter where she was registered, she had the mental age of a child.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Margaret O’Brien,’ said Diane. ‘Everyone called her Meg.’
‘What did she die of?’ asked Kate.
‘Neglect.’ Dr Bowman shook his her head. ‘Just as the Chief says. Left on the street, sub-zero temperatures. Didn’t stand a chance.’
‘She wasn’t murdered?’
‘Depends how