Judgement Call (26 page)

She was destined to die at the hands of a violent madman.

‘Fuck,' Henry said into his lager.

In the periphery of his vision he noticed a figure standing close to him. He raised his eyes. It was Steph, the landlady. She smiled sympathetically. ‘Another tough day, I hear.'

‘Kinda.' Henry swallowed and returned a washed-out smile. Steph arched her eyebrows.

‘I could soothe your fevered brow,' she offered.

Henry considered the proposition. Was it too good to refuse?

‘It's … kind of you … but I'm meeting someone,' he fibbed.

‘Someone special?'

‘Extra-special,' he said firmly and realized he really had reached a major juncture in his life. ‘She's called Kate, and I'm going to marry her,' he announced.

‘Lucky girl.' There was a slight trace of disappointment in the words but they were supplemented by a nice, genuine smile. She turned and threaded her way back to the bar.

‘Henry, you arsehole,' he admonished himself, ‘turning
that
down!' He took a drink of the beer, but did not finish off the pint, nor even taste its golden companion. He pushed both drinks away, stood up and made for the pub door but came to a sudden standstill at the sight of the bulky figure coming in the opposite direction.

DI Fanshaw-Bayley.

They eyed each other malevolently.

‘Buy you a drink?' FB asked cautiously.

‘I'd rather you offered me out,' Henry retorted. ‘Quite fancy punching your lights out.'

‘I can understand that – but we need to talk.'

‘What about?' Henry teased seriously. ‘Me wrecking your career?'

‘Let me buy you a drink.'

‘To what end? Like I said, I'd prefer to screw a broken glass into your face, DI or otherwise.'

They were face to face, but their voices were not raised. To all intents, they looked like a couple of blokes having a reasonably friendly conversation.

‘Let me explain things.'

‘What? About judgement calls?' Henry's voice did rise. Other customers glanced in their direction. ‘The bigger picture? You know, sometimes the bigger picture leaves the little, unimportant people out of focus, you twat.'

‘I'll let that insult ride, Henry,' FB said. ‘Siddown, let me buy you a drink.'

Henry relented and went to sit back at the table he had just vacated. FB eased his way to the bar and returned a short while later with two pints of Stella. He settled his wide backside across the round stool opposite Henry.

‘Nice landlady,' FB commented. Henry merely raised a jaded eyebrow. FB took a sip of his pint as Henry observed him. To be fair, he looked drained, seemed to have lost some of his cocksure edge, maybe because he had discovered that sometimes he made shitty decisions and could be vulnerable. Or maybe he was just tired. ‘I'll come straight to the point,' FB said. ‘You and me need to sort out this shit.'

‘Really?'

‘Look, you're right, OK? But who could've known, eh? Who could've predicted she'd end up dead?'

Henry could not believe his ears. ‘You want an honest answer to that? He regularly beat her up. Then he raped her because she didn't feel like having sex because she'd just had a kid. Then he beat her up again. Sense a continuum here? Sir?'

‘There are two sides to every rape,' FB said.

‘Do you really fucking mean that?' Henry was flabbergasted.

‘Women usually get what they deserve.'

‘NO – you're so fucking wrong. You live in the dark ages, mate. Men don't have a God-given right to violate women. I'm not saying there isn't a story to be told, but surely it's up to us to protect women and put those stories before a court and let a judge decide – not us! Surely.'

‘We don't have time to be messed about,' FB said, sticking to his guns, ‘by hysterical females.'

‘I'm clearly not going to convince you. Y'know, just because it isn't a stranger abducting and raping a woman or a girl, doesn't mean to say it's not just as serious … and if we don't get our shit together on things like this, we'll come unstuck in a big way.' Rant over, Henry took a long pull on his lager, then, wiping his lips, said, ‘Anyway, how come you're so soft on pond life like Kaminski, your informant – at least before you found out he was twirling you? He must have given you some real good stuff.'

‘He got locked up a couple of months back for a town-centre disturbance, head-butted some guy. I talked to him the morning after when he was sobering up, like I do with a lot of prisoners because I'm always after intelligence and information and if it means a trade, then I trade – if it's worth it. He promised me something good and meaty if I got him out without a charge sheet in his back pocket and he came up with Jack Bowman for loads of burglaries. Obviously knew him and what he was up to through Sally Lee. When you pulled him for raping Sally, he offered me more.'

Henry's face remained impassive. ‘What did he offer?'

‘Another burglar. Y'know, it's rife in the valley.'

‘And you're going to make your name by detecting a shed-load of burglaries rather than arresting a rapist?'

FB did not respond, but the answer was yes.

‘He was playing you,' Henry said. ‘His freedom in return for a phantom burglar while what he really wanted to do was get out because he knew a robbery was going down that day and he was involved somewhere along the line.' Henry had a thought. ‘Know what? You've killed two women now, FB.'

The colour drained instantly from FB's tired face and his bottom lip sagged. ‘What're you saying?'

‘Kaminski would have been in custody and maybe the gang wouldn't have hit the shop that Jo walked into.'

‘Tenuous … and don't you dare ever voice that, or I'll kneecap you for ever,' FB warned ferociously.

‘No smoke without fire,' Henry said cheekily, enjoying himself in a perverted way. But he realized he could not take it too far. He wasn't naive enough to think that FB didn't have friends in high places and that he had the power to crush Henry's career like a bug under his winkle-pickers. It would be no contest and would be done in a subtle, underhand way. Henry's aspirations would be poleaxed and he'd be a cop on the beat for the next twenty-six years, though from where he sat in the here and now, it seemed a pretty good career choice.

Henry also understood FB's dilemma. A good grass was worth his weight in gold and there was always a trade-off because all informants were in it for selfish reasons – money, revenge, power – not altruistic ones. That was the way it worked. The hope was, it didn't go wrong – as in this case.

Henry also knew that if any shit should fly, none of it would splat FB because he was a sneaky reptile and would just claim that he'd been the one to get Sally Lee in the women's refuge. It wasn't his fault that the security in the place wasn't up to much.

The two men regarded each other.

Henry had finished teasing.

‘Question being – what's the next step?' FB said.

‘Catch Vlad.'

‘I don't think it'll be a simple job. He won't be hanging around Rossendale if he's any sense. Been trying to pin the bastard down all day as it is. No luck. But I do have an idea that might be worth exploring.'

‘That would be?'

‘Well,' FB drawled, ‘if we ID the burglar who broke into the refuge, we might also find the link to Kaminski and his whereabouts.'

‘If we knew who the burglar was, that would be logical.'

‘Well,' FB drawled again. ‘It's someone who's good at climbing. Must be a beanpole of a chap. Very experienced. But when he gets into the property, he shits.'

‘You've been keeping that under wraps,' Henry accused FB. He had heard the theory that someone else had let Vlad into the women's refuge to murder Sally, but no names had been bandied about. Nor had it been written down anywhere about the excrement at the point of entry, something else that FB had been holding back. Henry had not even had time to think who it might have been because he'd not been involved in anything connected with Sally's death, having spent his day dealing with the fallout from the custody break – which had included a visit to the sub-divisional superintendent's office for a very serious bollocking.

‘All day,' FB admitted.

‘It's Jack Bowman, isn't it?'

‘It fits his MO – as you know.'

‘Why would Jack do that to his own sister, or whatever relation he is to her? And why tell me? Why not go after him yourself, cover yourself in glory. That's your MO.'

‘Because …' FB's eyes narrowed, then he sighed, ‘Because it's only right to include you. You deserve a chunk of it.'

‘Or is it to buy my silence?'

‘That too, obviously.'

‘What's the plan?'

FB checked his watch. Henry noticed it was a Rolex, a make of watch he had always coveted and had promised himself he would own one day … he hoped. ‘How drunk are you?'

‘Stone-cold sober,' Henry said.

‘No time like the present, then.'

They climbed into FB's Jaguar XJS in the car park, Henry's backside slithering on the leather upholstery. FB fired it up, pumped the accelerator and the engine gave a throaty feline growl.

‘Nice motor,' Henry commented.

‘Ta.' He reversed out of his spot and then motored effortlessly towards Rawtenstall.

‘Where we heading?' Henry asked.

‘Might try Sally's house on the estate. It looks like she'd been harbouring Jack there so he might've sneaked back to get his head down,' FB suggested. ‘Even though we've been in and out of there all day, there's no one guarding it now. Plus, it's almost burnt to a cinder, but even so he might see it as safe. From what I know of him, he has nowhere else to crash.'

FB drove along the quiet roads, then up onto the estate which they cruised around for a couple of minutes. It wasn't particularly late but there wasn't much happening. Most Rossendale estates closed for business after the pubs kicked out and there wasn't always much activity on the streets themselves. It was a time for domestic disputes and often the only people out and about were the ones who couldn't easily be spotted, such as burglars and thieves.

They drove past Sally's house a couple of times. It was a sorry sight, the windows boarded up by the council, black scorch marks fanning up the brickwork above the living-room window. Henry felt very sad.

There was no obvious activity, so FB parked up a little away, but with a view of the front of the house. He switched off the engine and lights.

And waited.

Ten minutes later Henry had sunk low into the comfortable seat and was having major problems keeping his eyelids from slamming shut. The low point came when his chin dipped onto his chest, he started dreaming in very odd, disconnected images, then woke with a start as if he had been prodded. He had – by FB, who had jabbed him in the ribs.

‘Wake up.'

‘Why? Why?' Henry said gloopily. For a moment he couldn't quite work out where he was and tried to recall the dream, but it had gone. Then he realized. ‘You seen something?'

‘No – but I do have the house key.'

‘Now you tell me.'

‘We could wait inside.'

‘What about the car? You wouldn't want to leave it parked up, would you?'

‘When I said “we”, I meant “you”.'

‘Ahh. But I don't have a radio.'

FB dipped his hand into the driver's door pocket and came out with a PR that he handed to Henry. ‘Boy scout,' he said, and also gave him a Yale key and a penlight torch. ‘You might need that – the electric's off.'

Henry took the items reluctantly.

‘The PR has fresh batteries,' FB said. ‘It'd make more sense for you to be in there and I'll be back at the nick in my office. That way, if he reccies the place, there won't be anything around to spook him. And you're right, this car is just a bit too conspicuous in this neck of the woods. And you can be inside, waiting to grab him.'

‘I feel as though this was planned.'

‘No, honestly – spur of the moment,' FB assured him.

Henry was unenthusiastic. ‘One hour, and that's it.'

‘Fair enough. If he doesn't show, we'll start looking for him again tomorrow.'

Henry climbed out, and realized as the cool wind whipped off the moors that where he should be was in bed, not looking to spend an hour in a fire-gutted house waiting for someone to show up – or not. Shaking his head at the absurdity, he set off to the house, entering through the front door, having to fold himself through a crisscross of crime-scene tape pinned across the door frame.

It was pitch black in the hallway and immediately Henry was hit by the overpowering stench of the fire. He turned on the torch and played it over the floor, walls and stairs, seeing how the fire had spread rapidly through the house, searching and destroying it. The repair bill, if it was ever so lucky as to be repaired, would be astronomical. And the damage was not assisted by the complete but absolutely necessary drenching handed out by the fire brigade.

Stepping down the hallway was like treading through a Grimm's fairy tale swamp.

Henry swore.

He glanced into the living room, the seat of one of the fires.

It had been decimated, leaving only blackened springs and part of the metal frameworks of the settee and chairs.

‘Bastard,' Henry muttered. It looked far worse in the dark, playing the torch beam over it, than it had done in the immediate aftermath of the fire itself, at which he had been present the evening before. Then he went rigid, thinking he had heard something. Like a dull, moaning sound. Possibly it was the wind. He relaxed, and continued to flick the torch beam around the room, wondering where best to lodge himself for the next hour on this wild-goose wait. There was nowhere in here.