The Wire in the Blood

by Val McDermid

  ‘I’m surprised she was out there without back-up,’ Brandon said. The words were censure enough without the look of reproach on his face.

  ‘That wasn’t the intention,’ Carol said flatly.

  ‘For both our sakes, I hope you can substantiate that.’ It wasn’t a threat, Carol realized, seeing the warmth of regret in his eyes.

  Carol stared unseeing at the scarred wood of her desk top. ‘Somehow, I can’t get worked up about that now, sir.’

  Brandon’s voice hardened. ‘Well, I suggest you do, Chief Inspector. Di Earnshaw doesn’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for herself. All we can do for her now is take her killer off the streets. When can I expect an arrest?’

  Stung, Carol jerked her head up and glared at Brandon. ‘Just as soon as DC Whitbread gets back here with the evidence, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Brandon got to his feet. ‘Once you have a clearer idea what happened out there last night, we’ll talk.’ The ghost of a smile crossed his eyes. ‘You’re not to blame, Carol. You can’t be on duty twenty-four hours a day.’

  Carol stared at the empty doorway after he’d gone, wondering how many years it had taken John Brandon to learn how to let go. Then, weighing up what she knew of the man, she wondered if he ever had, or if he’d simply learned to hide it better.

  * * *

  Leon looked around, bemused. ‘I thought Newcastle was supposed to be the last place on earth where men were men and sheep ran scared?’

  ‘You got a problem with a vegetarian pub?’ Chris Devine asked mildly.

  Simon grinned. ‘He only pretends he likes his meat raw.’ He sipped his pint experimentally. ‘Nothing wrong with the bevvy, though. How did you find out about this place?’

  ‘Don’t ask and you won’t be embarrassed, babe. Just trust your senior officer, especially when she’s a woman. So, how are we doing?’ Chris asked. ‘I got nowhere showing her picture round the station. Nobody in the buffet or the ticket office or the bookstall remembered seeing her.’

  ‘The bus station was the same,’ Simon reported. ‘Not a sausage. Except that one of the drivers said, was it not that lass that went missing in Sunderland a couple of years back?’ They contemplated the irony glumly.

  ‘I got a sniff,’ Leon said. ‘I talked to one of the train guards, and he put me on to a cafe where all the drivers and guards go for a brew and a bacon butty on their breaks. I sat down with the guys and flashed the photos. One of them reckoned he was pretty sure he’d seen her on the Carlisle train. He remembered because she double-checked with him what time the train got into Five Walls Halt and that they were running on time.’

  ‘When was this?’ Chris asked, offering him an encouraging cigarette.

  ‘He couldn’t be sure. But he reckoned it was the week before last.’ Leon didn’t have to remind them that timetable would fit perfectly with Donna Doyle’s disappearance.

  ‘Where’s Five Walls Halt?’ Simon asked.

  ‘It’s somewhere in the middle of nowhere this side of Hexham,’ Chris informed him. ‘Near Hadrian’s Wall. And presumably another four. And don’t ask how I know that either, right?’

  ‘So what’s at Five Walls Halt that she’d want to get off there?’

  Leon looked at Chris. She shrugged. ‘I’m only guessing, but I’d say it might be somewhere near Jacko Vance’s place in the country. Which, I don’t have to tell you, we’re not supposed to be going anywhere near.’

  ‘We could go to Five Walls Halt, though,’ Leon said.

  ‘Not until you finish that pint, we can’t,’ Simon prompted.

  ‘Leave the pint,’ Chris instructed him. ‘She can’t have been the only one who got off the train there. If we’re going knocking on doors, we don’t want to smell like a brewery.’ She got to her feet. ‘Let’s go and discover the beauties of the Northumberland countryside. Did you bring your wellies?’

  Leon and Simon exchanged a look of panic. ‘Thanks, Chris,’ Leon muttered sarcastically as they trailed after her into the soft rain.

  * * *

  Alan Brinkley stood under the shower, the cascade of water almost scalding. The man who made the decisions had finally decreed that the officers who had fought the fierce fire at the paint factory could be stood down and replaced by a smaller crew who would damp down the hot spots and keep their fresh eyes peeled for anything significant among the wreckage. No one in authority was taking any chances now the body had been found.

  At the thought of the body, a shudder convulsed Brinkley from head to foot. In spite of the steaming heat, his teeth chattered involuntarily. He wasn’t going to think about the body. Normal, he had to be normal. But what was normal? How did he usually behave when there had been a fatal fire? What did he say to Maureen? How many beers did he drink the night after? What did his mates see in his face?

  He slumped against the streaming tiles of the shower cubicle, tears falling invisibly from his eyes. Thank God for the privacy of the new fire station, not like the old communal showers they’d had when he’d learned his trade. In the shower now, no one could see him weep.

  He couldn’t get the smell out of his nostrils, the taste out of his mouth. He knew it was imagination; the chemicals in the paint factory overlaid any hint of incinerated flesh. But it was as real as it had ever been. He didn’t even know her name, but he knew what she smelled like, what she tasted like now.

  His mouth opened in a silent scream and he pounded with the sides of his fists against the solid wall, making no sound. Behind him, the shower curtain rattled back on its metal hoops. He turned slowly, pressing himself into the corner of the cubicle. He’d seen the man and the woman before, inside the scene-of-crime tapes at the fires. He watched the woman’s lips move, heard her voice, but could not process what she was saying.

  It didn’t matter. He suddenly knew this was the only relief. He slid down the wall into a foetal crouch. He found his voice and started to sob like a damaged child.

  * * *

  Chris Devine was only a few miles out of Newcastle when her mobile rang. ‘It’s me, Tony. Any joy?’

  She filled him in on the limited success of their morning, and in turn he told her about his failure to convince Wharton and McCormick to take him seriously. ‘It’s a nightmare,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford to hang around indefinitely on this. If Donna Doyle is still alive, every hour could count. Chris, I think the only thing to do is for me to confront him with the evidence and hope we can panic him into a confession or an incriminating move.’

  ‘That’s what killed Shaz,’ Chris said. Mentioning her name brought the grief back like a physical blow. If she could ignore the bright presence Shaz had been in her life and the darkness of her absence, she could get through this in a fair simulacrum of the normal breezy Chris Devine. But every time Shaz was mentioned by name, it knocked the breath from her. She suspected she wasn’t the only one who suffered a reaction; it would explain why Shaz was seldom spoken of directly.

  ‘I wasn’t planning on going it alone. I need back-up.’

  ‘What about Carol?’

  There was a long silence. ‘Carol lost an officer in the night.’

  ‘Ah, shit. Her arsonist?’

  ‘Her arsonist. She’s beating herself up because she thinks her involvement in this made her derelict in her duty. She’s wrong, as it happens, but there’s no way she can walk away from her responsibilities in Seaford today.’

  ‘Sounds like she’s got more shit on her plate right now than anyone should ever have to eat. Yeah, forget Carol.’

  ‘I’m going to need you down there, Chris. Can you bear to pull out and go back to London? Now?’

  She didn’t have to hesitate for a moment. When it came to catching the man who brutalized Shaz Bowman’s beautiful face before destroying her soul, there wasn’t much Chris would have refused. ‘No problem. I’ll flag the lads down and tell them.’

  ‘You can tell them Kay’s on her way, too. She was waiting for me when I got back from Leeds HQ this morning. I’
ll call her and tell her to head for Five Walls Halt station. She can meet Simon and Leon there.’

  ‘Thank God there’ll be one person there with a bit of common sense,’ she said ironically. ‘She can keep the lid on Die Hard one and two.’

  ‘Getting a bit gung-ho, are they?’

  ‘There’s nothing they’d love more than kicking Jacko Vance’s head in. Failing that, they’d settle for his front door.’ She spotted a lay-by on the fast dual carriageway and indicated she was going to pull over, checking in her mirror that Simon and Leon were following.

  ‘I was thinking of reserving that pleasure for myself.’

  Chris gave a grunt of sardonic laughter. ‘Join the queue, babe. I’ll call you when I hit the M25.’

  * * *

  The officers in the canteen broke into a ragged round of applause as Carol and Lee Whitbread walked in. Carol nodded a distant acknowledgement, Lee doing better with a wan smile. Two coffees, two doughnuts, her treat, then they were out of there and heading back to the CID room. It would be at least an hour before Alan Brinkley’s solicitor could get there, and till then, he was off limits.

  Halfway up the stairs, she turned and blocked Lee’s way. ‘Where was he?’

  Lee looked shifty. ‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled. ‘Must have been in a radio black spot.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Carol said. ‘Come on, Lee. This isn’t the time for false loyalty. Di Earnshaw would probably still be alive if Taylor had been watching her back like he was supposed to. It could have been you. Next time it could be. So where was he? Over the side?’

  Lee scratched his eyebrow. ‘The nights we were on together, he stuck with it till gone midnight. Then he called in and said he were going for a bevvy to Corcoran’s.’

  ‘If he’d done that with Di, why would she have been shouting for back-up over the radio?’ Carol demanded.

  Lee squirmed, his mouth twisting awkwardly. ‘He wouldn’t have told Di. Not one of the lads, was she?’

  Carol closed her eyes momentarily. ‘You’re telling me I’ve lost one of my officers because of traditional Yorkshire male chauvinism?’ she said incredulously.

  Lee dropped his eyes and studied the step he stood on. ‘None of us thought owt would happen.’

  Carol turned on her heel and marched upstairs, leaving Lee to trail in her wake. This time when she shouldered open the squad-room door, Tommy Taylor jumped to his feet. ‘Guv,’ he began.

  ‘Chief Inspector to you. My office. Now.’ She waited for him to move ahead of her. ‘You know something, Taylor? I’m ashamed to work in the same squad as you.’ The other detectives in the room suddenly developed total fascination with their routine tasks.

  Carol kicked the door shut behind her. ‘Don’t bother sitting down,’ she said, moving behind her desk and dropping into her chair. For this interview, she didn’t need artificial aids like standing while her junior officer sat. ‘DC Earnshaw is lying in the morgue incinerated because you went on the piss while you were supposed to be working.’

  ‘I never…’ he began.

  Carol simply raised her voice and continued. ‘There will be an official inquiry where you can bullshit all you like about radio black spots. By that time, I’ll have statements from every drunk in Corcoran’s. I am going to bury you, Taylor. Until you’re officially drummed out of this force, you’re on suspension. Now get out of my squad room and stay away from my officers.’

  ‘I never thought she were at risk,’ he said pathetically.

  ‘The reason we get our wages is that we’re always at risk,’ Carol snapped. ‘Now get out of my sight and pray you don’t get reinstated because there isn’t a cop in East Yorkshire who would piss on you if you were on fire.’

  Taylor backed out, carefully closing the door behind him. ‘Feel better now?’ Carol said under her breath. ‘And you’re the woman who said she’d never pass the buck.’ Her head dropped into her hands. She knew any inquiry would lay little blame at her door. It didn’t stop her feeling that Di Earnshaw’s blood stained her hands as much as Taylor’s. And once the identification was official, she was the one who’d have to break the news to her parents.

  At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Jacko Vance and Donna Doyle any more. That, thank God, must be someone else’s problem by now.

  * * *

  When Chris Devine had talked about knocking on doors, Simon and Leon had pictured a neat little village with two or three streets. Neither of them had considered the area served by a small station halfway between Carlisle and Hexham. Apart from the straggle of houses that made up Five Walls Halt itself, there were farms, smallholdings, outlying pockets of agricultural cottages now colonized by city commuters, holiday homes and cramped council estates snagged improbably in the distant corners of narrow valleys. They’d ended up in a tourist information office buying Ordnance Survey maps.

  Once Kay arrived, they split the area among themselves, agreeing to meet back at the station at the end of the afternoon. It was a thankless task, but one that Kay was more successful with than the others. People always talked more to a woman on their doorstep than they ever would to a man. By late afternoon, she’d got two possible sightings of Donna Doyle. Both put her on their regular evening train home, but neither could be certain of the day.

  She’d also discovered the location of Jacko Vance’s hideaway. One of the doors she’d knocked on had belonged to the roofer who’d replaced the black slate roof of the former chapel only five years before. Her oblique raising of the subject and her gossipy questioning about Vance had left him unsuspicious. He would merely mention down the pub that night that women coppers were just like any other women when it came to being pushovers for a famous name with a nice smile and a big bank balance.

  By the time the three reconvened, she had added a few more bits and pieces to her store of knowledge. Vance had bought the place a dozen years before, maybe six months or so after his accident. It hadn’t been much more than four walls and a roof, and he’d spent a fair whack of cash on doing it up. When he’d married Micky, the locals had expected them to use it as a weekend cottage, but instead he’d used it more as a retreat; a useful base for the voluntary work he did at the hospital in Newcastle. No one knew why he’d chosen the area. He had no roots or connections to it as far as anyone knew.

  Leon and Simon were excited by her information. They had little to offer themselves apart from a couple of dubious sightings of Donna. One put her in the station car park, getting into a vehicle. But the witness couldn’t remember the day, the time or the make of the wheels. ‘It’s no coincidence that witness sounds very like witless,’ Leon said. ‘We’re not getting anywhere with this shit. Let’s go over Vance’s place.’

  ‘Tony said to stay away,’ Simon objected.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea,’ Kay agreed.

  ‘What harm can it do? Listen, if he picked up the kid here and took her back to his gaff, chances are somebody local might have seen him. We can’t just go back to Leeds now, not knowing this much.’

  ‘We should call Tony first,’ Simon said stubbornly.

  Leon cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘OK,’ he sighed. He made great play of getting his phone out and tapping in a number. Neither of the others thought to check it was Tony’s number. As the ringing tone continued without interruption, Leon said triumphantly, ‘He’s not answering, right? So what harm can it do if we go and check it out? Shit, that kid could still be alive, and we’re talking about sitting on our butts till Christmas? Come on, we got to do something.’

  Kay and Simon exchanged a look. Neither wanted to contradict Tony’s orders. But equally, they were too infected with the glory of the chase to bear sitting around doing nothing while a young woman’s life might be on the line. ‘All right,’ Kay said. ‘But all we do is take a look around. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Leon enthusiastically.

  ‘I hope so,’ Simon said wearily. ‘I really hope so.’

  * * *

  Chris De
vine sipped a double espresso and drew deeply on another cigarette in an attempt to keep her tiredness at bay. At tea-time on a Sunday, the Shepherd’s Bush diner was less lively than a funeral parlour. ‘Run it past me again,’ she commanded Tony.

  ‘I go to the house. According to your contact’s schedule for him, Vance was supposed to be compering a charity fashion show in Kensington this afternoon, so he’s not going to be in Northumberland.’

  ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t be hitting his place up there first?’ Chris interrupted. ‘If Donna Doyle’s still alive…’

  ‘And if she’s not there? We couldn’t start poking around without the locals noticing and probably getting straight on the phone to Vance. And then we’re completely blown. At the moment, he doesn’t know for sure that anybody’s close to him. All he knows is that I’ve been sticking my nose in. That’s the only advantage we’ve got. We have to go straight for the direct confrontation.’

  ‘What if his wife’s there? He’s not going to risk her hearing anything you might have to say to him about Shaz.’

  ‘If Micky and Betsy are there, he’ll make damn sure he gets me out of their way before I get the chance to say a word. In a way, it’s safer for me if they are around, since I’m more likely to get out in one piece.’

  ‘I suppose so. You better take me through it, then,’ she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

  ‘I tell Jacko I’ve been working independently of the police and I’ve uncovered important video evidence relating to Shaz Bowman’s death that I think he might be able to help us with. He’ll let me in because I’m alone and he’ll figure he can dispose of me the same way he got rid of Shaz if it emerges that I really am a lone maverick. I show him the enhanced video and the stills and accuse him. You are sitting outside in your car with a radio receiver and a tape recorder picking up everything that’s transmitted from the mike in this natty little pen I bought in Tottenham Court Road on the way here.’ Tony wiggled the pen in front of Chris’s nose.