Her Cold Eyes

by Tony Black

  McCormack and Valentine stared in disbelief, the scene picking up an open-mouthed audience.

  ‘God, he’s flipped,’ said McCormack.

  ‘You’re not kidding.’

  ‘Should I go after him?’

  ‘And do what? Tell him there’ll be other cases. I don’t think that’s going to fly with Ian.’

  ‘But we should do something, he’s clearly gone off the deep end.’

  The DCI felt too much of his own anger swelling inside him to deal with Davis at this moment. He rubbed the base of his skull and tried to ease out the growing tension there – it wasn’t working. He was close to an explosion all of his own.

  ‘Ian’s a big boy, he’ll have to figure this out for himself,’ he said.

  Valentine made for the door, leaving McCormack alone in the office. By the mid-point of the incident room he already had the feeling of being dragged away from the investigation by undercurrents beyond his control. He saw Abbie McGarvie’s face in his mind, her cold eyes staring right into him again. There was nothing that he could do, and he wanted to tell her so. He felt the vision of the girl again, pressuring him to fight for her, to help.

  ‘Please, there’s no one else,’ she was calling to him.

  He tried to look away but the cold eyes followed.

  He scrunched up his own eyes and took a deep breath, but she was still there. Would she never stop? Would she now be trapped on the Bridge of Souls like Hugh Crosbie had said?

  Valentine forced his way through the door and marched down the corridor towards the chief super’s office. He was burning up, part anger and part tension swelling inside him – a fight or flight scenario he couldn’t avoid if he wanted to.

  He stood beyond the door, trying to find some calm anywhere inside him, and failing. His legs were thick and heavy, the muscles of his calves tensing and constricting. He brushed his shirtfronts with the flat of his hand and straightened his cuffs, but these acts didn’t alter his appearance any more than his mood.

  He turned away from the door, took two steps, then spun round and walked straight in.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ he said.

  ‘Sit.’ She pointed to the chair in front of her desk. CS Martin was hunched over her blotter, her shoulders so tense her head seemed ready to snap off. She pinched her mouth into a tight knot, then spoke in a reedy whine. ‘Where have you been today?’

  ‘Are you asking for a timetable of my movements?’

  ‘I think you know what I’m referring to.’ She drew in her cheeks, her stare intensified. ‘And to whom.’

  ‘This is about Sutherland, right?’

  ‘David Sutherland, you picked him up.’

  ‘Yes. I had good reason, and evidence.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit if you had a signed statement from Queen Elizabeth II herself to back up your actions – you took him in without my bloody say-so!’

  Valentine felt the hostility rising at him in rays. ‘It’s my investigation.’

  Martin wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and spoke slowly and firmly. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  She turned away and crossed her legs behind the desk. ‘Cast your mind back to a conversation we had a few days ago, when a young girl had been found splattered on the road. What did I say to you then, Bob?’

  ‘You gave me the authority to re-investigate the Abbie McGarvie case that had already been thrown out by the courts.’

  ‘No!’ She pointed her finger, a red fingernail jabbing the air. ‘I said you have my authority to investigate the original case only if you found a connection to Abbie McGarvie’s death.’

  ‘I believe I have sufficient evidence to justify that.’

  ‘But what else did I say?’

  ‘Look, I can’t remember every detail of every conversation I’ve ever had, it is nearly a week ago.’

  ‘Well, you should have been paying closer attention.’

  ‘Is this leading anywhere?’

  ‘It certainly is, now. Let me repeat for you again. I told you to investigate quietly, very quietly, and that I didn’t want anyone outside the station to get wind of your activities, even if you found anything. Now not only do I have it on good authority that you have been liaising with a disgraced former police officer but you’ve dropped the hammer on David Sutherland.’

  Valentine saw where this was leading; there was no point in defending his actions now because the decision had already been made. ‘So, Kevin Rickards is to be smeared now too. It’s not enough he was thrown off the force for getting too close to the corridors of power.’

  ‘Leave it, Bob.’

  ‘That’s what this is about, isn’t it?’

  ‘I said, let it go. You’re off the investigation and the case will be taken up by a specialist unit who have been monitoring the situation for quite some time. I’d like you to prepare a full handover, including all your evidence and case notes.’

  ‘It’s a joke, right?’

  ‘Do I look like I’m laughing?’

  It was Valentine’s turn to point the finger. ‘You’ve thrown me under the bus. And what about Sutherland?’

  ‘He’ll be released.’

  ‘What? I have him on film assaulting a child.’

  ‘He’s already out the door. And another word, Bob, and you will be too. I don’t think you fancy paying off that big holiday on half-pay, so I’d shut up and march, now.’

  Valentine jumped to his feet, the blood racing in his veins. ‘That girl, that poor bloody girl.’

  ‘Empty the incident room and disband the squad.’

  ‘Who speaks for Abbie McGarvie now?’

  ‘I’m warning you, Bob.’

  ‘I have an officer in the hospital. He was shot, for what? To throw all our work out and let a pack of dark-suited nonces carry on regardless.’

  ‘Right, that’s it. Turn in your warrant card. I’m suspending you, effective immediately.’

  ‘You can do what you bloody well like,’ he raged, marching for the door.

  29

  Valentine ran down the stairs, powered by fiery resentment. At the entrance to the cells he pushed the door with such force that it rebounded noisily off the wall. The sergeant on the counter stood up and gazed at the DCI, struggling for the right words to greet him.

  ‘Where’s Sutherland?’ said the detective.

  ‘Gone. You just missed him – his lawyer came and picked him up.’

  Valentine smashed the heel of his hand on the wall and turned for the door. In the stairwell he pushed open the emergency fire doors that led to the car park. He strained his eyes in the low, late-afternoon sunlight, and caught the glinting movement of a car. As he set off running the scene swam into focus. He knew what he was doing wasn’t going to help the situation, but he didn’t care.

  The burgundy Jaguar screeched to a halt as Valentine stood in the road, right hand aloft like a halt sign. He watched the driver get out and start walking towards him, berating him in a threat-laden legalese, but he didn’t return the man’s gaze. He turned for the passenger: David Sutherland.

  Valentine’s movements were purposeful and swift, latching first on the door handle and next on Sutherland’s collars, pulling him out of the car in one smooth jerk and slamming him against the side window.

  ‘You must think you’re very smart, Sutherland,’ he growled.

  ‘Get your hands off me.’ His words were backed by a conscience-stricken gaze. ‘I’m warning you.’

  ‘You’ve nothing left to threaten me with.’

  ‘Get off me.’

  Valentine bundled him closer to the car, shoving hard. ‘You might think you’re going to get away with this a second time, and bumping off Malky, but you’re not. I’ve got your number, and all your big friends too. There’s no one left to save you. You can all go down together.’

  The lawyer started to peel at Valentine’s arms, belching platitudes about assault charges and official complaints. The detective ig
nored him, continuing his rant.

  ‘Do you hear me? You’ve got nowhere to run this time. I’m coming for you, one way or another; from now on you’ll spend your days looking back over your shoulder for me.’

  Sutherland looked defeated, the colour draining from his face. He didn’t reply to the threats now, merely curling himself as far from the DCI as he could get, turning his face away. Valentine’s arms ached and a tight band encircled his chest. He released Sutherland and pushed him away, sending him sliding towards the ground.

  The lawyer stood in front of Valentine, anger clearly swelling up inside him. ‘I’ll be calling for your dismissal for this!’

  Valentine grinned. ‘You’ll have to join the queue for that.’

  As he walked back to the station, he felt the tension surging in his arms and shoulders. He had achieved nothing with his actions, but something close to satisfaction was forming inside him. There would be a point, in the not too distant future, when he would regret what he had just done – he knew that – but it didn’t matter. His cares were for the young girl who had died, and what she had been through. Someone had to care about Abbie McGarvie’s death, and it gored him, more than he could express, that he was perhaps the only one who really did.

  Valentine knew what had occurred was a travesty, and he should fight it, but he didn’t know how. Other officers had tried and paid a dear price for it – one losing his livelihood and another just about losing his mind. There had to be a way to find proper justice, to expose what was going on, but now that he was off the case, and off the force, he didn’t have the answer to that quandary. But he wasn’t giving up, for Abbie, and also because he’d just promised Sutherland that he wasn’t going to stop until he and all his horrific clique were behind bars.

  In the station foyer Jim Prentice called out from behind the front desk, but Valentine flagged him down. There was a remark about being a sour puss, and rising in the ranks clearly not suiting him, but he resisted the goading. It was a welcome amusement to the detective that the latest news about his position hadn’t been picked up by the station’s top gossip yet.

  The DCI was half way up the stairs when his mobile rang.

  ‘Hello,’ he snapped.

  ‘Bob, finally got you.’ It was Kevin Rickards. ‘I’ve been ringing all day.’

  ‘It’s been a busy one.’

  ‘For me too. Look, I need to have a chat with you in person, and the sooner the better.’

  Valentine stopped ascending the stairs and balanced a hand on the rail. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I can’t talk on the phone. You understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’

  ‘How about where we met the last time?’

  ‘I know where you mean. I can be there in an hour.’

  ‘Okay, that’s good. Thanks, Bob. You won’t regret it, I can assure you of that.’

  He hung up and continued to the office, wondering what it was he wouldn’t regret – his mind bristling with curiosity but also doubts. At the top of the stairs he noticed DI McCormack leaning in the doorway of the main incident room; when she spotted the DCI she broke into a brisk jog in his direction.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘I’ve been like a first-time father on a maternity ward.’

  ‘I had a dust-up in the car park.’

  ‘What? Who with?’

  ‘Sutherland.’

  She grinned. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I wish I was joking.’ Valentine eased past the DI. ‘You better come in. I need to talk to the squad, and right away.’

  It felt warm in the packed room, compared to the windy car park. He loosened his collar and started to roll up his shirtsleeves. There was no point trying to compose his thoughts, to present a clear and cohesive explanation for why the lead detective on the investigation was being told to stand down, because he didn’t posses such a thing. It was one of those situations where it was best to detonate the explosives and retreat – the fallout was something they would have to deal with individually.

  After only a minute or two in the incident room the detective was already aware of a crowd forming around him. He strode to the front of the whiteboard and motioned for a huddle. DI McCormack was among the first to push to the front and place herself in a prominent position by his side.

  ‘Okay, if everyone’s here, I have an important announcement to make,’ said Valentine. ‘I’ve just come from a meeting with the chief super and, effective immediately, the Abbie McGarvie case is being taken over by special investigations.’

  ‘What?’ said DI McCormack. A low susurration of hushed voices spread around the room.

  Valentine nodded slowly, two or three times in succession. ‘I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s out of my hands now.’

  ‘Boss, we have an officer who was shot in the course of this investigation,’ said McCormack.

  ‘I have made that point too, I’m afraid it fell on fallow ground.’

  ‘This is beyond the pale.’

  ‘And, it gets worse.’ He motioned the group to quieten down. ‘Also, effective immediately, is my suspension from active duty.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I’m not going to mess about with a topic like that, Sylvia.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘It’s probably better I don’t go into details.’ He stepped away from the board. ‘DI McCormack will be in charge of the handover of the case; if you could give her your complete cooperation, please, that would be appreciated.’

  As the detective passed through the crowd of chattering, unhappy faces, DI McCormack bailed him up outside his office door. ‘Am I to get any more information or are we all going to be abandoned in the dark on this?’

  ‘Come in here.’ He nodded towards the door.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Sutherland’s movements were obviously being monitored when we brought him in. Either that or he made a call on the bat-phone while we were waiting for him to put on his coat and shoes.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He’s protected.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Valentine rounded up his jacket and briefcase. ‘The man’s not entertaining members of the highest political office because he likes their company. He’s running a sophisticated brownstoning ring under our noses. The airport, the estate, the Luciferian rites – it’s how the elites roll. Sutherland’s job is to facilitate it and record it so that no one gets out once they’re in the group’s clutches.’

  ‘And we have to just sit on this?’

  ‘What do you think would happen if we didn’t?’

  ‘You mean, what would the public do if they found out they were ruled over by psychopathic paedophiles?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

  ‘There’d be a revolution by the morning.’

  ‘Of course there would.’

  ‘So that’s your answer, we sweep it under the carpet?’

  Valentine put his coat on and closed up his briefcase. ‘Look, Sylvia, I’ve just been suspended and Dino is trembling like a constipated greyhound through there. I’m not any happier about this than you are. I don’t know what to say to you right now, but I might just know a man who does.’

  She stepped aside from the door. ‘Who might that be?’

  ‘Kevin Rickards. I’m going to meet him now. I can’t recommend you follow me, because that is likely to see you suspended too if anyone was to find out, but I’ll understand if your blood is running as hot as mine.’

  ‘Lead the way.’

  The shops and offices of Ayr had already emptied out, some of their staff making their way to O’Briens pub at the top of the town. The bar was busy, but not bustling. The days of workers seeking rowdy oblivion on the sounding of the shift’s close were largely a thing of the past. Mostly, men with pints were propped on stools, but a cocktail promotion had attracted some smartly dressed women from the professional set. The crowd looked content, happy, blis
sfully ignorant of the heinous crimes unfolding in their midst. Valentine looked over the gathering and wondered just how much success he’d have explaining what he’d learned in the last week to them. He realised none of them had a clue of the real nature of certain elements of their species, the most prominent members, but he couldn’t judge them for it. Their entire existence – the ruled and their rulers – depended on the tightest lid being kept on everything that went on.

  ‘Bob, over here,’ called Rickards.

  Valentine and McCormack moved over to the booth. As he stepped inside he noticed DI Davis sitting in the corner, crouched and pensive.

  ‘Hello, Ian,’ said the DCI. He didn’t know Davis was still maintaining regular contact with his former boss and the revelation seemed like another of his betrayals to add to a long list.

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier, y’know, kicking your desk. I’ll get it fixed,’ said Davis.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, turns out I won’t be needing it for a while.’

  They sat down around the table.

  ‘Why’s that?’ said Rickards. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘I’ve been suspended.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Rickards shook his head over the table, when he looked up again his eyes were shining. ‘I heard about the investigation being pulled.’

  Valentine stared at Davis, who looked away. The DCI didn’t like leaks on his squad, even if the information channel was facing the right way, and it burned inside him.

  ‘So they’re going by the play-book,’ said Rickards.

  ‘You could have predicted it, I suppose.’

  ‘Based on my experience, it was never going to play out any other way.’

  Davis cut in, ‘Where’s Sutherland?’

  ‘Last I saw him he was being driven away by a smarmy QC.’

  ‘He’ll be at home now, sprucing the place up for tonight.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  Rickards’ tongue prowled his top lip as he measured his response. ‘That’s why I called you here. To talk in private.’ His gaze was on McCormack.