The Dead Tracks (16 page)

    'I'm
not sure it makes much difference to them.' 'Oh?'

    'Megan
hasn't been found. That's all they care about.'

    He
didn't reply.

    'Look,
I don't know what game you're playing here — but it's not me against you. It's
not me against
anyone.
I'm trying to find Megan Carver, just like DCI
Hart was trying to find her.'

    'But
you can see how your presence complicates things?'

    'How
Does it complicate things? Hart stopped calling the Carvers when the case hit a
wall. You should be talking to him, not me.'

    He
rubbed a couple of fingers against his forehead, as if he were trying to reason
with a child. 'Truth is, David, you've — whether unwittingly or not — stepped
into a situation here — and I need you to step back out again.'

    'What
are you talking about?'

    'I
need you to drop the Carver case.'

    'Why
would I do that?'

    He
sighed. 'I'm asking you as a favour.'

    'A
favour
?' I sat back in my seat and studied him. His eyes were dark,
focused, looking right at me. 'Have you got a lead?'

    'I
can't talk to you about that.'

    'I'm
not dropping the case as a favour to someone I met for the first time an hour
ago. Has anyone here even
talked
to the Carvers in the past two months?'

    'Of
course we have.'

    'I
don't mean calling to tell them there's nothing new to report. You might want
to go around to their house some time and see what sort of state they're in.
They spent four months waiting for Hart to bring their daughter home, and
another two months waiting for the phone to ring. If you have a lead, then you
need to act on it.'

    'Are
you telling us how to do our job?'

    'No,
I'm telling you you're messing with people's emotions here. You need to give
them something to hang on to. The reason they came to me is because they need
to see the case moving forward. They need to believe they're getting closer to
finding their daughter, even if they're not. You need to share whatever you
have with them.'

    He
smiled. 'It's not that simple.'

    'Nothing's
simple,' I said. 'What's the lead?'

    'It's
an ongoing investigation.'

    'Maybe
I can help.'

    'I
don't think so.'

    'How
do you know?'

    'Because
I know,' he said, his voice simmering for the first time. 'I'm going to level
with you here, David. I need you to step back from the case. The only reason I
can give you is that, by you sticking your nose in here, you're jeopardizing a
parallel investigation.'

    'You've
got another case linked to Megan's disappearance?'

    He
leaned forward. 'I can see your mind ticking over there, David. But whatever
you
think
is going on here, it isn't.'

    'You've
got another disappearance?'

    'No.'

    'Then
what?' He didn't reply, and this time I sighed myself. You might want to take a
refresher course where negotiation is concerned, DCI Phillips. We've all got to
make a living.'

    'This
is going to turn out bad for you, David.'

    'Is
that a threat?'

    'No,'
Phillips said, giving me his best innocent look. 'We're not in the business of
threats here. We're the police.

    We
respond
to threats. But I'm telling you now: if you get in the way, we
won't hesitate to push you aside.'

    Thanks
for the heads-up.'

    He
got to his feet. 'I'm going to make this easy for you, okay? Charles Bryant and
his father are part of a murder investigation now. You can throw the dog in
there too, for all I care. The one thing I want to make absolutely crystal
clear for you is this: you don't even
think
about looking into the
Bryant murder, and you don't come near us on anything to do with the Carver
disappearance if it overlaps with lines of enquiry we're following with Bryant.
Understood?'

    I
didn't move. Just stared back at him.

    Your
case…
.' He shook his head. We worked all the angles you're working. We
worked them better, with more manpower and more experience. We found nothing.
But that doesn’t mean the case is finished. It just means we're coming at it
from another angle. And, like I said, if you get in the way…'

    I
smiled at him. 'So you
do
have another lead?'

    He
shrugged. You mull it over. I can't tell you anything else, but I can assure
you that this DIY detective shite
is
going to come back and bite you on
the arse.'

    His
eyes lingered on me as I tried to figure out exactly what it was he was hiding.
Then he turned and left the room.

    I'd
been waiting about five minutes when the door opened again. It wasn't Phillips
or Davidson this time, but another man. He was in his mid forties, at least
six-two, broad - but thirty pounds overweight with messy red hair and blotchy
skin. He looked like he hadn't slept in months. Once he might have been a
good-looking guy, but something had rubbed away at him so only the shadows of
that man remained.

    In
one of his hands, he was cradling a mug of coffee. In the pocket of his jacket,
a small spiral notepad poked out with a pen wedged in the top. He held the door
in place, about two inches shy of the frame, and placed the pad on the floor in
the gap to keep it open. Then he left it there and came over and sat down
opposite me.

    'Mr
Raker?'

    I
nodded.

    'My
name's Colm Healy.'

    He
was southern Irish. He sipped on the coffee and flicked a look back towards the
door. The pad was still there, holding it open. I studied him.
He doesn’t
want to use the intercom to buzz back out. Which means he's either lazy - or
he's not supposed to be here.
He turned back to me. 'How you doing?'

    'I'm
sitting in a police station.' I said. 'What could be better?'

    He
smiled. 'They been treating you nicely?'

    'Five-star
service.'

    'Good.'
He looked again at the door. 'I'm not going to take up much of your time here.
I just need to ask you a few questions.'

    'Your
pals just asked me a few questions.'

    'I know,'
he said. 'Luckily for you, I've got some more.'

    'Why?'

    'Why
what?'

    'Why
are you here?'

    'Like
I said, I've got a few quest-'

    'I
know what you said.'

    He
paused, a serious expression settling across his face. Then a smile cracked; he
wasn't amused, he was just trying to tell me he was a reasonable guy. 'Are you
playing hardball, Mr Raker? Is that it?'

    'Where's
Phillips?'

    'Never
mind about Phillips.'

    'You
two don't get on?'

    He
pushed his coffee aside and reached into his back pocket. Took out his warrant
card and laid it down in front of me. Next to a picture of a younger version of
him it said DETECTIVE SERGEANT COLM HEALY.

    'I
worked on the Megan Carver case,' he said, and glanced towards the door again.
'So I'd like you to answer a few questions for me. That way we can stop messing
around and get on with the business of finding her.' He smiled his best
shit-eating grin. 'Is that okay with you?'

    'I've
already told Phillips everything I know.'

    He
sighed. 'I'm going to level with you, Mr Raker. Me and Phillips…' He leaned
forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'We don't get on. If I have to spend
more than a couple of minutes in his company, I want to put my fist through a
bloody wall. He rubs me up the wrong way. He rubs a lot of people up the wrong
way here. The guy's got a rod up his arse.'

    'At
least we agree on something.'

    'Do
you think Megan Carver is still alive?'

    I
looked at him. There had been a tremor of desperation in his voice. I leaned in
even closer to him and this time I could smell the aftershave on the collar of
his shirt and the coffee on his breath.

    'Mr
Raker?'

    'I
don't know.'

    His
eyes narrowed. You don't know — or you won't tell?'

    'I
don't know.'

    He
glanced towards the door again. "We might be able to help each other
here.'

    'How?'

    'You
scratch my balls, I scratch yours.'

    I
smiled. I didn't particularly want any man scratching my balls, but I was intrigued
by what his play might be. Five minutes after Phillips warns me off my case,
another cop turns up and tells me he can help me if we meet halfway.

    'So…
you want to dance?' he asked.

    I
didn't reply.

    Healy's
eyes narrowed again, like he'd second-guessed me. 'That's disappointing' He
stood. 'I could have helped you.'

    'I
don't even know you.'

    'You
don't need to,' he said. "We don't have to move in together. You tell me what
you know, I tell you what I know. After that, we go our separate ways.'

    'Why?'

    'I
already told you why.'

    'No,
you didn't. You told me you worked the Carver case, but we both know that's not
true.' I nodded towards the pad wedging open the door. We both know you're not
supposed to be here.'

    We
looked at each other; a face-off. After a while, he shrugged again, and made a
move for the door.
Give him something. See what his angle is.

    'Wait
a sec.'

    He
turned back to me. I reached into my jacket pocket and removed the folded-up
printout of the man from Tiko's. I placed it down on the table, turning it so
Healy could see. 'You want to help me?'

    He
stepped back in towards the table. Nodded.

    'Tell
me who this is.'

    He
picked up the photograph, his eyes moving from left to right, taking in as much
of the face, and the scene around it, as possible. There wasn't a lot else to
see but the features of the man. I'd cropped it in as close to his head as I
could get. Kaitlin had recognized the surroundings as Tiko's. Healy wouldn't.

    'What's
this?' he said.

    You
didn't come across him during the Carver investigation?'

    His
eyes flicked to me. Frowned. 'Now why would I have done that?'

    A
weird answer. I leaned back in my seat.

    'I
don't know,' I said.'
Why
would you?'

    '
Do you know who he is?'

    '
No. Do you?'

    He
didn't answer.

    '
Do
you?'

    He
placed the picture back down on the desk. 'You want my advice, David?' he said,
ignoring my question and calling me by my first name now.

    'Not
really.'

    'Well,
I'm gonna give it to you.' He picked up his coffee cup for the final time, and
nodded at the picture. You want to spend less time with your nose in the
history books, and more time trying to find out where the hell Megan Carver
is.'

    'What
are you talking about?'

    'This
prick,' he said, pressing a finger to the face of the man in the photo. 'How's
he
going to help you?'

    'What
do you mean?'

    He
looked at me, like he couldn't decide if I was joking or not. 'What do you
think I mean? Your guy in the picture there — how's he going to help find Megan
when he's been buried in the fucking ground for a hundred years?'