My Bloody Valentine (Alastair Gunn) (29 page)

‘Leave off, wankers!’ she shrieked. ‘This is fucking abuse!’

The guards ignored her, obviously more intent on keeping their cargo under control without grabbing a handful of heavily augmented breast.

‘Lara’s done fuck-all, anyway,’ the woman shouted as she was dragged past them and out into the car park, her voice fading as the door swung shut. ‘Try banging up some real criminals for a change.’

‘Normal day?’ Hawkins asked the clerk, who had barely looked up.

They left the desk and walked out to the courtyard, as Jones closed the security door behind them. Hawkins watched her retreat into the gloom beyond the glass, turning back to see the young woman, who was now screaming about burning the prison down, being assisted towards the main gate.

They followed, quietly discussing other lines of inquiry, now that Hawkins’ bright idea regarding prisoner information had put itself on hold.

‘Maybe we should start retracing our steps,’ Mike suggested. ‘Go back to the scenes, talk to the relatives again.’

‘Nice idea.’ She looked over at him. ‘But guess where Tanner is at this precise moment. He’s already annexed
half my team, and he’s more intent than ever on solving this case before I do. I can’t just follow his lead and hope to overtake. We need something he hasn’t thought of; otherwise, he’ll turn up in Vaughn’s office with the answer, beaming like bloody butter wouldn’t melt …’

She was about to address Mike’s obvious confusion by filling him in on the full story about Tanner when they were both distracted by the noise from the recently ejected woman, who was now being propelled through the final gate on to the street.

‘Arseholes!’ she screamed. ‘Lara’s innocent! You’ll be paying her compensation before long.’

Mike waited for her to stop shouting. ‘What did you mean …’

But Hawkins was no longer listening. Maguire tailed off as she fell behind, and turned to watch her digging frantically in her bag. She found the papers she was looking for, pulling the sheets free and staring at them.

‘Blimey,’ she said. ‘That’s
it
.’

Mike came closer. ‘What is?’

Hawkins didn’t answer right away, turning to look back at the prison, letting realization course through her, the trickling progress of insight eke its way into her mind. She paused, mentally turning her suspicions over, testing them. All at once it felt fantastic to be back.

‘Toni,’ Mike said, agitated, ‘I hate when you leave me hanging like this.’

She turned to face him, certain now of her insight. ‘Hunter’s theory is right, but it’s only half the story. Yes,
there were extenuating circumstances, but that isn’t why these people were killed.’

Maguire just stared.

‘Okay.’ Hawkins handed him the printouts. ‘What do you see?’

He looked at each sheet. ‘The original victims.’

‘Exactly, the baby Rosa Calano shook to death, the man Sam Philips murdered and the kid Matt Hayes ran down. So … ?’

Mike thought for a few seconds, shook his head.

Hawkins assisted. ‘What if the connection isn’t between Calano, Philips and Hayes? What if it’s between the three victims?’

‘So, link them.’

‘Okay.’ She pointed at the photos in turn. ‘Six-month-old baby: innocent; teenage kid riding his bike; innocent.’

‘Yeah,’ Mike cut her off, ‘but what about the rapist? We talked to the friend. Either Brendan Marsh was guilty or she’s got her story all
kinds
of wrong.’

‘Or she’s lying.’ Hawkins clicked her fingers. ‘Did you consider
that
?’

She watched his assurance falter as he realized what she was suggesting.

‘We’ve been looking at this upside down,’ she told him. ‘We assumed Philips was telling the truth about the rape, but what if Marsh didn’t actually do it? If that’s true, all three original victims were innocent, which definitely gives our vigilante something to avenge.’

‘It’s
possible.’ Mike ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. ‘Geez.’

‘So,’ Hawkins waved the printouts, ‘if I’m right, the Judge is targeting people who killed
innocent
victims. And, if that’s the case, there are only three possibilities. Either someone other than Marsh raped Sam Philips, the rape didn’t happen at all, or the killer doesn’t know the full story. But whichever scenario’s true, there’s one person who knows a lot more than she’s letting on.

‘Which means,’ she told him, ‘it’s high time we paid another visit to Sam Philips’ best friend.’

48

Bull heard the other vehicles before he saw them. The sound of their engines grew from a distant hum into separate clatters that sounded like two control trucks and a tank.

He was right, too, watching through the open rear canvas of their truck as the three vehicles passed in the early morning light, kicking up the dust as they headed away at speed.

‘Where the fuck are they going?’ Cheshire asked from the opposite bench.

‘Anyone?’ Bull checked with the other lads in the truck. No one knew.

The kid was right to wonder, though. Control didn’t usually send units out at this time, when the night shift was still coming in. That risked vehicles hitting each other in the dark on the narrow approach road and caused jams on the radio because everyone was talking at once. There were only a few reasons they’d be sending units out now. Either they were responding to an emergency, maybe picking up
AWOLs, or rescuing a team whose transport had conked out.

Or there was a bigger problem.

Their truck didn’t slow as they bumped towards home. The main drive in was nicknamed Ann Summers’ Approach, because its surface was so fucking rough that by the time you got to the gate the vibration meant you couldn’t see straight.

Bull shut his eyes, trying to ignore the headache he’d had since their shift began. It had been a tough night. They’d come under light-arms fire twice, and there had been more than a few close shaves. What made it worse was that they’d wasted their time. There had been no guns stashed in any of the houses they’d checked.

At last the truck stopped for a minute before driving on. Bull watched the south gate pass behind them, glad to be back. The next stop was the end of the road, and they all dropped out on to the dry, cracked ground before skirting the row of multi-coloured shipping containers to the equipment yard. Bull and Cheshire were first in, walking over to one of the tables to dump their kit.

Bull unclipped his pack and let it drop before rolling his shoulders. After eight hours in the field they all stank; all he wanted was a shower and his bunk. It was going to be a hot day, and forty-degree heat meant flies like you wouldn’t believe, although, when he was this tired, Bull could sleep through anything. But suddenly everyone was called to attention.

He turned to see the section commander, Shaun Wilson.

‘Sorry to do this to you, gentlemen. I know you just came in’ – Wilson waved at a couple of the guys still removing their body armour – ‘but you need to keep your gear on. Something’s happened, and we need everybody back out. Follow me.’

He turned towards the gate, adding, ‘Bring your guns.’

49

The door to the charity shop wasn’t alarmed so much as booby-trapped. Hawkins dodged the wooden chime as it flapped out from behind the door, narrowly missing her face. It clanked against the glass.

A Welsh-accented cry came from the back of the shop as she and Mike stepped inside.

‘Sorry! Let me get rid of that.’ A dumpy woman in her fifties hurried out from behind the counter, carrying a small set of steps. She was dressed in a smart grey skirt and heavy red jumper that would only ever have matched if you set them on fire. ‘The new girl put that up yesterday, while I wasn’t here.’

‘No problem.’ Mike closed the door and untangled the chime from the low beam. He handed it to the woman as she arrived, panting, beside them. ‘We’re trained to handle these situations.’

The Welsh lady gave him a confused look.

‘DCI Hawkins and DI Maguire,’ Hawkins clarified, holding up her badge. ‘We spoke on the phone.’

‘Ah.’ Realization broke on the woman’s face. ‘Now I get you. Yes, I’m Gwen Stevens, the proprietor. You’re here to see Nicola.’

‘Yes. You said she’d be here this afternoon.’

‘She
is, poor thing. Hasn’t been herself since her friend died, you understand, but she insisted on doing her hours. Anyway, she just nipped out. We’re rather low on milk, you see? She won’t be long.’

‘Good.’ Hawkins glanced out through the window, hoping they hadn’t underestimated the size of any secrets Nicola Watts might be hiding. ‘Is it okay if we wait?’

‘ ’Course it is.’ The shopkeeper winked at her. ‘When Nicky gets back, we’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’ She waved at the shop. ‘Feel free to look round, or you can take a seat out the back.’

Hawkins smiled. ‘We’ll browse.’

‘Right you are.’ Gwen picked up the steps. ‘I’ve got some lovely jackets at the moment. Suit a pretty girl like you.’

‘Thanks.’ Hawkins watched her shuffle back to the desk.

She and Mike began looking around. Hawkins couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a charity shop, but this one certainly didn’t look like any she’d visited before. Instead of dusty rugs, they stood on neat laminate, and where she’d pictured dead pensioners’ cardies and chipped tea sets, there were modern coffee machines and designer shirts with prices to match. But her attention was mainly on the window, and on Bethnal Green Road beyond. Traffic was light, even for Sunday lunchtime, while the vicious winds battering the trees were keeping pedestrians at home. And as the
minutes ticked by without sign of the woman they’d come to see, Hawkins’ nerves only increased.

Before leaving the prison that morning, she’d purposely called the contact number Watts had given for afternoons, the charity shop where she helped out sometimes. Hawkins confirmed with the manager that Watts was due in and ensured that she and Maguire arrived at the start of her shift, trying to maintain the element of surprise. Unfortunately, it looked as if Watts had come in early and found out from Gwen that the Met were on their way. The subsequent mission for milk could have been genuine, of course, but it might also indicate that Nicola Watts was hiding even more than Hawkins had assumed.

But could it really be serious enough to make her run?

The answer came as Hawkins admired a pair of beautifully made leather boots. She bent to touch the supple hide, before glancing over when she heard the door open.

‘Hello, Detective.’ Nicola Watts stood in the doorway, holding a carton of milk. ‘Sorry to keep you.’

‘It’s fine.’ Hawkins straightened. ‘Can we have a private word?’

‘I was at home this morning.’ Nicola Watts handed Mike a steaming cup of tea. ‘You could have reached me on the mobile number I gave you.’

‘I know.’ Hawkins set her mug down to cool. ‘Sorry to disturb you at work, but we were tied up until now.’

Watts
looked unconvinced. ‘I can’t be long. Gwen needs to leave at two.’

‘Don’t worry, miss, we won’t keep you.’ Mike tried his most charming tone.

Unfortunately, their subject seemed immune, refusing to break eye contact with Hawkins. ‘What’s this about?’

Hawkins watched her retreat to a chair in the corner of the small kitchen, completing their small triangle of bodies between the close-set cupboards. Ironically, in contrast to the shop below, everything in this room matched Hawkins’ preconceptions of a charity shop perfectly. But, while there wasn’t much space, at least they wouldn’t be overheard.

Watts looked a lot better than she had the week before. There was colour in her face, and her drained expression had been replaced with a warm and intelligent air. But Hawkins knew better than to judge interviewees on appearance alone.

She cleared her throat. ‘We need to go back over the events that led to Sam killing Brendan Marsh.’

Watts frowned. ‘Why?’

‘We didn’t cover the whole story before, and it may be a lot more important than we thought. I need to hear your version of what happened.’

‘All right.’ The woman’s arms folded suddenly, and her shoulders hunched. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

‘How did they meet?’

Watts took a few seconds to think about it before
she replied. ‘He was our English tutor at sixth-form college. He’d only joined the staff that year, so I guess they met in the first lesson. You’d have to check with the school when that was.’

Hawkins raised a hand. ‘It’s fine. Did they get on?’

‘Yes.’ Watts looked nervous now, eyes darting between her visitors. ‘He was younger than the other teachers, so he was more of a laugh … you know, friendlier. Of course, at that stage we didn’t know why.’

Her composure was already flagging, and Hawkins softened her tone. ‘Did they see each other outside school?’

Watts looked at the ceiling. ‘Yes, but not how that sounds; not …
socially
. Sam was struggling with her exams and he offered to help. He seemed nice, so they started meeting up, break times at first, then in the evenings as well.’

‘Where did they meet?’

‘At his house. He lived alone; it wasn’t far.’

‘Did you ever go there?’

‘No.’

‘So there was nothing between them, nothing unprofessional about his behaviour?’

Watts looked away. She had the appearance of someone being coaxed into breaking a friend’s confidence. After a moment she turned back. ‘He tried to kiss her a few times, but she never let him.’

‘That wasn’t in the court records. Why didn’t Sam report it?’

Watts
drew a deep breath and sighed heavily before answering. ‘Because she did that to guys.’

Hawkins’ eyes narrowed. ‘She led him on?’

‘Oh, maybe.’ Watts stood, clearly frustrated. ‘But she didn’t consent to sex.’

‘How can you be sure?’

Watts chewed at her bottom lip, her expression hardening suddenly. She turned to face them. ‘What are you actually asking me here?’