‘Anna, this is Selina,’ said Mariner, taking his cue.
‘Hi,’ Anna mirrored the smile. ‘We haven’t yet, but sometime soon—’
Her words triggered a bubble of anxiety in Mariner’s stomach. He wished she wouldn’t talk as if it were a done deal, when they’d only just started weighing up the pros and cons. It was a big shift for both of them and he, at least, was still getting used to the idea.
When he’d first met her, kids were the last thing Anna had wanted. She’d got a successful career and a severely autistic brother, a combination guaranteed to dampen the strongest maternal instincts. But during the last year events had conspired to change her mind. Two months ago Jamie had moved into a hostel for independent living, and was doing just that, leaving Anna with time and energy on her hands. Concurrently, Anna’s best friend Becky had produced baby daughter Megan, waking Anna up to the fact that time might be running out. And from then on babies had insidiously crept into everyday conversation. Gradually, without overt discussion, children had moved from being out of the question to a possibility and, more recently, a probability.
For his own part Mariner had never been so much opposed to children as ignorant of them. His mother, his only close blood relative, had passed away last year, leaving him practically alone in the world, but for a few distant cousins he’d never met. He and Anna had something good together, so in many ways children seemed like the next natural step. It was only after he’d agreed to consider it that the doubts had begun, and Anna had been so euphoric these last few weeks that now he couldn’t bear to spoil it for her.
‘You’re jumping the gun,’ he cautioned. ‘We haven’t had the appointment through yet.’
Anna caught Selina’s bemused look. ‘My brother has autism,’ she explained. ‘So we’re being referred to a counsellor.’ It had been Mariner’s suggestion, partly to test out how serious she was. ‘There are known genetic links so we need to think through the implications of that.’
‘Better to be informed,’ Selina agreed.
‘Not that it’ll make a scrap of difference,’ Mariner said. ‘Once Anna’s made up her mind about something—’
‘We’d need to be prepared for what might happen,’ Anna said, dodging the issue. ‘Meanwhile the gifts are for my goddaughter, Megan. It’s her first Christmas so she has to be spoiled rotten.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Four months, and I just can’t get enough of her.’
‘Well, I can’t recommend it too highly,’ Selina enthused. ‘I’ve got a three-month-old.’
Anna must have been as floored as Mariner, because suddenly they were in the middle of an awkward silence. Knox’s own kids were adults themselves now, and he’d always expressed huge relief that he’d put the nappy-changing and the sleepless nights behind him long ago. And what kind of woman leaves her three-month-old baby at home to go out dating?
Selina laughed, a peal of uninhibited joy. ‘You should see your faces,’ she giggled. ‘You can relax. My baby’s of the canine variety,’ she said. ‘A chocolate Labrador is something less of a commitment.’
‘You must still have your hands full,’ said Anna, as Knox returned and passed round fresh drinks.
‘I have to admit life will be easier once he’s stopped piddling on the floor and chewing my tights.’
‘It will help when the dog’s trained too,’ added Mariner.
‘Hilarious,’ said Knox. ‘You two should book a spot at the Glee Club.’
Mariner and Selina exchanged a complicit smile. This could be fun.
After the warming drinks they queued for herb-fried potatoes and onions, finding themselves a quiet corner to eat from the flimsy paper plates. The food smelled and tasted delicious but somehow the visual — brown, moist and indistinct — deadened Mariner’s appetite.
Knox saw his face. ‘Brings back memories, does it, boss?’ he asked, shovelling in a mouthful. ‘Charlie Glover told me you’d been knee-deep in shit all morning.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mariner, throwing Selina and Anna an apologetic look. ‘Not the most fun I’ve ever had.’ Mariner put down his plate untouched.
‘You not eating that?’ asked Knox, helping himself.
The two women were watching Mariner expectantly.
‘You don’t want to know,’ he said.
‘Yes we do.’
‘You have to tell us now.’
Mariner sighed, all his earlier efforts undone. ‘Workmen found a blockage down one of the main sewers in Stirchley,’ he said. ‘It turned out to be the body of a woman, wrapped in bin liners and bound with duct tape. We had to go down there to check it out in situ.’ He saw Anna’s grimace. ‘There, aren’t you glad I told you?’
‘I hope you’ve showered since.’
‘Have you got an ID?’ Knox asked, garlic wafting Mariner’s way.
‘Not yet. But we’ve got a good set of prints from her.’
‘Whoever put her down the drain didn’t count on her being found.’
‘So it would seem. Charlie Glover’s trawling through the recent missing persons. Otherwise we have to hope she’s committed a crime that’s put her on CRIMINT.’ In the time Mariner had been speaking, Knox had polished off both portions of food.
‘We should go, shouldn’t we?’ said Selina, collecting up the used plates and depositing them in a nearby bin.
‘Yeah, not all of us have the luxury of reserved seats,’ said Knox.
‘Not all of us have got to stand up and make pillocks of ourselves,’ countered Mariner.
‘You’ll be wonderful, dahling.’ To Mariner’s surprise Selina grasped his arms, giving him a Hollywood-style peck on each cheek.
‘I’m flattered by your confidence,’ said Mariner.
Anna was scanning the stalls around them. ‘I just want to get one of those little springy puppets for Megan, first,’ she said.
Mariner started to retrieve all the carrier bags. ‘Ah yes, because she hasn’t got nearly enough already.’
‘We’ll see you down there, then,’ Selina said, and taking Knox’s arm, she flashed them a parting smile, as the two of them headed off towards the main street, their arms snaked around each other, fusing their bodies together as one.
‘Do you think it might be the real thing this time?’ Mariner said, watching them go.
‘She’s lasted longer than any of the others,’ said Anna. ‘And Tony can’t keep his hands off her.’
‘She’s a bright girl, too. I don’t know how he does it.’
‘Confidence,’ said Anna. ‘Women find it irresistible.’
‘Including you?’
Anna shook her head. ‘Nah. I just have a weak spot for the underdog.’
‘Thanks.’
* * *
‘We could have waited,’ said Knox, mildly. ‘We’ve got loads of time, and it won’t be a full house.’ He and Selina were crossing Corporation Street on their way to St Martin’s.
She cuddled up closer. ‘I wanted you to myself for a bit. I still don’t know why we’re spending the evening in a dreary church when we could be at home making our own entertainment.’
‘I’m showing a bit of solidarity,’ Knox said. He’d explained all this before.
‘But he’s your boss,’ said Selina. ‘Isn’t it a bit strange, to want to socialise with him?’
‘He’s been a good mate, too.’
‘Was he friends with Theresa?’
‘Not friends, exactly. He knew her, that’s all.’
‘Well, it’ll be a different story once they’ve got a family.’ And seemingly satisfied with her own resolution to whatever the issue was, she squeezed him tight.
* * *
There was no such intimacy for Mariner and Anna when they followed on bearing the bulky carrier bags. They had to settle for an awkward linking of arms, the baby paraphernalia keeping them eighteen inches apart.
‘What the hell have you got in here?’ Mariner grumbled, as he apologised yet again for colliding with
a passer-by.
‘You wouldn’t be any the wiser if I told you. It’s just toys for Megan. It’s not much, but everything’s jumbo sized at her age.’
‘You’re telling me. They’ll cost a fortune in postage.’
‘I was planning to take them down,’ said Anna, casually. ‘I thought I’d go at the weekend.’
‘You were only down there a couple of weeks ago.’
Some time ago, Becky, her GP husband Mark and their small daughter had moved to a country practice in rural Herefordshire. Thus far the geography hadn’t proved a deterrent.
‘Is that resentment?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I’m her godmother,’ she said, as though he hadn’t just denied it. ‘I have to spend time with her. Everything happens so fast at her age, I might miss something. Besides, I’ve got a lot to learn.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Mariner. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself.’
‘You could come too. You haven’t even met Megan yet. I don’t know why.’
‘It’s been busy at work.’ It wasn’t the whole truth, but he wondered if Anna realised that.
* * *
At seven in the evening the main shopping centre was still swarming with people as Anna and Mariner, with their clumsy arm-in-arm arrangement, strolled towards St Martin’s church, past the bronze bull, while the armour-plated bulge of Selfridges came gradually into view, like the prow of a slow-moving liner. The church had been retained as a focal point for the massive redevelopment of the Bullring area and tonight it was stunningly lit by floodlights, the dark spire nestling dramatically between the concrete and glass, and the Burne-Jones stained-glass windows crimson against the twinkling urban landscape.
Above the hubbub around them, Mariner could just make out the sound of the West Midlands Police Service brass band, playing the opening bars of the first carol, ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’ Mariner felt contented and at ease and, for the first time for as long as he could remember, some excited anticipation of the Christmas season. He turned to Anna to tell her. As he did, there was a flash of blinding light as an explosion ripped the air between them like a thunderbolt. A scorching tornado punched him back off his feet, tearing the smile from his face and Anna’s arm from his. He heard Anna’s scream above the deafening crack of imploding plate glass before slamming heavily onto his back, his head bouncing off the stone slabs.
Everything seemed to stop for a second, two, three, four . . . then, as the ringing in his ears subsided, sounds invaded his consciousness. People were screaming and running, alarms were blaring. Opening his eyes Mariner slowly, painfully raised his head. The world was unnaturally dark and hushed, and the air tasted of dust. The church that had been so magnificently lit only moments before was hazy, behind a cloud of smoke, the dark silhouette of its tower emerging shakily defiant at one end. It was like a war zone.
Mariner fumbled for his phone, his hands and fingers clumsy and unresponsive. Gagging on the powdery air, it took him three attempts to force out the words. ‘DI Mariner, Granville Lane. There’s been an explosion in St Martin’s. All emergency services needed urgently.’ Turning, he saw Anna, prone and still on the ground nearby, and a hot wave of panic surged through him. ‘Anna!’ he shouted hoarsely.
After what seemed like an eternity she looked round at him and a weak smile split her dirt-caked face. ‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘Really. I’m all right. Do what you have to.’ She swiped a hand. ‘Go.’
Mariner clambered slowly to his feet, locking his knees back into place to support himself. ‘Wait here for help,’ he told Anna unsteadily before crunching through rubble and glass that was ankle-deep, towards the ruin of the cathedral and into the jaws of hell.
Chapter Three
The emergency services were there in minutes but Mariner and anyone else who was able had stayed with them inside the crushed citadel, clawing at the debris in their search for the injured and missing. Hours later they’d sent him out into a blue strobing dawn with dust clogging his airways, his hands chafed and bleeding. Yards from the ruin he had to fight his way through an unruly mob of press photographers being ineffectually held back by uniformed PCs.
‘Were you inside when it went off? What happened?’ Voices assaulted him on all sides.
‘I don’t know. I was late.’
‘What’s it like in there?’
‘Use your fucking imagination,’ Mariner said coldly and a flash preserved his dirt-stained face for posterity.
The city had been thrown into chaos, with police cordons everywhere. It took Mariner an hour to get to where he’d left his car and to get out of the confusion. Dozens of injured had been taken to the city’s main hospitals, many cut by flying glass. And there was widespread panic that this may be just the first in a number of explosions. He couldn’t find out where Anna had been taken and, as for Knox and Selina, he hardly dared think about what had happened to them . . . People had died. That much he knew, but not how many nor who they were.
* * *
22 December
Finally a text on his mobile from Anna told Mariner that she was at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. He went in to collect her, still dazed and exhausted, his uniform covered in filth. She was in the waiting area. They held each other tight.
‘I called a taxi. I didn’t expect to see you for hours. Is it bad?’
‘It’s bad.’
‘Has anybody been—?’
‘There have been some fatalities.’ He knew of one for certain.
‘What about Tony and Selina?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s still bedlam there.’ He wanted so badly to tell her that they’d be all right, but he couldn’t promise what he didn’t know. He and Anna had both been incredibly lucky. Between the shopping centre and the church they’d been shielded by the flight of steps and had escaped serious injury. But for their friends it would be a different story. He went to ask at the reception desk but the staff there were inundated with desperate friends and relatives. Mariner felt he would only add to the pandemonium. Instead he and Anna drove home in near silence, the experience beyond articulation.
Helpless to trace Knox, Mariner called Jack Coleman at Granville Lane. But Coleman knew nothing either.
‘How many dead?’ Mariner asked.
‘We don’t know yet. It could be up to ten.’
‘Christ.’ He let that sink in. ‘I’ll get myself cleaned up and come in.’
‘No.’ Coleman’s command was firm. ‘We’ve got enough people here already. You’d be a liability. Get some rest.’ Easier said than done. Eventually Coleman called back. ‘Tony Knox is at Heartlands.’
Mariner went straight there. Against the pristine white sheets Knox looked old and grey. He’d suffered cuts, bruising and possible concussion. ‘They’re letting me out later today. They need the bed.’
Selina hadn’t escaped so lightly, her right foot crushed under several tons of masonry. ‘They’re amputating below the knee,’ Knox said, his voice heavy with emotion.
‘She’ll never make centre forward now,’ said Mariner. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘She’s alive. That’s what matters.’ Knox was right. By now news had permeated that at least five others — men, a woman, a child — had not been so lucky. ‘Is Anna okay?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘They keep asking me what I saw,’ Knox said.
‘Me too.’
‘But one minute I was having a laugh with Colin Fleming, next I was under a pile of crap, fighting to breathe.’
‘I didn’t see anything either.’
‘You’re a star, though.’ Knox reached for the early edition of the newspaper that one of the nurses had left. Christmas Carnage cried the headline. He turned to an inside page and Mariner saw himself, or someone who, under the dirt and grime, looked like him, emerging from the wrecked building just after he’d been accosted by the reporter. ‘The lengths people go to, to get in the paper.’
* * *
Emergency blood donation clinics had been set up all over the city, including at the hospitals. On his way out Mariner saw the queue. He joined it.
* * *
The investigation into the explosion began immediately and, in the absence of any rational explanation, rumours were rife, among them the inevitable black jokes about six Irishmen on a train. This time though the witch-hunt took on a different focus. Following the war in Iraq and attacks in London by al-Qaeda, there had been the threat of terrorist activity in other major British cities and the media had already decided that this could be the start of it.
Although other causes hadn’t been ruled out, like a reflex response, security across the city tightened to a level that hadn’t been seen since the height of the IRA’s mainland campaign during the 1970s. There were police patrol cars everywhere. Bags were routinely searched and vehicles on the main routes into the city were being randomly stopped. Not that anyone realistically expected to find anything, but the police had to be seen to be taking positive action. Most of the dead turned out to be civilians. If it had been a terrorist bomb, ironically the main players — the chief constable, mayor and other dignitaries — had escaped relatively unscathed. Someone, somewhere would surely be cursing their own bad luck.
* * *
Mariner and Anna tried desperately to carry on as normal but the shock of unspeakable sights and sounds had come between them. Mariner didn’t talk about what he’d seen in the ruined church. Instead he and Anna spent hours silently holding each other tight for comfort. TV and radio provided a constant background commentary and nothing, it seemed, could distract Mariner from reliving those hours over and over again. Part of him didn’t want to be distracted from it and was disgusted at the obscenity of the world continuing as if nothing had happened. Sleep became elusive and when at night fatigue did finally engulf him, his rest was fitful. He would wake with a jolt, sweating and heart pounding, waking Anna too.
They spent whole afternoons and evenings holding hands but saying little. That last conversation before the explosion hung over them, neither willing to raise it. Guiltily Mariner hoped that this would make Anna feel differently about the prospect of bringing a child into the world, but deep down he knew it was for all the wrong reasons.
Killer Lies (Reissue) Page 2
