by Bo Brennan
“Get your hands on the fucking bonnet, now!” voice one screamed, noticeably closer to the passenger door. Colt guessed in maybe three more steps he’d be on them, and then caught sight of the small red dot trained on his chest.
Oh for fuck’s sake. He gritted his teeth. Had two pints of shandy in his bladder, and was in no doubt the adrenalin fuelled voice behind the light had a hand twitching to fire its Taser. Now was probably a good time to identify himself, before he ended up flapping about like a fish in a puddle of his own piss on the floor.
“I'm Detective Chief Inspector AJ Colt, Metropolitan Police Service,” he shouted. “Get that light out of my face and step away from my passenger you idiots. Now! That’s a fucking order!”
After a brief moment of silence the light diverted to the ground, Colt blinked frantically as his pupils reacted violently to the sudden change in light. Two middle aged cops came into view muttering apologies, their mud splattered trousers a result of getting over excited. Getting over excited was a messy proposition down here – he had the jacket to prove it, if the hotel dry cleaners ever brought it back.
India watched from the locked car. If she believed for one second a cop was responsible for the attacks, she’d have a shotgun trained on them by now. But Colt obviously did, and the thought unnerved her. The entire team already seemed to be looking at their colleagues through suspicious eyes. As usual, Sangrin, being a knob, had to go one step further and offer up a couple of uniforms’ names who he didn’t see eye to eye with. If he was offering sacrificial lambs based on personality clashes, the list could run into half the bloody force.
As Colt shook hands with the two officers and they climbed back into their vehicle, India wondered what the hell she was doing locked in his car. This was her bloody home. It was her job to defend her castle, not his.
A brooding Colt watched them slowly navigate their way back to the road with just the full beam of the squad car to guide them. He glanced over his shoulder when India stepped from the car. “I just got breathalysed,” he said.
“Why?”
“An anonymous tip off,” he said, watching the last of their lights vanish through the treeline. “They weren’t going to bother when they realised who I was, so I insisted. Told them I'd report them if they didn't,” he laughed, turning back to face her. It seemed unnaturally dark after the extravagant circus of light earlier.
“You only had a couple of shandys,” India said, “it can’t have even registered.”
“It didn’t,” he said. “It was probably that weirdo waiter at the restaurant.”
“That weirdo waiter is dating a friend of mine,” she said dully.
“Make sure she has pepper spray on her at all times,” he muttered. “Right then, it's freezing out here, better get yourself inside.”
Before she could say another word, Colt seized the moment and kissed her dead cheek. “Good night, India,” he said, and drove off smiling.
Chapter 43
Thursday 16th December
“I was breathalysed last night,” Colt said. “Anonymous tip off.”
“So I hear,” Len said. “At India's place. After dinner.” Colt felt his cheeks burn. “Your name had better not be in that book, Jim.”
“You know about that?”
“Of course I know about it,” Len growled. “I’ve been trying to find out who’s running it for two fucking years. And when I get my hands on it, everyone in it will get my toe up their fucking arse on their way to the dole queue. You included.”
“What the fuck do you take me for, Len?” Colt took a deep breath and followed Len’s furious glare out the office window to where she busied herself at her desk.
“She's been crunching away on the social networks since 6 am, apparently.” Len turned his angry glower back on Colt. “So I guess it wasn't a late night.”
Colt clenched his jaw. “Any hope of locating the call?”
Len regarded him silently for several uncomfortable moments before responding. “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Unregistered mobile.”
Colt sighed. At least they were thinking along the same lines about the tip off, if nothing else.
“The caller didn't give your name, just your registration.” Len slid the treble-nine call transcript across the desk. “Could just be a disgruntled diner.”
“Come on, Len, it was a Wednesday night – we were virtually the only two people in the place.”
“I know.” Len frowned and stroked his beard. “You need to think long and hard about who your enemies are, Jim. And a little bit of thought about your position wouldn't go amiss either.”
Colt could feel the beginnings of a tension headache stabbing at the base of his skull, but then again it could’ve been Len’s glare. He was following very closely behind him as they went into the morning meeting.
“India,” Colt said. “Give me something good.”
“I’ve found some on Facebook and some on eBay, but the consistent results are coming from Friends Reunited. On there, I’ve even found one of our victims taking messages for another known victim who isn’t online. All of the women I’ve researched so far are regular attendees at the reunions as well.”
Salvation, Colt thought. “Good work, well done,” he said. “Tom . . .”
“I haven’t finished,” India said flatly.
Colt suppressed a smile. “I’m sorry. Please, carry on.”
“Thank you,” she said, and all her colleagues frowned. “I'm still working on it, but so far, all of the ones I've located have also been – at one time or another – University cheerleaders.”
Colt was sure his jaw actually hit the floor as he was momentarily rendered speechless.
“There's your link,” Lacey trilled, banging her hand down dramatically on the table. “That's how he's selecting them.”
India shot her a sideways glance. “It's far from conclusive yet. But, the seven I've dug deep on have all come back the same,” she said, returning her eyes to Colt.
He couldn’t suppress it any longer; his face broke into a beaming grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, wishing he could kiss her. “Keep digging.”
“Bloody hell,” Tom said. “All that information might be on the University data disc. It holds a complete record of every student’s time there, hobbies, interests, club memberships the lot.”
“See if the Technical guys can extract cheerleader information, while India continues her research,” Colt said. “And make sure you also get a separate list formatted for all male sports personnel and players.”
“A cheerleader warning would make a great press release,” Sly said. “It will show the public the investigation’s progressing fast.”
“It’s too soon,” India said. “I haven’t confirmed it yet.”
Colt looked to Lacey for input, uncharacteristically nothing was forthcoming. He was on his own. He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. A press release pinpointing cheerleaders as the target could make him change course, taking them back to square one. He wanted the fucker too bad to risk that. How many of them would seriously heed the warning anyway? No press release meant the attacks would continue, increasing their chances of catching him, especially if they could predict precisely where he'd strike. Colt was walking on a knife edge and he had to make the call.
“No press release, and no warnings either,” he said. “With the DNA screening programme running we’ve got an opportunity to squeeze him from both sides. Let’s confirm the cheerleader link, narrow the potential victims to a manageable number, and get arm’s length eyes on them round the clock.”
India kept her head down, beavering away at the computer, avoiding all interaction, and eschewing food, for the entire day.
Sangrin and Dwyer had spent most of the day working with the nerds, successfully formatting and filtering the female data held on the disc to reveal just those involved with the cheerleading squad. Their broken down list had been helpful, all India had to do was locate th
e cheerleader and match her face against the unidentified and unconscious victims.
Currently, both Sangrin and Dwyer were relentlessly working the results through the databases to locate those now residing in Hampshire. As soon as she was done, they could categorically confirm the link and set up loose surveillance on all the potentials.
She glanced at the clock. One more unknown victim to find, and just thirty minutes to do it. There was no way she was staying late tonight – she had plans
India clicked the hyperlink on her computer and ran her fingers across the remaining video still of the unconscious woman on her desk. She was the last on the list and proving hard to find.
She rubbed her eyes as the ancient system took its time loading the onscreen photograph line by painful line, and sighed when a foot appeared first at the top of the screen. She’d trawled enough super flexible, high kicking cheerleader photos today to leave her feeling arthritic and old.
India’s lips twitched as a shaggy perm and seriously over plucked eyebrows appeared on the screen. As the rest of the face loaded, she picked up the video still of the unconscious woman with a short, choppy crop. You could change the hair on your head a million times and get away with it, but that sort of damage to your brows was permanent.
India scribbled the woman’s name on the back of the photo and picked up the phone. Everyone could rest easy tonight . . . and she could let her hair down above reproach.
Chapter 44
The salmon she’d ordered arrived at their table; Colt placed his hand over his glass as Lacey lifted the bottle of Merlot. “You're no fun tonight, James,” she scolded.
“I'm fine,” he mumbled, filling his glass with water. “Have you cross referenced the profile against the suspect pool yet?”
She raised a sculpted eyebrow and sipped from her glass before answering. “You'll have the results by lunchtime tomorrow.”
He felt her eyes boring into him as he poked the fish around his plate and, in need of comfort, filled his fork with creamed potato instead. He hoped he'd made the right decision. Nationwide, seventy-two women were unaware they were being watched tonight. The nine in Hampshire were each being watched by a two man plain clothes unit. He looked at his watch. If they'd done everything right, at least one of them would have a third set of eyes on her now.
“You can't hide from me, James,” Lacey said, leaning back in her seat as he loaded his fork with the last of his potato. “I know she's got under your skin.”
He ignored her, poked the fish again in the absence of carbohydrates. She lifted her plate and transferred her potato to his. Silently, he continued eating.
“You need to give her a wide berth,” she said, observing him. “India Kane is trouble.”
Colt looked up and frowned. “You don't even know her.”
“I know she's not right in the head,” Lacey said. “And she'll fuck your head up too if you let her.”
He let out a mocking bitter laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are? Sitting there like your shit doesn’t stink when you've fucked up more heads than I care to remember.”
Indignantly she cocked her jaw and her black eyes flashed with anger. She straightened up in her seat, neatly laying her knife and fork on the edge of her plate. “I know you're in love, James,” she said coldly. “How the mere thought of her with Gray Davies makes you go limp.”
“It does not make me go . . .” he broadcast a little too loudly for the mellow piped background music. Catching himself just in time, he spat fiercely through clenched teeth, “Limp.”
“Can't blame you, he’s gorgeous. Even I looked twice.” She gave him her twisted smile, the one she reserved exclusively for antagonising people. The one that made people lose their temper. Lose full stop.
“She's not screwing him,” Colt said, calmly sipping from his water. “They just dance together.”
“Real close no doubt,” Lacey cooed. “Publicly making love with their clothes on. More intimate. How does that make you feel, James? Have you watched?”
Colt didn't need to think too hard for those images of Gray and India together to resurface, they constantly peeked into the space behind his eyes when his body ached for her.
“I've danced real close with your mum, Lacey,” he said, remembering the lavish engagement party they'd thrown, trying to rebuild bridges they'd poured kerosene on. “But the thought of getting jiggy with her is, well, quite frankly repulsive.”
Her eyes narrowed as she went in for the kill. “Karen’s always said you could never love anybody as much as you love yourself.”
“Oh, well, if Karen said it, then it must be true.” Colt clenched his teeth, concentrated on his breathing. The double paged News of The World exclusive, sourced from a ‘confidential family insider,’ flashed into his head. ‘England Ace Loved Himself More Than Trophy Wife,’ the headline screamed. “The only reason you’re here tonight is because she’s pissed you off as well.”
“You could learn a lot from your sister about life and love,” Lacey said in a sarcastic tone that proved too hard to ignore. “She’s a wonderful woman.”
“Karen's got a small brain and a big fucking mouth,” he spat. “How much did they pay her to sell me out, huh?”
“Wallowing in self-pity is very unattractive, James. Look what you’ve been reduced to,” she said, inclining her head. “A sociopath’s pathetic little plaything. And what’s really tragic is that you’re the only one who can’t see it.”
Colt took a deep breathe, gritted his teeth, and cast his eyes down, feeling sympathy for the poked and prodded fish on his plate that he wanted to throw at the wall.
“India Kane isn't the one,” she continued, “she's incapable of love.”
“That's enough, Lacey,” he warned, feeling his temperature rising to an uncomfortable level. They'd had rows before, lots, but she was yanking his chain good and proper tonight.
“Do you even know what love is, James?”
“Ok, you and your psycho bullshit win,” he said, way past caring about the level of piped mellow music. He tossed his fork onto his plate – the clatter drew disapproving looks from the few tables not already gawping in their direction – and shrugged into his jacket.
“Sit down, James,” she demanded. “We’re not finished yet.”
“Oh, we’re fucking finished all right,” he growled. His angry strides had already carried him half way across the restaurant when he heard her voice again.
“Where are you going?”
Without looking back, he said, “Somewhere I can wallow in fucking peace.”
The barman waved at her over the heads of the other punters and held up a wine glass. India raised a hand, making an ‘L’ with her finger and thumb, and then pointed towards the ladies toilets. The barman nodded and smiled approvingly.
She skilfully touched up her lipstick in the mirror and smoothed her sleek black dress around her hips. Black had fitted her mood earlier, but now, under the harsh lighting in the cloakroom, and teamed with ruby red lips, it seemed to leach the colour from her skin, sucking the life right out of her. A large glass of wine would soon put some colour in her cheeks.
By the time she returned to the bar the queue had gone. Perching on a stool she reached for her purse.
“It’s ok,” the barman said, “one of the punters paid for it.”
India glanced around, there was no one looking her way to thank so she raised her glass to the barman instead. “Cheers.”
The need to dance had been overwhelming this week, as it often was when a stressful case came up. The strange tangled dreams she used to suffer were back too, even invading her thoughts in waking moments when she least expected it.
Forget about it.
She took a big swig from her glass, relishing the burn as it slid down her throat spreading warmth in her belly. She tapped her heel in time to the beat allowing the music to wash over her, drowning her inhibitions and removing her restraints. Lifting the half-drunk glass to her lips she coul
d feel her body relaxing already.
The music seemed louder tonight. The bass line thumped in her head, vibrating her very bones. She'd left a little earlier than usual, needed to chill enough to let her hair down properly. When your head was full of horror, and your heart full of gristle, it was impossible to succumb to the rhythm and feel free, without some assistance. Alcohol provided that. She rolled her shoulders, and sighed. Work was taking its toll, both mentally and physically, while Colt’s presence was taking its toll in odd, inexpressible ways.
Forget about him.
She sank the rest of her drink and offered up her empty glass to the barman for refilling. Tonight she planned to let her hair down in style. Large was definitely a good choice, she could feel colour flushing through her body.
God it’s hot in here.
She scooped her hair away from the back of her neck and across one shoulder. She felt as though her body was deliquescing.
The hands on the clock behind the bar seemed to bend and blur as she drank from her new glass. Gray would be arriving soon. Swivelling on her stool to watch for him, the lights glared blindingly and her head spun as the whole building pulsed. Shit. I drank that way too quick, she thought, and decided the third one would be a small one. It was a cheap night out drinking on an empty stomach. It would be a short one too if she didn’t sort herself out.
India slid from the bar stool, her limbs feeling light and bendy. She trailed a hand along the undulating wall, feeling it swerve and curve, coming alive under her touch. She needed to get to the toilets, needed to splash her face with water. She paused and braced herself against the nightclub wall as the floor began to roll under her feet. Her knees buckled as a wave of exhaustion swallowed her whole and her body began to sink.
