‘Are we fit?’
For a wannabe comedian he had crap timing. She mouthed, ‘Car – two minutes,’ used a free hand for shooing signals. ‘I’m gonna have to get back to you, Richard. I really need to be somewhere else now.’
‘No worries. Maybe you could drop by? Are you free this evening?’
No, the guy could wait. She’d not forgotten last night: the ‘unsavoury’ barb still stung. Now, all sweetness and light, he expected her to jump. Christ, next thing he’d be pointing her at a pole vault. Play it cool, Bev.
‘Cool. What time?’
‘Still heading for Kings Heath, boss?’ Mac leaned against the wall outside her office, ankles crossed, arms folded: Mr Casual.
Bev did a double take. ‘What part of “wait in the car” didn’t you get?’
He pushed himself to a standing start, jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Thought the call might be important. You know, a game-changer.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Were you earwigging?’
‘Me? How could you?’ He stepped up his pace to get the door for her, gave a mock bow.
‘Easy bloody peasy.’ Seeing how he was in chivalrous mode, he could do the driving honours as well; his mind clearly needed occupying. ‘Here you go, Galahad.’
He whipped out a hand, caught the fob in his palm. ‘Like greased lightning, that.’
‘Surprised you don’t play for England, mate.’ Make that Snoops United, Eavesdrop Eleven, Nebby Rovers. Tyler picked up tittle-tattle like an industrial Hoover on maximum suck. Likely he’d just been pumping her about the call but she’d little doubt he’d heard juicy bits on the grapevine about Byford’s replacement, failed to mention it out of deference. Likewise the dust-up with Powell.
Not that there’d been much of an opening. She’d been closeted the last couple hours writing reports, keeping up to speed with the squad’s latest input, making and taking calls, a few off her own bat. Including tracking down a cop who’d worked the Baby Fay case with the guv. The old boy was retired now but they’d arranged a meet later in the week. As for the Tempest interview, she was well aware Carol Pemberton had taken over her role. She sniffed. Doubtless Pembers would make a better fist at playing good cop. Mind, that wouldn’t be difficult.
With Mac ensconced behind the wheel, Bev scrolled through the texts on her phone found Nina’s latest, and started tapping a reply: Can’t make tonight – when you free next? She pressed Send, slipped the phone in her bag, pulled out the Setlers. Maybe the dicky tummy was stress-related? Psychosomatic, more like. Or were they the same thing? She shrugged. Seeing Byford junior was no big deal; the sooner she knew the score the better. That’s what she told herself, simultaneously wondering if there’d be time to nip home for a quick shower. After a subtle sniff of her armpit, she decided damn right there would be. She was mentally rifling her wardrobe for off-duty cop-chic when Mac broke the in-car silence.
‘What you do to piss off Powell then, boss?’
So much for deference, he’d barely got the Astra into top gear before launching the third degree.
‘Who knows?’ She brushed off further probing with an airy wave, gazed pointedly through her window, people-watching. Mac’s tuneless humming was getting on her tits. She strongly suspected he was aiming for Here Comes the Sun. Then again, it might be a case of paranoia on her part. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt – after all, the sun was beating down again. If the heat continued, she’d not be surprised if some folk dispensed with clothes altogether. The amount of lobster chest and pink neon thigh on parade was puke-making. How come the ones with most flab were always in the skimpiest gear? She creased her eyes, swivelled for a second shufti, agog to know if they’d just passed a bloke with a brewery gut or a woman about to drop triplets. Nah. Not with that bling in the belly button, surely?
‘Maybe he’d got one on him,’ Mac said.
She cut him a glance. ‘What you on about, mate?’
‘Powell.’
Pur-lease. Not back to that. Besides, if anyone had one on him it was Tempest. Mostly water. She still wasn’t sure she’d intended the glass to go over. Anyway, who cared? Water, bridge. Well, glass. ‘Move on, shall we?’
He shrugged, resumed the humming. She dug a list out of her pocket, the house calls they were about to make, ran a nail down the half-dozen names and addresses. Stalled at one near the bottom, Rachel Howard. Eyes creased, she glanced up. Where’d she seen that before?
‘Hey, boss, heard the latest?’
Here we go. The Byford goss. Mac clearly wouldn’t know deference if it bit him on both bum cheeks. ‘I don’t do mind-reading Tuesdays, mate.’
‘It’s Wednesday. Any road up, Dazza’s back on the squad first thing Monday. Staggered return. Light duties. But how good is that?’
‘Top ace with knobs on. That’s how good, mate.’ Grinning ear to ear, she gave Mac’s shoulder a friendly punch. ‘It’s made my day.’ For a while after the street attack it had been touch and go whether Darren New would make it at all. Still smiling, Bev pictured the young DC, recalled his boundless enthusiasm for the job – like he’d been to the Andrex puppy police academy. Then there was Dazza’s big thing about looking like Tom Cruise – apparently some woman had said it once ages ago, and he’d dined out on it ever since.
‘Yeah, he dropped by the nick earlier.’ Mac pushed a sleeve up a hairy forearm. ‘Didn’t look too bad, considering.’
‘Wish I’d seen him.’ He could’ve popped his head round, said wotcha.
‘You were interviewing.’
That wiped the smile off her face. She drummed a thigh with her fingers, wondered how Powell’s sewing session was going. Far as she knew, the search team at Tempest’s pad had drawn a blank on any Lucy Rayne connection. Sumi Gosh hadn’t had chance to run Tempest’s ugly mug past Nathan Rayne yet: the New York flight bringing Jill Gates home had been delayed. Bev had put in a call to the hospital: Cath Gates’s condition hadn’t changed.
‘Oh yeah.’ Mac really was Mr Cazh today. ‘And Jack Hainsworth has it on good authority the new super gets her feet under the desk Monday an’ all.’
Momentarily her drumming stopped. Clever boy. She saw what he’d done there. Good news, bad news. He’d used Darren’s comeback as sugar-coating for the pill. Problem was, the brass could drop in the real George Clooney to fill the post, she’d still have a bitter taste in her mouth. ‘This woman have a name then?’
‘Jessica.’ He paused. ‘Jessica Truss.’
No way? ‘What as in … ?’ Hernia? Had Mac’s lip just twitched? ‘Are you having a laugh?’
‘Trust me.’ He could barely keep a straight face. ‘It’s on the level, boss.’
‘Aw, come on, Mac. It’s not that funny.’ It so was. She had to look away, lips pressed tight. She’d bet any money the station wags were already working on nicknames. ‘I know one thing, mate. If I was her – I’d change it.’
‘Wouldn’t you need a doc for that, boss?’
Their laughter almost drowned out a text alert. Still smiling, Bev opened Nina’s message: How you fixed Saturday morning? Shame about tonight though. Bet you had a better offer? LOL!!!!
Better offer? You’d lose your stake then, love.
16
‘Ma’s not in at the mo. May I help at all?’ A smiley face accompanied the easy charm as a young man framed in the doorway slipped a lean tanned arm into a loose white cotton shirt. Given how many times Bev had just played the Avon lady, he’d probably been out back enjoying the rays. The flip-flops, tennis shorts and shades hair band were a bit of a giveaway too, as was the overall tan and glistening six-pack. Not that Bev had noticed.
‘And you are?’ Smiling, she shoved the ID card back in her bag.
‘Tom. Tom Howard. Would you like to come in?’ He stepped back holding the door wide. ‘She’s just popped to the shop. It’s about what happened in the park, isn’t it? That poor young woman?’
Bev and Mac exchanged glances and accepted the offer with alacr
ity. They’d recognized the person-confronted-by-cop species: a babbler bested a button-up any day. 27 Park View, a three-storey end-terrace, was last on their list and as yet there’d not been a bunch to write home about.
Golden Boy turned at the end of the narrow hallway, whipped off the sunglasses and swept a floppy fringe of dark blond hair from eyes the colour of caramel. ‘We could go through to the garden? Or sit in the lounge? Entirely up to you but it’s cooler in here.’ He gestured uncertainly to the door on his left, clearly wanting them to make the call.
‘The lounge’ll be dandy, thanks.’ Bev strolled in, admiring the clean uncluttered look: pale wood flooring, taupe hues on the walls, sofas and armchairs in oatmeal calico – even the dried honesty in a white vase blended with the décor. French doors opened on to the garden, but the strong scent of vanilla had nothing to do with nature. Bev reckoned there’d be a diffuser or two lurking somewhere.
Tom Howard dithered on the threshold, holding out empty palms. ‘Would you like tea? Coffee? I could get cold drinks if you prefer?’
Yep. Definitely a babbler, even a borderline geyser. Though all he seemed to have done so far was ask the questions. ‘We’re fine thanks, Mr Howard.’ Bev smiled. ‘Why don’t you sit down, relax?’ She’d had him down initially as late teens, early twenties, but revised the guess after clocking faint crow’s feet.
‘Please, call me Tom.’ He perched on the edge of a chunky armchair, hands clasped between toned thighs. Unlike a lot of fit good-looking guys, he didn’t come across as cocky. Mind, Bev reckoned if he didn’t close his legs …
She placed her bag on the floor. ‘What can you tell us about yesterday, Tom?’
‘I wasn’t here, actually. All I know is what Ma was saying last night.’
‘And that was?’
‘When the story came on the news? Her face went white as a sheet. She had a bit of a meltdown, actually.’
Bev glanced at Mac who already had his notebook and pen primed. ‘Go on,’ she prompted.
‘Sorry, I don’t really know. She wouldn’t go into detail.’ He swept the fringe away again. ‘She only nipped out for a paper, though. If you hang on a minute, you’ll be able to talk to her yourself. Horse’s mouth and all that?’
‘Sure. What were you up to yesterday, then?’
‘Me?’ He frowned, then the smiley face was back. ‘Oh, I see.’ He watched too many cop shows then; Bev was only making small talk. ‘I was in town meeting up with a few mates from college.’
‘Nice. What you studying?’
‘I don’t. Not now. I—’ He cocked his head. Bev had heard the door too. ‘I dropped out after a couple of terms, actually.’
‘Tommie? I’m back, darling.’ That’ll be the horse, then? Posher voice than her son, and his wasn’t exactly broad Brummie.
‘We’re in the lounge, Ma.’
‘Who’s we?’ A striking-looking woman in a cream shift dress entered, pulling dark hair back into a sleek ponytail. Her smile faltered slightly when she saw Bev and Mac. ‘Sorry. I thought you might be a friend of my son’s.’
‘It’s the police, Ma.’
‘I’m aware of that, darling.’ Bev clocked a momentary tightening of the woman’s lips before she headed for Mac extending a tiny hand. ‘DC Tyler, is it? Please, don’t get up.’
Bev had rarely seen him jump out of a chair so fast. ‘That’s right, Mrs Howard.’ He towered over her, big smile on his face. ‘We spoke on the phone. Thanks for getting in touch.’ He name-checked Bev, who was trying to work out if she’d seen the woman before. Rachel Howard was in damn good nick considering she was Tom’s old lady. Fine bones, dainty features, the slight frame – size 8? – did no harm in the youthful-looks stakes either.
Bev returned the smile. ‘Your son seems to think you might be able to help with our inquiries into yesterday’s incident in the park, Mrs Howard.’ Why’d she gone all posh-police-speak? She’d be bringing out the cut glass next.
‘One moment, sergeant. Tom, could you see to some drinks please?’
‘I’ve already offered. They don’t—’
‘I do. G and T. You know how I like it.’ She crossed to the nearest armchair, cut him a glance before elegantly lowering herself into the seat. ‘Now, darling, thank you.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ No smile, just the tug of an imaginary forelock. The guy’s rear view wasn’t bad either. Bev returned her gaze to his mother. Mac hadn’t taken his off the woman. ‘You rang the hotline, Mrs Howard?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘That’s right. I didn’t actually see anything yesterday. And I’m not sure this is even relevant but … a man tried to assault me in the park last week.’ What the feck? She must have registered Bev’s expression and raised what she thought were reassuring palms. ‘Don’t worry, sergeant. I wasn’t hurt, just a little shaken.’
You will be. ‘So what happened?’ Bev said.
‘I was part way through my daily jog. I didn’t even notice him. He was hiding in some bushes and as I passed he leapt out and made a grab for my throat.’ She puckered her lips in disgust. ‘The smell! He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes and … worse.’
‘Was he stoned, do you think?’ Bev asked. Like Tempest?
‘Drugs? He could’ve been, I suppose.’ Her bare shoulders shuddered. ‘Whatever he was on, he staggered all over the place.’ She brushed a loose thread from her dress. ‘Just as well, really, because I was able to push him away and run like the wind for home.’
The athletic prowess didn’t do much for Bev. ‘Did you report the incident, Mrs Howard?’
She dropped her head, stared at her lap. That’s a no, then. ‘I didn’t. I’m sorry. I wish I had now.’
Not as much as I do, love. Bev gave her a few seconds then: ‘Did anyone else witness the incident?’
‘Not that I’m aware.’ She made eye contact again. ‘I like to get there early. Before the dog walkers if I can.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Well, the dogs.’
Bev nodded, tight-lipped. On the odd occasions she’d tried running, yappy mutts always made a beeline for her ankles. ‘Did he say anything?’
‘Grunts mostly. I assumed he wanted cash. I can assure you I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. And I’ve not been able to set foot in the park since.’
‘And you didn’t mention it to your son, your husband, neighbours?’
‘No one. I didn’t want to make a fuss and as there was no …’
Harm done? Didn’t want to make a fuss? Bev stifled a sigh then asked her to take them through it again. The woman gave the exact date, timing and location this time. As she described the spot, Bev glanced at Mac. They’d stood near it less than forty-eight hours ago. The line of azaleas was spitting distance from where a barely alive Cathy Gates had been left bleeding. Had Tempest used the attempted attack on Rachel Howard as a dry run? Even now the bushes could hold fibres, hair, skin cells. If they were a forensic match, Tempest would be looking at an even longer sentence.
‘Had you seen the man hanging round the park before, Mrs Howard?’
‘Definitely not and believe me, I’d remember. Once seen, never forgotten.’ Her slender shoulders shuddered again.
Bev was sure she knew the answer but asked anyway. ‘OK, so what did he look like?’
Ginger dreadlocks – check; spotty complexion – check; barbed wire tattoo round his neck – check. The wire might as well be a noose. Unless Tempest had a twin or a doppelganger he was bang to rights tighter than a drum.
Exasperation outweighed Bev’s professional satisfaction pretty quickly. Why hadn’t the stupid bloody woman reported it earlier? ‘We’ll need you to come down to the station,’ she said. ‘Make a formal statement. Take a look at a guy in custody.’
Her eyes widened as the significance hit home. ‘Tell me it’s not the man who attacked the young woman yesterday?’
‘You OK, Ma?’ Tom stood in the doorway, holding a tray of drinks and nibbles.
Mrs Howard didn’t take her gaze off Bev. She
pressed both hands against ashen cheeks. It looked as if she’d read the answer in Bev’s face. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Will she …? Is she going to be all right, sergeant?’
Bev kept schtum. Why make it easy for her? Tom threw Bev a glare before ditching the tray and homing in on his mother.
Mac handed over a crumpled hankie. ‘The doctors are doing everything they can, Mrs Howard.’
‘Why oh why didn’t I report it,’ she wailed, shaking her head over and over.
‘Come on, Ma.’ Tom perched at her side, placed an arm round her shoulders. ‘You’ve been through a lot recently. You can’t blame yourself.’
‘He’s right, Mrs Howard,’ Mac said. ‘No point beating yourself up. You’ve done the right thing now.’
Stereo-simpatico. Bev struggled not to roll her eyes. Cathy Gates could have Bev’s share – assuming she pulled through.
‘Yes, but … that poor woman. It said on the news she’s in a critical condition.’ Mrs Howard dabbed a tear. ‘What if she dies?’
Any second and Bev knew she’d blow. ‘DC Tyler, I’ll see you in the car.’ Rising swiftly she reached for her bag. ‘I hate to make a fuss but there’s a call needs making.’
‘The poor love’s still critical but her mum’s with her now, so fingers crossed. Look on the bright side’s what I always say, sweetheart.’ Male voice. New one on Bev.
Mood she was in, she could very easily piss on Mr Sunshine’s parade but went for upbeat instead. ‘Too right, that man. Silver lining and all that.’
Social pleasantry over, she pulled a face, slung her phone on the dash. She’d already alerted forensics: a team would be in the park any time soon. Powell had still been interviewing when she’d rung the squad room. Once he got word he’d probably want a few more with Bev.
She glanced at her watch, wished it was a bit nearer to knocking-off-o’clock. Tyler was certainly taking his time in there. Arranging the station visit no doubt, making sure he’d be on the welcoming party. Stifling a yawn she leaned her head back, rested her eyes for a second or two. Next thing she knew Mac was behind the wheel huffing and puffing like an asthmatic on sixty a day. He’d clearly got something on his chest; didn’t share, ’cause he assumed she’d dropped off. Eyes still closed, she said, ‘Go ahead, mate. I’m wide awake.’
Grave Affairs Page 8
