Dead Pretty: The 5th DS McAvoy Novel (DS Aector McAvoy) (36 page)

Gavan looks confused. He keeps jerking his head upwards as though invisible hands are yanking his hair. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘I’m being honest with you, Jez,’ says Pharaoh with a sigh. ‘I’m treating you with common courtesy. I’m sharing because I want you to understand the person you’re dealing with. I’m not a brilliant person, or a terrible one. I’m a normal person. But I’m a normal person who will stop at absolutely nothing to find out who killed Ava Delaney, and maybe Hannah Kelly too.’

‘Hannah Kelly?’ barks Gavan, spilling his lager. ‘The lass from the paper?’

‘We mentioned her last time, remember? Her body was found outside my sergeant’s home last night. You remember my sergeant. Big man. Ginger hair. Muscles on him like a pop-sock full of melons. He’s a sensitive soul. He’s taken Hannah’s disappearance very seriously. He’s understandably pissed off that his kids had to smell her. Now, you might not realise it, but McAvoy’s probably the scariest bastard I’ve ever met. Don’t let the sad eyes fool you.’

Gavan takes a gulp of lager. Tries to act the hard man.

‘You trying to threaten me?’

‘No, Jeremy, I’m trying to protect you. You see, if you don’t become a little more helpful, I’m going to call for backup. Three or four patrol cars will turn up. When they get here, I’ll be looking like somebody who is trying their very best not to cry. And the hairy-arsed coppers who come barging through that door will know in a flash that you’ve been trying it on. And they’re going to let their emotions get the better of them. Eventually, you’ll be handcuffed and taken to the station. You might dislocate your shoulder a couple of times on the way. A long while later, we’ll have our first interview. You’ll tell us your version of events. Then you’ll go back to your cell. The second interview will be a little more intense, where you tell us your story again. And then the third interview will be where we start picking holes in your story and laying on the pressure. None of this sounds much fun to me. But the thing you have to worry about most is the fact that McAvoy will be present for all of it. And he’ll be looking at the side of your face for the entire time. He’ll be looking through your skin and your muscle and your bone and into the very centre of your brain and if he doesn’t like what he sees in there, he’s going to express himself. I’m probably not exaggerating when I say that there aren’t enough coppers in the station to hold him back when his temper’s up. They call him “Psycho” at his old precinct, though not loud enough for him to hear.’

Gavan starts rolling himself a cigarette. Manages to light it. Makes a noise like a child who can’t think of a reply to an insult.

‘You’re a fucking bitch,’ he says at last.

‘And you’re a ratty little fucker. But you’re not a murderer.’

Gavan brightens. ‘So you know it wasn’t me? What about the fingerprints?’

‘I never said we found your fingerprints. I said we found all sorts of stuff. Don’t leap to conclusions.’

‘You’re a bitch,’ Gavan says again, but it sounds as though he means it as a compliment.

Pharaoh looks him up and down. ‘If you shagged her, Jez, I won’t judge you. I’ll probably be quite impressed.’

He shakes his head, dragging deep on his cigarette and scratching at his spotty, shapeless arms. ‘She were a kid. I don’t fancy them that young. Or that Goth-looking.’

‘So why did you go to her flat?’

Gavan sighs. Looks up to the ceiling.

‘I’ve had my team speak to the bar staff at the Lambwath,’ says Pharaoh. ‘Gone right through the CCTV. You never got talking to a girl matching that description.’

‘I did!’ says Gavan, though he is looking at the backs of his hands as he says it.

Pharaoh raises a hand. Presses a knuckle to her nose. Breathes in perfume and the light scent of wildflowers and woodsmoke. Scratches her head. Clicks her false tooth distractedly, as if making a decision. With a sigh, she reaches down into her handbag and pulls out the previous day’s copy of the
Hull Daily Mail
. She tosses it across to Gavan, who drops his cigarette as he catches it.

‘Page seven,’ she says.

Gavan opens the paper and finds the page.

‘The man,’ she says. ‘Handsome devil.’

Gavan shrugs. Closes the paper.

‘You were in Full Sutton towards the end of your last stretch,’ says Pharaoh. ‘Did your paths cross?’

Gavan retrieves his cigarette. Lights the tiny roll of paper and tobacco and recoils as the loose end of the roll-up catches fire.

‘It’s a blur,’ says Gavan.

‘Let me help your memory. You know he was there because I’ve got witness statements from the guards who said you two were inseparable. He helped you out, so I’m told. Funny, that – you being the experienced con and him being the one who kept you safe.’

‘Bollocks,’ says Gavan, weakly.

‘And when you got out in November, you did him a favour or two. You paid off a lass who was making life difficult. But the thing I can’t work out is whether you actually killed her. I can imagine you losing your temper and strangling her but not cutting her armpits off. That’s not your sort of thing at all.’

Gavan has gone completely still. The colour is leeching from his face, sliding down his body like a lengthening shadow.

‘I never killed her,’ he says, quietly. ‘I swear I never.’

‘The money you gave her. Did you give her all that he gave you?’

‘What?’

‘We both know what Hollow is capable of. If he finds out you stole from him . . .’

Gavan makes a fist. His mouth seems to shake. ‘You were the copper he wouldn’t stop talking about!’ he says, as if he has just worked out the answer to a difficult quiz question. ‘He made little statues of you out of soap. Used the edge of his phone card. Kept saying you were beautiful. That meeting you was worth getting arrested for. But he says you stitched him up. You used your looks to get him to talk and then you fucking charged him with murder.’

Pharaoh’s smile remains in place though her eyes lose their lustre.

‘You know what he did with the statues? He washed himself with them. Rubbed this little replica of you in every nook and cranny.’

‘Did you kill Ava?’ asks Pharaoh again.

‘I gave her every last penny he gave me.’

‘You went to her home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was she grateful?’

‘She said thank you. Counted it out in front of me. Pretty thing but not my type.’

‘Did she say anything else?’

‘Just the usual shit. Meant a lot to her. Felt awful having to ask. Tell him I’m sorry . . .’

‘And when was this?’

‘Weeks back. Christmas time. She were a nice lass. I wasn’t lying about trying to help her.’ He stops, collecting his thoughts, and when he speaks again it sounds as though he is reading a script. ‘I gave her my number and said she could use me as a guarantor if her landlord kept giving her problems. It were stupid – I was just trying to do the right thing.’

‘Where did you get the money?’

‘Picked it up from behind the bar in Bonny Boat in the Old Town. Gift-wrapped, it was, a box tied with a bow.’

‘Who left it there?’

‘I don’t know. Just said what I’d been told to say. That I was picking up a parcel. Landlord thought it was a birthday gift.’

‘What else was in the box? You said she counted the money out in front of you.’

‘Just a rock! Don’t fucking ask me what that was all about.’

‘And then?’

‘And then I left. That was that.’

‘And the story about meeting her in the Lambwath, giving your name to her landlord – was that Hollow’s idea?’

‘I didn’t want to get my name involved but he said it would be fine. That it was just a cover. I told the missus the story about the Lambwath when the landlord kept phoning me about the rent.’

‘You couldn’t just tell her the truth? Or me?’

‘I didn’t want to be involved in any of it,’ says Gavan, looking smaller somehow. ‘I saw what he could do. And I owed him . . .’

Pharaoh sits back in her chair. Stretches and gives a contented sigh, as if she has just taken off her shoes and tights on a hot day.

‘How come he’s out?’ asks Gavan quietly, suddenly looking more afraid. ‘He killed that bloke. The one who attacked his daughter.’

‘The evidence went away,’ says Pharaoh, holding his gaze.

‘I’ve met a lot of bad people,’ says Gavan. ‘I don’t know what to make of Hollow. I never heard him raise his voice. Never saw him get angry. But when I was in Full Sutton and that big black fucker went for me, Hollow took him down like he was nothing. Hit him again and again and again and I don’t think he broke a sweat. He’s dangerous.’

‘You think he hired somebody to kill Ava?’

Gavan shrugs. Looks at her with hooded eyes.

‘I don’t know why he would. I don’t know what she had on him. Anyway, he’s obsessed with you. I saw the carvings he did in the woodshop. Saw the way he looked at the little soap figurines. I wouldn’t want him on the streets if I were you.’

Pharaoh leans forward. Pulls her sunglasses from her blouse and puts them on.

‘He’s not dangerous,’ says Pharaoh. ‘He’s something else. He’s handsome and charming and clever, and he’s very, very arrogant. He’s not as clever as he thinks he is but he’s a lot cleverer than you. Don’t be frightened of him, Jez. You’re not his type.’

‘His type?’

Pharaoh stands and crosses to the sofa. Takes the can of lager from Gavan’s hand and takes a long swig.

She is about to say something else reassuring to Gavan when her phone bleeps and she gives a beery sigh as she answers. She says little but her face turns pale. She looks like a poker player who has laid down a triumphant hand, only to be presented with the barrel of a gun.

Pharaoh leaves without saying another word. Her mind is racing. She fumbles with her phone and feels like swearing as her head fills with Roisin’s soft, lilting voice. Something about men at her home, and letting people think the wrong thing about herself and Hollow. Her brain is too frazzled to process it. She has a pain between her breasts. Can feel her heart. She starts ringing Hollow’s phone, only for it to go to voicemail. She can see herself reflected in the windows of the car. Doesn’t see a strong, confident woman in sunglasses and biker boots. Sees mutton, dressed as sham.

It takes her only a moment to decide.

He answers on the second ring.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, by way of greeting. ‘I need to see you. Hollow’s been taken. I need to tell you everything.’

Chapter 27

Pharaoh leans her face against the cool metal of the van door. Starts to count to ten. Makes it to three before running a hand through her hair, scoring grooves in her scalp with her fingernails with the sound of somebody ripping cotton.

It’s just after 7 p.m. She’s leaning against the side of an unmarked white van, parked outside a Gothic church in the tiny village of South Dalton. Blue lights are flashing through the damp muslin of fog. Uniformed officers are fastening police tape to fence posts and dry-stone walls. A man in a tweed cap is arguing with a sergeant in a high-visibility jacket, demanding to know why he can’t go into the church grounds and visit the grave of an ancestor he has driven from Norfolk to see. Science officers in white suits are taking pictures of a body with a crushed head, an abandoned black gun, and Reuben Hollow’s Jeep.

She looks around her. It’s a gorgeous place, despite the gathering darkness and the weather. It’s as English as she can imagine; all red-brick and bunting, parish council meetings and hump-backed bridges. She remembers coming here a few years ago. Anders was celebrating a new deal and wanted to splash some cash on his wife and daughters. It had been a fun night. They’d hired a private room and giggled their way through five courses and wine. It had only soured on the drive home. Anders hadn’t liked how she’d looked at the waiter. Had drunk too many shots of brandy after the coffees and had lost the ability to control his insecurities. Simmered all the way home. Woke her an hour after she’d dozed off, pulling her out of bed by the hair and kicking her in the ribs with his bare feet. Sophia had stopped him. Took a smack to the mouth for her troubles.