by Lee Weeks
She walked across to the chair, picked up his Arsenal shirt and folded it neatly.
Chapter 32
‘Arsenal shirt,’ said Carter to Ebony as she got back to her desk. ‘Large boy’s. This season. They changed fabric, changed manufacturers this year. Whoever he is he loves his football enough to pay over fifty quid for a shirt.’
‘Could it be Silvia’s?’
‘No, the DNA doesn’t match.’
Carter looked at her face as she sat down. ‘What is it?’ She was just about to tell Carter that she’d seen Carmichael when Robbo burst through the door of the ETO.
‘We got a phone call. . anonymous tip-off about a body in the Thames. First officer at the scene said he recognized the body. . it’s Sonny.’
The water was the same colour as the sky — steely grey. In contrast the bright red Ferrari being hoisted by a crane hung like a firework in the winter sky.
Ebony had invested in a sky-blue beanie hat which she pulled down over her ears. As they turned the corner the icy fog lay like a shroud over the water. Divers were getting changed after having fished Sonny’s waterlogged body out of the Thames.
‘Nice motor. Pity it didn’t float,’ said Carter.
Harding looked up from where she knelt on a piece of plastic sheeting next to the body. She looked pale with cold. She had the hangover from hell. She and Mathew had worked late and the inevitable had happened, and when she woke up and saw his face on the pillow she had hated herself marginally more than him.
Carter squatted beside her. ‘Yeah, this is definitely Sonny. This might answer why we couldn’t find him.’ He opened Sonny’s jacket and pulled out a wallet. He passed a driving licence to Ebony. ‘Run this through Robbo, Ebb, and give him the make and licence plate of car. . see if he can come up with an address for the little mermaid here.’ He turned to Harding. ‘He doesn’t look the suicidal type. Were his keys in the car, do we know?’
‘They weren’t.’
‘Wasn’t robbery. . plenty of money still in his wallet.’ Carter closed it up again and tucked it back into Sonny’s pocket. ‘How long’s he been in the water, Doc?’
‘About twenty-four hours max.’
‘It’s a dumb question, I know, but was he dead before he drowned?’
He helped her turn the body on its side then roll him onto his front as she lifted his jacket at the back and looked for signs of injury. ‘No obvious bullet or stab wounds.’ Carter helped her roll Sonny onto his back again and she turned his head to look at one side and the other. ‘It looks like he might have had a head injury going into the water. There’s bruising on the side of his head here. Could have banged his head in a panic trying to get out as the car filled up. The bruise hadn’t time to spread: it’s intense. It definitely occurred minutes before death and not hours. There’s a line of four dark circles decreasing in size. Looks a lot like a-’
‘Fist,’ said Carter. ‘So someone banged him unconscious with a hit to the head.’ Carter pointed to the pits and scrapes of missing flesh in Sonny’s face. ‘How did he get these other injuries, Doc?’
‘I would guess when the current dragged through the car. The windows were open. The water would have carried debris with it. The rest we can put down to the local river-life having a few meals on his face.’
The forensic photographer was done. He stood to one side viewing his work on his camera. He nodded to Harding. ‘Got what we need. You can move the body now.’
‘Sarge?’ Ebony had finished talking to Robbo. ‘Car’s traced to Sonny’s mother’s address. They’re sending someone round there now.’
Harding stood, peeled off her gloves. ‘Okay. That’s it for me. I’ll start the autopsy as soon as I get back to the hospital.’ She began walking back up towards her car.
‘Doctor?’ Ebony ran to catch her up. ‘Could we meet up again soon? I need your help with Rose Cottage.’
‘Yes. But not now and not later this evening, I have plans. Come and find me tomorrow.’
Ebony waited for Carter to catch up. He was taking his time. He called her over to take a look at the Ferrari.
‘Interesting choice of slipway this, Ebb. Not many you could get down without a four by four. Not many people know about this one, not the general public anyway.’ They stood watching the red Ferrari as the crane held it a few feet over the slipway; a loader turned up ready to take it. Carter walked across to the man driving the crane.
‘Let’s make sure she’s not holding any more surprises. Set her down on the slipway for me before you load her.’
While they waited for the car to be lowered Ebony turned to Carter:
‘Sarge, I saw Carmichael.’
‘When?’
‘A few hours ago on my way back to the office. He stopped me when I came out of the Tube. Bridget must have told him I visited the farm.’
‘You should have told me straight away, Ebb. ‘
‘I was trying to get a chance, Sarge.’
Carter turned to face her and took a step closer to make sure that in the still damp air his voice didn’t carry as far as the officers around the car.
‘What did he say?’
‘He knows everything we do.’
‘Did he know about Sonny?’
She nodded. ‘He told me that he was a small part of it and not important.’
He gave a nod towards the Ferrari. ‘Obviously someone agreed with him.’
‘He’s going undercover. He says he can infiltrate Sonny’s organization.’
‘Like this? Dead men’s shoes, is it, Ebb? Was this Carmichael’s doing?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Sarge.’ She’d had a sick feeling that wouldn’t go away, ever since she heard of Sonny’s body being found.
Carter looked away to gather his thoughts. ‘You know if we tell Davidson that we have the slightest inkling this could be Carmichael’s work then he’ll arrest him.’ She nodded. ‘Did he say anything that might tell you what his plans are, where he’s staying?’ She shook her head. ‘After all this time he can get in undercover? Shit. I take my hat off to him, Ebb. He must have had some very clever help. Or he must be taking an incredible gamble.’ Carter looked across at her and smiled reassuringly. ‘Okay. The main thing is he trusts you, Ebb. There’s nothing to really tell Davidson. We didn’t learn anything from him that’s new. But we did get closer to him and that’s a good start and it will do for now. But next time you tell me as soon as something happens, okay?’
She nodded.
‘Start trusting, Ebb. You’re not a one-man band. We’re a team.’
Chapter 33
That evening Jo Harding waited for the young Irish barman from Cork to come back her way.
He’d stopped to chat with a couple of girls who were on a Friday night out. Harding tapped her new nails against the side of her glass. He glanced her way and then back at the girls, his elbow on the bar, his smile fixed. Even as he sauntered over he kept glancing back to the girls to make sure they were checking out his rear view.
Harding was irritated: who the fuck did he think he was, keeping her waiting? She pushed the glass towards him. ‘Same again.’ He smiled at her, not open-mouthed, not full like he did to the girls at the other end of the bar. He smirked almost. Fuck him. . she would remember not to suck his cock the next time she took him home. She was aware of someone standing next to her. She turned to see the good-looking face of James Martingale.
‘Hello, beautiful. . as lovely as ever.’ He leant in to kiss her.
‘Good to see you, James.’ Harding smiled. He was still the charmer. Seldom did she see the charm offensive aimed at her but now she felt its full impact.
Fucking men. . how come they get better-looking as they get older? Martingale definitely had, she thought. He had that confidence that says, I will be great in the bedroom; I have studied every book written about how to bring a woman to orgasm.
The barman left the girls and came over. He looked suitably impressed by Martingale, who cu
t a very distinguished moneyed look.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘A Manhattan, and put my lovely companion’s on my tab.’
He turned to Harding. ‘Let’s move to a table.’ He picked up her drink and turned to the waiter: ‘Have my drink brought up.’ Then he led the way upstairs to the restaurant.
After they had ordered he sat back and smiled at her. ‘What’s it been — three years? You look younger than ever. You had some work I don’t know about? I need to know who the surgeon is if so. I need to congratulate him.’
‘That’s a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one but I think I should thank you. No work, and no chance I actually look as good as you’re implying.’
He smiled and reached over to touch her hand. ‘It’s good to see you. I hope it wasn’t a problem to tear yourself away tonight.’
‘How could I turn down an invite from the mighty James Martingale. . I’m honoured.’
‘Please. . and it’s not as if we don’t know one another.’
She laughed. ‘Is there something I don’t remember? I apologize if that’s so. Obviously I wasn’t that bad if you’ve come back for more, even if you did leave me waiting three years.’
Martingale laughed. ‘No, don’t worry. I am far too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a woman who has drunk too much. Plus. . it’s too boring. I like the challenge of seduction. I like to know I’ve earned it.’
‘Is this what this is? A lesson in seduction?’
He sat back and allowed the waiter to unfold his napkin onto his lap. He smiled at the waiter, made eye contact. ‘Perhaps.’ He looked back at her. ‘You didn’t get married again? Last time I saw you were in the middle of a divorce.’
‘Yes. . a bad place to be.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Happens to us all. You didn’t remarry?’
‘You must be joking. I’ve tried it twice. Both times I’ve managed to screw it up.’
‘Never blame yourself. . that’s always my motto. Besides, some of us aren’t meant to be monogamous.’
‘Faithful, you mean?’ She laughed.
‘Call it what you will. Did you stay friends with them?’
‘My last one I see sometimes for a drink. He’s a criminology lecturer here in London. I don’t see much of the first one, Simon, unless I see him at one of your dinners. He still works for the Mansfield Group, I take it?’
‘Yes. Simon is one of our originals. He’s got to be one of our highest paid surgeons. He’s the housewives’ favourite. Does all breast implants now.’
‘Always thought he was a tit. I should have had a better settlement.’
Martingale laughed. ‘You’re a funny lady. We’re the same types, you and I. We are demanding of ourselves and others. It’s not always easy to live with unless you’re the same type. . cheers.’ They clinked freshly filled glasses. ‘On the subject of work. . you will tell me if you are in need of any more equipment in your laboratory. You know I’m always happy to write off a bit more tax for a good cause. Also. . I wanted to ask you whether you knew anything you could tell me about the new lead in my daughter’s case?’ Harding now knew why the dinner invite; why the sudden interest after three years of not so much as an email. ‘I had a visit from two police officers; they told me about the recent murders in Totteridge. They wouldn’t tell me much more than the fact they are somehow forensically linked to my daughter’s death. Is there anything more you can tell me? I don’t want to get my hopes up.’
‘I can tell you — it’s all in the early stages. Yes, we did find a link.’
‘The fingerprint? Sergeant Carter told me. It can’t have been my late wife Maria then? I always thought Maria could have done it. . she went quite mad.’
Harding was nodding; she had her most sympathetic expression on her face. She felt awkward.
‘No. . she can’t have done it. Is that a relief?’
‘Yes it is. It really is. It’s haunted me all these years. How I might have contributed to her madness by rejecting her. How I should have tried for a better relationship with Chrissie. But. . it leaves a massive question over the whole investigation, doesn’t it? What’s happening now?’
‘We’re looking into the case again, under a new light, new team. We’re hoping we solve this new case at Totteridge and then we’ll catch whoever murdered your daughter.’
‘After all this time?’
‘Yes. We don’t know why they’ve come back. Sorry. It still hurts: I can see. But there is a real chance of catching them this time.’
‘No need to apologize. Of course it still hurts. It will always hurt. In my darkest moments I feel somehow responsible: something I did, something I didn’t do. I failed my daughter, that’s for certain.’
‘Since her death you’ve given life and hope to so many people through her foundation.’
‘Yes. I hope so.’ He reached over and covered her hand with his. ‘I am hugely reassured that you are part of the new investigation. Please will you keep me informed.’
‘Of course.’
‘I just want to be kept up to date, discreetly; in private, without the world and his brother watching. I don’t want policemen knocking on my door. I don’t want the press hounding me. But I will never mind a late-night call from a beautiful pathologist to talk shop or sex or the state of the universe. .’
He picked up his glass and drank his wine and poured them another. The bottle was nearly gone. He called the waiter over. ‘Another one.’
Five minutes later the waiter returned to apologize. ‘Sorry, sir, that was our last one.’
‘What? For Christ’s sake. . what kind of service is that? Where’s the manager?’ The waiter hurried off. Martingale looked across and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. It just pisses me off. Hate incompetence.’
The waiter returned, anxious to please. ‘Sorry, sir. I do apologize. We have another bottle, considered to be a superior vintage. I will bring you that one at the same charge.’
Martingale consented with a wave of his hand.
He poured the last of the bottle of wine into her glass.
‘You know, Jo. . I have a fantastic house near Cape Town, overlooking the bay. You should come out and visit me. . I could do with the company. All expenses paid, of course; just say and I’ll send you a ticket. When was the last time you had a holiday?’
She shook her head. ‘Can’t remember.’
‘You should accept my offer of more private work too.’
‘I don’t mind dipping my toe in it. Can’t argue about the money side of it, but I need to have the adrenalin rush, the challenge.’ She looked at Martingale and thought: smug bastard. ‘So, Mr Martingale. . no dreams left? You have it all.’
His pale blue eyes shone in the candlelight. ‘I have a dream of not dying alone.’
‘Ha-’ Harding just about managed to stop herself from full-on laughing in his face. Was this a wind-up? She searched his face for the sarcasm she expected and saw none. His eyes were shining as he picked up his glass and saluted her.
‘To the most beautiful pathologist I know. Someone I’d definitely like to see more of. If she’ll let me. I hope you’re not feeling too tired tonight. I have a lot of skills I need to practise on you.’
‘I’m all yours, Doctor; can’t wait.’
Chapter 34
The next morning, on the outskirts of London the snow was melting from the hard shoulder of the M25. Two men were working their way up the verge, clearing up the rubbish and debris thrown out by passing traffic. Barry was in charge. Barry was going to be looking after Tom on his first week of work. They had been due to start last week but couldn’t because of the weather. Now it had warmed up a few degrees overnight and they were back to work.
Tom was starving. They’d already been working for two hours when the motorway maintenance van stopped at the services. He bought himself a full breakfast bap, reheated in the microwave in the garage: sausage, egg and bacon, ketchup, mustard and soggy bread. He didn’t care; he was so
hungry.
Tom shook his head and laughed. ‘Get it down you, son. . you’re gonna need all the energy you can get. It’s bloody freezing out there. We got three hours till we stop again. I’m going for a piss.’
By the time he came back Tom was aiming the wrapper at the bin and wiping the ketchup from his mouth.
‘Ready?’
Tom nodded. The traffic was post rush hour, lorries mainly. They headed along the hard shoulder, stopping every fifty metres to backtrack and check the verge. They split up, starting either end to meet in the middle.
Tom had his orange bag in his left hand, his metal claw pick-up device in his right. He prodded his claw into the gorse at the side of the verge to pick up the piece of black plastic that flapped in the wind every time a lorry raced past. His pincher clasped the black plastic and he pulled. A woman’s grey face turned from the snowy gorse as her body rolled down onto the tarmac.
His scream was lost in the whoosh and wail of a lorry as it passed.
Barry looked up to see Tom walking backwards towards the motorway traffic. ‘Watch out, mate. .’ he called and screwed up his face at the icy wind that buffeted him as the lorry thundered past.
‘Oi, Tom. . get your arse back, son,’ he shouted. Tom turned and looked at him, but didn’t answer. Standing in the path of an approaching lorry, he bent over, staggered backward and then a projectile vomit of full breakfast landed on the tarmac. The lorry swerved.
The woman’s head turned towards the road as if she were watching the passing traffic.
Carter had hardly slept when he’d finally made it back to his flat to make sure everything was still there and to get a few hours’ proper sleep and a change of clothes. Cabrina was on his mind here especially. He felt as if he were grieving. He reached out and slid his hand along the cold space in the bed next to him. Oh God. . his mind went round and round and came back to the beginning and always Cabrina was in the centre of the circle, shaking her head at him and knowing that he just didn’t get it. . what had he done wrong? Now the flat could stay a mess; nothing mattered any more.
