by Val McDermid
‘Good work. Check it out,’ Paula said. She glanced across to Fielding’s office. Empty. No surprise there. Hussain and Wood were communing with their computer screens and Cody was on the phone, his expression grave. He put the phone down and smacked his fist on the desk. Startled, everyone looked up.
‘She didn’t make it,’ he said angrily. ‘Marie Mather. She was bleeding internally. They couldn’t stabilise her. Fuck.’
Paula stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a failure. All the things that had gone wrong with this case felt like a personal rebuke. She should have resisted Fielding more forcefully. She should have confronted Gareth Taylor as soon as Carol came up with his name. Certainly as soon as there was any suggestion that Marie might be missing. Like all cops, Paula carried the burden of what she might have done differently. Marie Mather’s death had just added major weight to that burden.
Tony’s first thought after release had been a fierce longing for his own bed. But Bronwen Scott had been waiting for him. She’d whisked him off to a quiet corner and given him a brief rundown on what had happened in the previous few hours. ‘Carol did the business, and Paula picked up the pieces,’ Scott had said, a feline smile of contentment on her face.
‘What about Fielding?’
Scott’s smile widened. ‘Fucked. I see a great future for her in Traffic.’
‘I’m glad they’ve stopped him.’
Scott appeared to have lost interest. ‘Yes, yes. That’s always good.’
‘So, can I go home now?’ He tried not to sound like an overtired plaintive child, but he suspected he’d failed. Twenty-eight hours in custody could do that to a man.
Scott laughed. He’d always wondered what writers meant when they described a laugh as a tinkle. Now he knew. A brittle, musical sound. ‘Sorry, Tony, but there’s still work to be done. We’re going to see Blake.’
‘The Chief? Why?’
‘Because you’re going to be suing BMP for a very large sum of money for wrongful arrest, false imprisonment and damage to your personal and professional reputation.’
‘I am?’
‘You are.’
‘I don’t believe in suing public institutions. It’s a waste of taxpayers’ money that could be better spent doing other things.’
She looked at him as if he were mad. ‘Fielding fucked you over. They’ve damaged your reputation, and that’s what you live by. You deserve to be compensated.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t think there was malice involved. Fielding just got a crazy idea in her head and dug herself in too deep.’
‘Nevertheless. This is payback time. BMP owe you.’
‘I don’t want —’ He’d been about to say ‘their money’, but then a better idea occurred to him. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see Blake.’
So here they were, walking into Blake’s office, a sanctum like a gentlemen’s club. Tony wondered if you could buy a room spray that smelled of leather and cologne and cigars, because he’d have sworn that’s what it smelled like.
‘Come in, sit down,’ Blake said, waving expansively at a group of leather tub chairs set around a low table. ‘I do hope this hasn’t been too traumatic an experience, Dr Hill. But of course, our officers do have to follow the evidence,’ he said before they were even settled.
‘That’s what they’re supposed to do,’ Scott said, ice in her tone. ‘But not at the price of making preposterous decisions. Every fragment of circumstantial evidence against Dr Hill was readily demolished by my team within a handful of hours. Arresting him and holding him in custody was completely unnecessary.’ Blake tried to speak but she held a hand up. ‘Dr Hill is a Home Office-accredited police consultant. He’s devoted his professional career to helping police solve cases like this, for heaven’s sake. You know where he lives and works. Even if there had been solid evidence to link him to these crimes, he was never any kind of flight risk. This has been preposterous from start to finish.’ She exhaled sharply through her nose.
Blake shifted in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. ‘However, matters have been resolved very quickly. I hope we can put it all behind us.’ He steepled his fingers and gave an avuncular smile. ‘Then it will all die down and reputations won’t be unduly damaged.’
‘I don’t think you understand,’ Scott said. ‘We’re looking for substantial compensation here. Wrongful arrest, false imprisonment and damage to Dr Hill’s professional reputation. This is a major lawsuit, Mr Blake.’
Blake made a strangled mumbling sound. ‘There hasn’t been any significant publicity,’ he pointed out.
‘We haven’t given our side of the story yet,’ Scott said sweetly. ‘We have an extraordinary tale to tell. A man of spotless reputation is thrown in the cells on the scantest of evidence. The police are so incompetent that I have to turn to a retired officer for help. And within twenty-four hours, we civilians not only destroy the case against Dr Hill but also expose the identity of the real killer. I imagine this one will run and run across the traditional and the digital media.’
Tony sat up straight, galvanised by this unexpected turn of events. To judge by the expression of shock that had crossed Blake’s face, he hadn’t expected that line of attack either. He looked like a man staring down the barrel of the end of his career. ‘That’s a shocking distortion of the facts,’ he blustered.
‘In what respect?’
Tony could tell Blake was on the point of closing the meeting, which wasn’t what he wanted. He had an agenda of his own, and now was the time to pursue it. He cleared his throat and said, ‘There is one way to avoid a costly and embarrassing lawsuit.’
They both swung round in their seats to stare at him. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ Scott said.
‘Of course you don’t,’ Tony said. ‘You’re a lawyer. Conflict’s your bread and butter. James, there’s no denying that this has not been BMP’s finest hour. I believe this whole debacle would never have happened if the MIT had still been up and running. When Carol Jordan’s brother was killed, you shouldn’t have let her go. You should have clasped her to your bosom and helped her through it, not cut her loose.’
‘DCI Jordan had handed in her resignation before that happened. Which you very well know, Dr Hill.’ Blake was like a dog with its hackles up.
‘It doesn’t matter. You should have taken care of her. But it’s not too late. It’s obvious from what’s happened here that she’s still got what it takes to make a difference. Here’s the deal. You go to Carol Jordan and you offer her whatever it takes to get her back on board. I’m not saying you have to eat dirt and publicly reinstate the MIT. But you bring Carol back and find a way to put that team back together, and you’ll hear no more about this.’ He smiled at them both. Scott looked ready to thump him.
Blake, however, had the air of a man reprieved. ‘What if she says no?’
Tony gave an apparently guileless smile. ‘You need to make sure she doesn’t.’
67
Day twenty-nine
When she finally got home and read Paula’s message about Marie Mather, Carol’s first instinct had been to pour herself a drink. But instead of knocking back the very large vodka in a oner, she sat staring at the glass for a long time. She took off her jacket and slung it over a hanger, then gave the glass her full attention. Stepping back into the world had given her pause. There was nothing wrong with what she was doing here in the barn. But she’d let that become an end in itself and the past few days had shown her that wasn’t enough.
She’d only been on the periphery of the investigation but that had been enough to remind her that she had a talent for justice. Not to exercise that talent was wrong. Not just because of the end result; the lives that would be changed because she wasn’t there to do what she was best at. But because it was bad for her to ignore the things she was good at, the things she could be proud of.
If she carried on like this, Jacko Vance would have scored the ultimate victory. He’d set out on his campaign of
vengeance with the aim of making her life not worth living. She hadn’t been able to see past her grief to understand how well he’d succeeded. But the last few days had helped her to comprehend what had happened to her.
If she carried on like this, Jacko Vance would have won.
It wasn’t only her professional life that had been poisoned by his actions. He’d managed to estrange her and Tony. Vance was the worst kind of clever psychopath; he’d understood how things would play out downstream of his actions. He’d worked out how to cause them maximum pain. And she’d walked right into the trap. She’d blamed Tony when really, the only person to blame was Vance himself.
Carol raised the glass to eye level and stared long and hard at the drink. It was time for her to make some changes. Her life wasn’t over yet.
Slowly and steadily, Carol stood up and poured the vodka down the sink.
Dawn broke in a sky that seemed almost as watery as the canal basin. Grey, pearl and eggshell ran into each other in an uncertain muddle of sky and cloud. Tony sat on the roof of his boat up by the bows. His hands were folded round a cup of instant soup that had stopped steaming a while ago. His face was drawn and tired, his eyes gritty with lack of sleep. He’d returned to the boat shortly after one in the morning, so tired his very bones hurt. But as soon as he’d climbed into bed, sleep had slipped from him, leaving him restless and weary. He’d tried to fight the wakefulness, but he’d eventually given up and come outside to watch the orange glow of street lights lose their hold on the sky.
He’d had the sort of experience he could learn from, no doubt about that. He would better understand some of his patients as a result. Still, it was something he could have done without. Except that it had brought Carol back into his life, however briefly. He took her words at face value – that she wasn’t there for him but for the sake of justice. It had always been what drove her. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think that was a smokescreen for her true feelings. He knew her true feelings. She blamed him and she couldn’t bear his presence. And yet, if he could be certain she’d be there every day, he’d have settled for a life sentence.
He’d felt on the verge of tears ever since he’d returned to the boat. He knew it was partly because he was tired but it was also because he’d lost her again.
Even as that thought crossed his mind, the boat rose and fell with the familiar sudden lurch that came from someone boarding. He almost didn’t want to turn round because he couldn’t bear the disappointment of seeing Paula at the other end of the hull. But he did turn, because he wanted to think of himself as someone who could be strong.
And there she was, standing at the stern, dressed for business in the same suit she’d been wearing the day before. Different shirt, though. Her hair was rumpled and her eyes were bleary with tiredness. But she was there and that was all that mattered to him.
He scrambled to his feet and couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t banal.
Carol spoke first. ‘Do you know anywhere we can get a decent cup of coffee this time of the morning?’
He gestured to the open hatch. ‘I have coffee.’
She shook her head. ‘Neutral territory.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘The only place I know is the all-night coffee stand at Central Station.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’ And she jumped ashore, a black-and-white dog at her heels as she strode across the cobbles with more energy than he could have managed.
Tony scrambled along the boat and locked the hatch, leaving his mug on the roof. He stumbled ashore and ran across to where his car was parked by the tapas bar. He reached Central Station with three minutes to spare and bought coffee for them both. He stood by the coffee stand, a cardboard beaker in each hand, waiting.
The dog still by her side, Carol rounded the corner and gestured with her head to a bench opposite the station entrance. He joined her there, silently handing over her drink. He still didn’t know what to say. ‘I heard you’d got a dog.’ Hell of an ice-breaker.
‘Always the master of the irrelevant.’
‘It’s not irrelevant. It means something.’
She sighed. ‘And what does it mean in Tony world?’
‘It means you’ve decided to let yourself form an emotional attachment. And that’s a good thing.’
‘If you say so.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘You blackmailed Blake,’ she said.
‘I did.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because I’d rather someone like you was investigating serious violent death in this city than the Alex Fieldings of this world. And because everyone should practise the craft that they’re best at.’
‘You’re still a psychologist, then?’ There was an incredulous edge to her voice that cut him.
He sighed. ‘It’s the only thing I’m equipped for.’
‘Scary thought.’
Sitting side by side, he couldn’t see her face. There were no clues in her tone. Time was, she would have said things like that ironically, as a joke. ‘Did you say yes?’
‘I told him I’d think about it.’
‘You should say yes. You got me out of jail.’
Now she sighed. ‘I’m used to having the full weight of a professional team behind me. I made mistakes in the last twenty-four hours that might have got me killed. Marie Mather might still be alive if I’d done things differently.’ She buried her free hand in the dog’s luxuriant coat. ‘It forced me to realise that I’d been blaming you for not being flawless. And none of us is flawless.’ Another sigh. ‘I was so angry with myself for what happened to Michael and Lucy that I had to turn my anger somewhere else and you were the easiest target.’
He tried to speak and found he couldn’t. He took a swig of coffee and tried again. ‘I knew that. And I also knew the only way back for us was if you worked it out for yourself.’
‘You think there is a way back for us?’ A train rumbled over the bridge and disappeared into the station.
He shifted round so he could look at her. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’
