Snarl (14 page)

“Fine, we’re fine. Just worried about what we’re going to find.”

“Maybe you should wait ‘til the patrol get there.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Kate, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. “Can you get hold of Anderton?”

“He’s with the Chief. I’ll grab him as soon as he’s done.”

Kate didn’t have faith that the two of them would be able to break the front door down, despite Theo’s youth and strength. If he’d had any sense at all, Hargreaves would have built himself an impregnable fortress. But, primed with adrenaline, it only took three shoulder charges before the frame splintered and a gap appeared. Theo kicked the door fully open
in just thirty seconds. 

Kate braced herself for the peal of an alarm
, but there was nothing. After the splintering and crashing of the door break, the silence rolled back in. Kate found herself holding her breath. She was a little ashamed that she let Theo go in first, although he would have probably stopped her if she’d tried to be the one to take the lead. As it was, he held out a protective arm as she stepped forward, which she found simultaneously touching and annoying.

As they stepped over the threshold, Kate was assailed with fear. This was stupid, we’re not armed, we have no idea who might be here… Over their quick, high breathing, she caught the faint sound of sirens and relaxed a little. Theo edged forward, Kate following him closely, until they were standing in the huge
, atrium-like space in the centre of the house.

As soon as she saw the body, Kate felt her fear dissipate. Alex Hargreaves sat in one of the leather chairs, his head rolled forward onto his chest, his eyes closed. Both arms were loose at his sides, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to above the elbow. Blood had run from the wounds in his wrists and pooled on the floor beneath him. In front of him, on the glass coffee table, was an empty bottle of whisky, the dregs of which were dried into a sticky amber film in the bottom of a glass. There was a square yellow Post-It note stuck to the glass of the table, with an object placed on top of it. Kate and Theo edged closer. The scrawled writing on the note said the simplest and saddest goodbye of all.
I’m sorry
. The small object was a memory stick. Kate looked closer. Balled-up pieces of pink paper were scattered around Hargreaves’ feet and she remembered seeing the same kind of paper bobbing in the lake outside on her previous visit. She leant a little closer, trying to see them in more detail.

“What are those?” she whispered to Theo. It felt wrong to speak in a normal tone.

Theo bent forward to take a closer look. “Not sure,” he said after a moment. “Nothing sinister. I think they’re betting slips.”

“Oh.”

There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. There was no jagged undercurrent of fear left in the room, no taint of horror as at the Dorsey crime scene. There was nothing, simply absence. Kate and Theo kept looking, standing side by side and staying quiet, as the sound of sirens became louder and eventually they heard the crunch of tires over the gravel outside.

*

The bank of whiteboards in the Incident room had grown. Two days after the discovery of Hargreaves’ body, Kate and Olbeck stood in front of it, looking at the photographs from the victim’s house. There was something even sadder in the juxtaposition of Hargreaves’ slumped body, drained white, against the luxurious backdrop of the house itself, with its expensive furnishings and dramatic artwork. Kate looked more closely at a close-up shot of the suicide note. Something about it reminded her of the jagged letters written in blood on the wall of the dining room at the Dorsey crime scene. The handwriting and the meaning were completely different but, like the other, it was a message. But a message to whom?

The door crashed open and Anderton bowled through with a laptop in his arms, the lead trailing behind him like the ribbon on a kite.

“Morning, team. Can someone help me get this set up?”

Once the equipment was sorted out, the police officers arranged themselves around the room in a way that they could all see the projection screen. Anderton opened a file on the laptop and adjusted it on the screen. It was an Excel spreadsheet, filled side to side with a mass of (to Kate) impenetrable numbers.

“Know what this is?” asked Anderton.

Olbeck raised his hand.
“I’m hazarding a guess that it’s something to do with MedGen’s accounts.”

“You hazard right. We’ve had the analysts go through the files which were on the memory stick left by Hargreaves at his suicide. I’m not expecting you lot to understand this – you’re not accountants, thank God – but you can possibly hazard another guess at why Hargreaves left this for us, or someone, to find.”

Kate scanned the spreadsheets, frowning. The numbers still didn’t make much sense, but she could guess what Anderton was inferring.

“He was embezzling funds,” she said, quietly. “That’s why Jack Dorsey was worried about money. Remember
, Sarah Brennan said he’d been talking about getting the auditors in, to look at the accounts, or something like that?”

Anderton nodded.
“Quite right, Kate. It turns out Alex Hargreaves not only had expensive tastes in houses and clothes and artwork, he also had quite a gambling addiction. Had accounts with all the bookies in Abbeyford, the respectable ones as well as the not-quite-so respectable ones. So he needed money and, as one of the directors of MedGen, he had access to a lot.”

Kate found herself nodding in dawning comprehension. She remembered the trip to MedGen with Theo, how they’d been talking about betting and horse-racing in the waiting room. Theo holding the Racing Times magazine and Hargreaves coming in, noticing it, his face briefly registering a flicker of emotion. She remembered the bobbing pink betting slips in the lake by Hargreaves’ house.

Olbeck rubbed his chin. “So, Hargreaves was taking the money, Dorsey found out about it – or was on the verge of finding out about it. So that meant… what? Did Hargreaves have to stop him?”

Theo was flipping the case notes back and forth.
“Hargreaves has a rock-solid alibi for the night of Dorsey’s death, guv,” he said. “A pub full of people have confirmed that he was there for most of the evening.”

“Yes, thank you for that illuminating fact, Theo,” said Anderton. “I’m quite aware of that.”

“He would make sure he had a rock-solid alibi if he was going to pay someone to do his dirty work for him,” Kate said impatiently.

There was a moment’s silence, broken by the door to the office opening. They all turned to see Stuart making his way towards them. He was dressed in his activist gear, in stark contrast to how Kate had last seen him, although he looked as tired as he had that evening at Olbeck and Jeff’s house. He raised a hand in slightly self-conscious welcome as he joined them at the whiteboards. “All right, everyone?”

“Glad you could join us,” said Anderton. “I hear the patrol had a fun time dragging you in for questioning.”

Stuart grinned.
“I didn’t resist arrest, if that’s what you’re saying, sir.”

“Not at all. Come into my office for a moment, I just want a quick word.”

The tension in the team was broken as Anderton and Stuart left the room. Kate continued to run her eyes over the photographs and the files on screen, wondering whether she’d missed anything important. Theo took the files back to his desk and began to read through them, muttering something under his breath. Rav and Jane went to stock up on coffee.

Kate was still standing there, unsure of what to do next
, when Stuart appeared at her shoulder. “All right?” he said amiably.

She smiled up at him in greeting. It was funny
, but since that odd little moment at the dinner party last week, she didn’t have that same sense of irritation and annoyance around him as she used to do.

“These the Hargreaves photos?”

Kate nodded. Stuart moved along the row slowly, looking at each in turn.

Kate, having seen all of the sad images that she wanted to see, looked around the room. Theo still had his head bent over the file – she could imagine that patronising little comment of Anderton’s had smarted and he was trying to find something in the file to help him regain a little ground. She sympathised. She thought about going to get a cup of tea and turned back to Stuart to ask him if he wanted one.
“Fancy a c—”

One look at his face stopped her sentence in mid-flow. He was staring intently at the photographs and his face was literally draining of colour before her eyes, as if a plug had been pulled somewhere in his throat and all the blood
were running away down the plughole. She had a sudden, horrifying flashback to last summer, watching Gerry suffer the heart attack that put him in Intensive Care; here in front of her was the same greyish pallor, the same stare of utter shock and dread. She took an involuntary step towards him.

“Stuart…”

“Where are the toilets?” he asked, in a faint, faraway voice.

Surely he knew? She told him and he turned at once and walked quickly to the door, holding himself stiffly
, as if he were hurt and trying not to show it. Kate watched the office door swing closed behind him, one hand up to her mouth. What on Earth…?

“Kate, can you come with me and—
”

Olbeck had appeared at her shoulder. She turned to him and grasped his arm.

“Go and see if Stuart’s all right, will you? He’s in the men’s loos.”

“W
hat?”

“Oh, never mind,” said Kate impatiently and
hurried through the door after Stuart. Outside the grey painted door to the men’s toilets, she hesitated for a second and then knocked and pushed it open.

Stuart was sitting on the floor of one of the cubicles, clearly oblivious to the filthy floor, his head in his hands. The room stank of vomit. Trying not to breathe, Kate squatted down by him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You all right?”

He raised his head and she saw with alarm that he was almost crying. “I’m fucked, Kate. I’m so fucked. Oh God, help me, I didn’t know – I didn’t know…”

She didn’t waste time asking what was wrong. She had to get out of this fetid room but she couldn’t leave Stuart. The door to the room opened and Olbeck walked in.

“What’s the problem?” He caught sight of the state that was Stuart. “Oh, God. What’s wrong?”

“Help me get him up.”

They hoisted Stuart to his feet between them. He was crying openly now
, and Olbeck looked across his bent head at Kate in alarm.

They manhandled him out of the loos and across into an empty office. Olbeck shut the door.

Stuart had his head in his hands again.

“What’s going on?” asked Kate, gently.

There was no answer. She could hear Stuart’s high, terrified breathing.

“Stuart!”

He dropped his hands from his face, rubbing the tears away. She could see him make an effort to collect himself. “I’m so
fucked
,” he said, again.

“All right,” said Olbeck. “Why?”

Stuart took a deep, shaky breath. “In the photos – the photos—”

“Of the Hargreaves crime scene?” asked Kate. She sat down next to him and took one of his large hands. He clutched it gratefully.

“Yeah, that scene. There’s a sculpture in one of them, a big silver thing, a bit like a robot…”

“Yes?”

There was a moment’s silence in the room, broken only by Stuart’s ragged gasp. “I know who made it.”

There was another silence. Kate and Olbeck exchanged a glance.

“Yes?” asked Kate, careful not to sound impatient. “And?”

Stuart put
one shaky hand up to his eyes. “I know it – I know what happened. I can see the links now. I can see it all.”

“So what happened?”

“I need to talk to Anderton. Oh Christ, he’s going to kill me.”

“Stuart,” said Kate, fighting the impulse to take him by the shoulders and start shaking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Stuart took a deep breath and got up, releasing Kate’s hand. He looked at her and then looked at Olbeck and smiled a smile that was nothing more than a grimace. “I’ve been fucking a murder suspect,” he said and then walked out of the room, leaving Kate and Olbeck with their mouths ajar.

Chapter Twenty

They didn’t talk much in the car on the way there. Rav was driving and Stuart sat next to him. Kate, who was by herself in the back, looked at Stuart’s face, which was set tight, as if it had frozen stiff. She wished Anderton were there, or Olbeck, but they were both busy elsewhere and Stuart had specifically asked if she would accompany him.

“This is going to blow your cover,” she’d said as they walked to the car. He’d laughed raggedly.

“You think that matters now? My career in Undercover is
over
, Kate. I’m probably off the force for good.”

Kate thought of that grim note to his voice as he’d said that. She leane
d forward and squeezed his arm. “Stuart, do you think – do you think this is a good idea? Should I make the arrest, instead?”

“No,” said Stuart, that same note in his voice. “I want to see her face.”

“Is it this turn?” asked Rav.

They swung off the main road into a cul-de-sac. The houses were pre-war; nineteen thirties construction, not particularly attractive but
well-built and large, set back from the road with long driveways and front gardens. The house they sought was right on the edge of the estate, its boundary abutting a scrubby bit of woodland. Stuart, exiting the car, thought of the first time he’d been there and how he’d first seen her, spot lit under that harsh kitchen strip light.

The three of them stood for a moment, looking up at the silent house. There was a large, battered estate car parked on the crumbling concrete driveway that Stuart couldn’t recall being there before. All the dirty curtains were drawn, although that wasn’t so
unusual, Stuart recalled. He wondered how many people were in the house.

“Well,” said Rav. “What are we waiting for?”

“You’re right,” replied Stuart. “I’m going in.”

There was a sharp crack and Kate felt the sudden sting of something in her upper arm and a buzzing noise. She looked down, expecting to see some kind of insect. Instead, there was a blooming patch of red on her bicep, the sleeve of her shirt torn open as if ripped by a tiny hand. She was still staring at this, the implications not reaching her brain quickly enough
, when there was another crack and Rav gave a kind of grunt before folding up next to her, literally crumpling to the ground as if his legs had been dynamited from under him.

Within the next ten seconds
, and how she didn’t know, she and Stuart were behind the parked car on the driveway, with Rav on the floor beneath them. She was still so dazed it took her a second to realise that she’d been shot, the bullet grazing her arm. Rav had been shot in the stomach. Had Stuart picked him up bodily whilst hurrying her under cover? She supposed he must have, but it was as if the last few moments of her memory had been burned away.

“What the fuck—
”

“Shut up! Keep down!” said Stuart in a hissing shout. Kate heard Rav groan and dropped to her knees beside him. His face was an awful sepia tone, grey bleaching out the brown. He looked incredibly young. She put a hand on his chest and he clutched at her fingers. She
had a sudden, piecing flash of memory; her brother Jay, when he was teething as a toddler. Kate, at eleven years old, would take him into her bed when he cried and he’d lie beside her, cuddled close, clutching her fingers. She did the same to Rav as she’d done then to Jay, lying close beside him and shielding him as best she could while she put her forehead against his clammy cheek and murmured to him just as she’d murmured to little Jay;
it’s okay my darling, it’s okay my sweetheart, you’ll be okay
… She was conscious that any second could bring a final bullet to them both and the terror was so overwhelming that her comforting murmurs were as much for herself as for poor Rav. She was dimly aware that Stuart was pressed against her back, his arms around her, shielding her as she shielded Rav.

“It hurts, it hurts...” Rav moaned and Kate helplessly kissed his face and stroked his head, not knowing what else she could do. She daren’t put any pressure on the wound, not knowing how badly his insides were injured. She had a vague recollection of Stuart shouting for an ARU, for an ambulance but that seemed a long time ago now. Was Rav dying
, under her hands? Another shot pinged and ricocheted off the car and both Kate and Stuart flinched, huddling even closer to the ground.

“What’s happening?” she asked Stuart, almost sobbing, as if he would know.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

His voice shook so much
she almost couldn’t make out the words. His arms tightened around her and she pressed back against him, feeling a tiny measure of comfort from his physical bulk.

Rav started to fit beneath her. She gasped and tried to hold him, feeling his muscles jerk and twitch beneath her hands. She tried to put her hands under his head to stop it banging on the concrete.

“Rav, oh hold on, hold on, sweetheart – hold on, darling – I’ve got you—”

She was crying properly now, her tears falling on Rav’s grey face
. Don’t die, oh please don’t die…
Distantly, just as she had at Hargreaves’s house, she heard the sound of sirens. Her heart leapt in hope within her.

“They’re coming, R
av, they’re nearly here, you’ll be all right sweetheart, hold on…”

Then they heard it, even over the sound of the approaching emergency vehicles. There was another shot but from within the house, a gunshot that somehow sounded more final than any
of the ones before. Stuart and Kate remained frozen for a second. Had they heard what they thought they’d heard? Rav calmed and his body stilled beneath Kate’s hands. Terrified, she bent to put her head on his chest and exhaled sharply in relief, not even knowing she had been holding her breath, as she heard his heartbeat beneath her ear, faint and erratic but there all the same.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know. Don’t move. Don’t do anything until the ARU get here.”

All the cars and teams seemed to arrive at once .There was a confusion of screeching tyres, shouts, blue lights pulsing, running feet, more shouts. Kate stayed crouched down, her arms around Rav
, until she was pushed aside by a paramedic, a burly middle-aged man with a beard. She fought the urge to kiss him. Almost before she could say anything, another female paramedic crouched beside her, talking calmly but forcefully.

“Officer, are you hurt? Are you shot? Can you tell me?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Kate looked around, dazed. Rav was being loaded onto a stretcher, the bearded medic bent over him. Where was Stuart? Was it safe to sit up?

“That arm looks nasty, I’ll have to treat that.”

Ignoring her, Kate flung herself floorwards again and looked across the driveway from beneath the car. She could see a semi-circle of police cars, several armed officers with their guns trained on the house. Almost as she looked, she heard the front door go down with a splintering crash amidst shouts of “Armed police! Armed police!”

“Officer, you need to come with me for a moment. We’ll be safe over here…”

The female para was gently pulling her away to the shelter of an ambulance
, parked behind the fence that marked the boundary. Kate craned her neck, trying to see where Stuart was. Had he gone inside?

“Office
r,
please
. You need to come with me.”

Another ambulance’s siren started up, loud enough to make Kate jump. She watched it drive away, bearing Rav with it. She muttered a quick, open-eyed prayer as she watched its tail-lights recede into the distance.
Please God, let him be okay…

“Officer—
”

Kate relented. She followed the paramedic into the remaining ambulance and allowed them to shut the door.

Stuart stepped through the broken front door frame of the house. Fragments of wood lay scattered across the hallway’s dirty floor tiles. ARU officers throng
ed the rooms downstairs. In so far as he was able to wonder about anything, Stuart wondered whether anyone else had been in the house – that curly-haired Charlie, or the one with the funny name, Rizzo or something. He hoped not.

He climbed the stairs, watching the treads move in and out of his vision. His chest ached and his jaw; he’d been clenching it for so long. Up to the first floor, where rooms had been checked and cleared. He paused at the beginning of the final staircase. How strange that he was climbing upwards when his life was in an uncontrollable spiral downwards. There was no escape now, nothing to stop his descent. He walked slowly up the narrow wooden stairs, hand
desperately clutching the banister. The door at the top of the stairs was open, leaning drunkenly on its hinges. They’d broken that one down, too. There were two uniformed officers by the doorway, staring into the room. As Stuart approached them, one turned to him and said something, but he was too far gone now to understand. He moved into the room of glittering mirrors and again, he was reminded of the first time he’d been there. Again, he watched himself in miniature, a million tiny reflections of himself, a million tiny images of his haggard, aghast face.

The body of Guy Ward lay face down on the floor, one side of his head a ragged mess of blood and bone. A shotgun lay by one outstretched hand
and there was another gun lying on the floor between the body and the bed. Angie was stretched out on the bed with two officers restraining her, pinning her to its surface. For a frozen moment, Stuart thought she was dead too and then realised her face was turned towards him, her eyes fixed on him, unblinking. She wasn’t struggling. He looked once at her beautiful statue’s face and then his gaze rose to the large computer screen on the desk by the wall.  He swallowed.

There was the Dorsey drawing room, the beautiful antiques, the velvet curtains. For a moment, Stuart thought he was looking at a photograph of the room and then there was a flicker in the corner of the screen and he
watched Wade advance on Jack Dorsey, who was turning, open-mouthed. Where was Angie? Behind the camera; he answered his own question a second later. Stuart watched up until the moment the knife first went in and then he looked away, feeling sick. He remembered Angie showing him that other multi-media collage on her phone – the same time he’d seen her silver sculpture. Was this to have been her next project? A living snuff film, if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms. He had to get out of this room. He remembered her telling him about her latest artwork.
It’s consumed me…

Anger and nausea rose up in him and
, to stop himself from attacking her even as she lay prone and flattened on the bed, he rushed for the door. The walls flickered, a million little Stuarts running with him.