Eyes closed, she tilted her face skyward, luxuriated like a cat in the heat. She pictured herself on a beach: white sand, warm sea, chilled wine, hot waiter hand-feeding her peeled grapes and slices of mango. She gave a lazy grin. Yeah, she could go with that. Shame about the surround soundtrack: loud Brummie accents, low traffic buzz, distant chime of an ice-cream van, ‘O Sole Mio’.
‘What are you thinking, Bev?’
‘This ’n’ that,’ she murmured, eyes still closed.
‘You look happy, whatever it is. In fact, I think you look really … well.’
‘Ta.’
‘Do you miss him, Bev?’
You are SO kidding. Straightening, she turned to look at Richard, who stared straight ahead. ‘Nah,’ she scoffed. Like an arm and a leg. Like her mind, sometimes. ‘’Course I bloody do. What kinda question’s that?’
‘I just thought what with work keeping you busy, family commitments, social life. And what with you being so young and …’
Where the hell was he going with this? Even Richard looked as if he’d lost the thread. ‘Young and … what?’ she prompted.
‘I just wondered …’ Facing her now, he met her gaze. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’
‘’Course I’m not,’ she snapped.
‘Good,’ he snapped back.
‘And it has a shadow of a shit to do with you why?’
Holding her gaze, he said, ‘Because it might affect my decision.’
‘On what?’
He took a deep breath, then told her he was considering moving down, getting a teaching post in Birmingham. There was nothing and no one keeping him in The Lakes. He reckoned it was time to make a fresh start, and he’d like to be around to help when the baby came.
Nothing life-changing, then. ‘Down to you, isn’t it?’ What did her love-life have to do with any of it? Then the look in his eyes told her. Ah. Right. She’d been a bit slow there. Not to mention a tad taken aback. He must’ve read her expression, too.
‘Thing is … I like you, Bev. I think we could be … friends.’
‘We already are.’ Keep it light, Beverley.
‘I know. But maybe we could be more than friends.’
‘What? Like besties?’
‘Come on, you know what I mean.’
She turned her mouth down. ‘I ain’t ready to shack up with anyone, Rich.’
‘Good Lord, I wasn’t suggesting that.’ His look of sheer panic morphed into a tentative smile. Though Bev reckoned the move could’ve been a lot quicker. He added a wink. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
‘Don’t rush into anything, mate.’ She sniffed. Tempting though the prospect of a proper grown-up relationship with Junior might be, she needed a hell of a lot of time to mull over what he’d said.
‘You’re not ruling it out, though?’
‘Nah. But I’m warning you now: I’m a pain to live with.’
‘Yeah, dad told me.’
‘Cheeky sod.’
‘Him or me?’
‘The pair of you.’
She stood up laughing and jangled the car keys. ‘Best get off now or mum’ll get the locks changed.’
Still seated, he looked up, frowning. ‘Oh. Okay. Is that it?’
‘Nah. You need to drop by Tesco. You can’t turn up at Emmy’s place empty-handed. Whatever would she think?’
Emmy Morriss lost no time reeling off her thoughts about Richard Byford. They emerged unprompted whenever she and Bev had a minute to themselves in the kitchen. There’d been quite a few proclamations, given that between them they’d prepped, plated up and cleared a three-courser. Among her mother’s musings? He was a catch, a hunk, a dreamboat, a stunner and, just now, a sticker.
‘Sticker?’ Bev pulled a face. ‘Don’t you mean keeper?’
‘Probably.’ The girlie laugh took years off Emmy’s heart-shaped face. ‘He certainly looks jolly game to me.’
Shaking her head, Bev masked a smile. She’d never associated the word ‘skittish’ with her mum before. ‘Which chocolates you want opening, ma?’ On offer were Bev’s Black Magic and the fancy ones Richard had brought.
‘Oh, I think we’ll have the Belgian liqueurs, don’t you?’
‘Thought you might,’ she muttered.
‘Did you say something?’
‘Nah.’
‘Fan them out on a nice plate then, lovey.’
Yeah, ’cause that’s what we always do. She lifted the corner of her mouth. ‘He’s not visiting royalty, ma.’ They both cocked their heads: Prince Richard must’ve have cracked an even funnier gag in the sitting room.
Emmy gave a sigh of contentment. ‘Just listen to your gran, Bev. I’ve not heard that giggle for ages. Richard’s just what she needs. A real tonic. Don’t you think?’
‘If you say so.’ She didn’t know about tonic, but he’d certainly kept her gran topped-up with Bailey’s. Bev also reckoned Byford junior’s general all-round perfection was beginning to grate a tad. Especially since the lying toad had admitted not having sent a follow-up text. Hadn’t wanted to risk her sacking him off at the last minute.
‘It’s true,’ Emmy insisted. ‘Your young man can charm the fuzz off a pear.’
‘Peach.’
‘Don’t split hairs.’
‘And he’s not my young man.’
‘If you say so, dear.’ She sniffed. Actually it was more like a snort. Bev tightened her lips at more sounds of merriment from the next room. ‘Coffee ready to go, ma?’
‘Almost.’ After Emmy had reapplied lippie, obviously. ‘Talk about peas in a pod,’ she said. ‘I just can’t get over how much he looks like his father.’
‘Yeah, you said.’ People used to say the same about Bev and Emmy, with their dark hair, olive complexion, deep-blue eyes. But the strain of looking after Sadie had etched itself into her mum’s face.
‘It’s really quite uncanny.’
‘Sure is,’ Bev agreed for the umpteenth time. Mind, Emmy’s complexion had turned a whiter shade of pale when she first saw Byford junior. Looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Had to fortify herself with several dry sherries while finishing off the cooking. Which could explain a lot. Bev could hardly begrudge her, though. Emmy had done them proud: pork, perfect as per, crackling, stuffing, apple sauce, roasties to die for. And as for the death by triple chocolate pud …
‘He has a very healthy appetite, too, Bev,’ she pronounced, finding room on the tray for the cafetière. ‘I like that in a man.’
Yeah, you mentioned it once or twice. ‘I’ll take that, ma.’ Bev eyed the tray.
‘Thanks, lovey, but come here and give us a proper hug first. I’m so happy to see you. Don’t leave it so long next time.’ Bev’s anathema to touchy-feely stuff didn’t extend to the woman whose womb she’d occupied. Stepping into the embrace, she breathed in Emmy’s familiar scent of vanilla with a touch of honey.
‘Come on, ma, they’ll think we’ve got lost,’ she said, disentangling herself, then smoothing her hair. ‘What’s up?’
Emmy stared at Bev’s neck. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’
Her hand flew to the flesh wound. ‘No. ’Course not.’
‘What are you trying to hide, then?’
Trust never-miss-a-con-trick Emmy. Bev’d never get away with making up some cop-and-bullshit story. ‘Leave it, okay?’ Her mum’s tight mouth said it was anything but okay. Last thing Bev wanted was another lecture about the job. She lifted the tray. ‘Please, ma, just get the doors, eh?’
‘Here, let me help.’ Richard shot out of the chair as soon as he spotted them enter.
‘It’s okay, mate. It’s not that heavy.’
‘Yeah, but if you don’t have to? Especially in your con—’ He dried up. Must have clocked her fleeting look of horror. Surely to God, he’d not said anything about the baby?
With three pairs of expectant eyes on her, Bev came up with the best line she could. ‘Don’t fuss, sweetie, I told you – the arm’s fine now. So if you could just’ – cocking her head –
‘let me get to the table?’
Three seconds it took before he cottoned on. ‘Of course you did’ – stepping aside – ‘I completely forgot. Sorry.’
Oh, you will be.
‘What happened to the arm?’ Emmy asked, dead casual.
Bev said she’d bruised it, Richard said sprained. Simultaneously.
‘Really?’ Emmy arched an eyebrow. ‘Hear that, Sadie?’
‘Never mind all that. When’s the baby due, our Bev?’
48
It hadn’t been a conspiracy of silence. Richard hadn’t blabbed. Emmy and Sadie had harboured their own sneaking suspicions for a while, apparently. Bev should’ve known. When had she ever been able to pull the wool over their eagle eyes? Emmy came clean after registering the filthy look Bev had thrown at Richard before bursting into tears and dashing from the room. At least she’d not chucked the tray at him. Okay, Byford junior might not have actually let anything slip, but he’d provided the perfect opening. And he had a bunch of catching up to do if he wanted to worm his way back into her good books.
In the downstairs loo, Bev stood in front of the mirror giving the remains of her make-up a few running repairs. The face that looked back suggested she should have opted for a full service. Like she cared. Talk about being blindsided. Sadie’s blunt inquiry had shattered all Bev’s carefully-constructed defences. Emmy’s plaintive ‘It’s why we thought you were avoiding us, lovey’ had only added more guilt to a crammed emotional pressure cooker. Even so, Bev rarely lost it in public.
On the upside, at least the baby elephant in the corner was now out in the open. Not the father’s identity, though. Her mum had tried pussy-footing around the subject, far too polite to probe and Bev not prepared to provide. She gave her reflection a wink. Girl has to have some secrets. Okay – time to rejoin the party and put up with beaming smiles and baby small talk. She’d not be surprised to find her mum sitting there knitting a christening gown. As it happened, she glimpsed Emmy through a gap in the door: no needles in sight, but given the mouth-action there was clearly a lot of yacking going on. About to enter the fray, Bev heard an all-too-familiar refrain.
‘Don’t you think it’s time she found a more suitable job, Richard?’
Bev froze just outside the threshold, eyes narrowed. This she had to hear. Fact was, Emmy had never in a zillion years wanted her to join the police. Bev had never seriously considered any other career. If Richard allowed himself to be enlisted in Camp Emmy, that’d be it: curtains. The relationship, or whatever it might turn out to be, would be over before it had begun.
‘I’m not sure I see what you mean.’
‘Surely you, of all people, know how dangerous it can be.’
Could she be any more insensitive? His dad’s face had been blown to shreds by a madman wielding a gun. Richard wasn’t exactly ignorant of the perils.
‘There are certainly some dangerous individuals out there.’
‘My point entirely, Richard. I’m sure you agree Bevvy puts herself in the firing line every time she goes on shift?’
Bev balled a fist. Yep, Emmy had definitely stocked up at the insensitive shop.
‘I agree … it’s a tough job.’
‘Well, then?’
‘I really think she can take care of herself, Emmy. She loves the job, and according to Dad … Bev’s one of the best detectives he ever worked with.’ One of? That all? Who was she trying to kid? She’d never heard that before and now had an all-over rosy glow.
‘But surely—’
‘She knows what she’s doing, Emmy: I could never stand in her way. … And knowing Bev,’ he added, ‘I’d like to see anyone try.’
‘Try what, sweetie?’ Bev asked, breezing in and heading for the chocolates.
‘Nothing, dear,’ Emmy said, all-innocence. Bev reckoned her mum could dissemble for Europe. ‘And do offer them around. I’m sure your gran would like one.’
Bev smiled. ‘I think she’s nodded off.’ Sadie’s tiny frame slumped in her favourite armchair, pixie feet six inches off the carpet. Her snowy hair and pink cheeks reminded Bev of candyfloss and marshmallow. The old dear’s face was scored with lines and wrinkles and Bev loved every one.
‘Well, you think wrong.’ Sadie opened her eyes and shuffled straight. ‘No ta, love,’ she said waving away the plate. ‘Mind, if there’s another Bailey’s going …?’
‘I’m sure I can find one,’ Richard offered. ‘Is it still in the kitchen?’
He was just about out of earshot when Sadie gave her verdict. ‘You could do a lot worse, our Bev. I like him.’
‘You’re a big fan, too, aren’t you, ma?’
Emmy gave a tight smile. ‘You know me, dear, I never like to make snap judgements.’
‘No, ’course you don’t.’ Bev pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering how she’d survive another hour or so of full-on family fun. Then pricked her ears. ‘Waterloo Sunset’ had never sounded so sweet. ‘Chuck us my phone, will you, ma?’ Actually it might not be work – it could be a PPI call or someone trying to flog double-glazing – she could use either as an exit route.
‘It’s your day off, Bev.’ Emmy said, passing the handset. ‘If that’s—’
She lifted a finger. ‘Bev Morriss.’ Mac on the line: Marty Cox had turned up.
On her feet now, she scouted round for her bag. ‘I’m on the way.’ Mac said there was no need, just thought she’d like to know.
‘I do. And I’m heading in.’
‘Don’t bother rushing, boss. He’s dead.’
‘What!?’
‘The pathologist reckons at least a month.’
Shee-oot. No wonder they’d not been able to find the guy. And if Cox hadn’t even been in the picture, her theory that he was the pimp killer had just been comprehensively shot out of the water.
‘There’s more,’ Mac said. Forensics had been on the phone, he told her. They’d had the results on the rush job with the dental DNA. The body on the building site was definitely Karim Khalid. The priority now was working to see whether DNA from the patch of skin in the bath matched Oliver Ward’s.
And then there were none … She posed a few questions, then cut the call, found that Richard had returned and was holding out her bag. ‘You’ll need this.’ She nodded. Guessed he’d done a little listening in of his own.
‘I need to get off an’ all, sorry,’ Bev said.
‘I knew it,’ murmured Emmy.
‘Don’t worry about me, Bev,’ Richard said smiling. ‘I’ll walk you to the car, then grab a cab.’
‘Surely you don’t have to rush off as well?’ Emmy intervened. ‘I’m sure we can keep you entertained for a while.’
‘If you show him any baby pics, ma …’ I will kill you. Stooping, she pecked her cheek. ‘Love you tons.’
Sadie really had dropped off this time. Bev blew a kiss her way. Given the amount of Bailey’s she’d downed she could easily sleep for a week.
‘Am I forgiven?’ Richard said as they approached the MG.
‘Yeah, just about. Did your dad really say that about me?’
‘Of course. Why ever would I make up a thing like … Ah.’ The guy actually blushed, realized he’d given the game away. And he could dig himself out of the self-created hole.
Lips pursed, Bev unlocked the motor, made to get in.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘it’s a fair cop. I knew you were earwigging at the door. But I meant every word I said, Bev. And I bet Dad did, too.’
‘Straight up? The best detective he ever worked with?’
‘No.’ He frowned. ‘One of them.’
‘Good job you said that, sweetie.’ Unsmiling, she tapped a salute. ‘Laters.’ Driving away she clocked him in the mirror. When she reached the end of the road, he still stood where she’d left him. She watched him smile and return the salute. Bev curved a lip. Maybe her mum was right. Maybe, just maybe, Byford junior was a keeper.
49
Bev Morriss. Ace detective. Glowing accolade. Frigging joke.
Bev leaned – better word, slumped – against the back wall of the squad room. Powell sat on the edge of a desk at the front of his hastily-convened ad hoc brief. Bev felt she’d have been better placed in the corner, wearing a cone-shaped hat emblazoned with a bright red capital letter D. D for dumb-ass, red as in blood. Feeling physically sick, she stared unseeing at the floor. Four men dead: four lives lost. There’d been too much blood-letting by far during Operation Lynx. How many mistakes were down to her forcing through her beliefs in her misconceived theories?
She ran her gaze again over the visuals on the whiteboards: Dean Hobbs, Karim Khalid, Oliver Ward and Marty Cox. A gang of four, for sure: but four murder victims, not prime suspects. And no perp or perps in the frame. How could she have got it so spectacularly wrong?
Cox could never have masterminded Pimp Wars. Not when for four weeks he’d already been permanently out of commission, his body rotting at the bottom of a litter-strewn ditch off the A38. The truck driver had found a damn sight more than he’d bargained for when he pulled over to take a leak. Recalling Pollard’s call of nature, she stifled a snort. It’d be hilarious, if it wasn’t so fricking serious.
No. Cox was the last of the four victims to turn up, but he’d been the first taken out. According to Mac, if it hadn’t been for a wallet found at the scene, the corpse would probably never have been identified. The pathologist hadn’t even had a full skeleton to work with. Bev guessed foxes, feral cats and the like had enjoyed a bun fight over the bones.
‘What you reckon, Morriss?’
She glanced at Powell. ‘Say again, gaffer.’
He bit his lip, took a deep, probably calming, breath. ‘If you’re not listening, I don’t know why you bothered coming in.’
‘If you want me to go, just say.’
‘Grow up,’ he snapped. Fair dos. She’d asked for a verbal slap-down. Anyone could see he was under a shit ton of pressure, with even more flying flak imminent.
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