Rolling her wine glass between the palms of her hands Dawn opened up by likening herself to him; a career detective devoted to work — but also ambitious. “I don’t mean to the point where I’ll trample over anyone to get what I want to achieve.” He saw that she appeared to be searching his face for a look of understanding to the comment she had just made.
Michael nodded approvingly — inviting her to continue.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a hard-nosed bitch. It’s just that over the years some of the older end — especially male supervisors have dismissed me when I’ve wanted to take a particular route towards something, or they’ve taken credit for something I’ve done. So I just want to show them I’m as good as them or even better.” She smiled “Am I scaring you?”
He almost laughed. “Not one bit. I know exactly what you mean.” He took a sip of the red wine and then nodded towards her hand. “I’ve noticed the wedding ring. How’s your hubby cope with the job?”
He noticed Dawn’s eyes glass over. She set down her wine and began twisting the gold band around her finger. “He’s left me,” she replied. Her voice was suddenly brittle.
“Oh I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, you weren’t to know. You know what you said earlier about not seeing it coming — so wrapped up in your job. Well snap — that’s me as well. I found out a month ago. The bastard. He’d been seeing a colleague from his office for the last two and half years. When I thought he was away on conferences he was in fact screwing her in a hotel somewhere. It all came out after I took a phone call from one of the hotels where they’d stayed — he’d left behind his credit card.” She stopped twiddling with her wedding ring and picked up her wine glass. “He didn’t even try to deny it. Said it was my fault — I was never at home — always at work — and what did I expect. He’s moved in with her and consulted a solicitor — he wants a divorce.”
“Dawn I’m so sorry.” He fixed her teary eyes. “I know what you’re going through.” He raised his glass. “I know a good cure for the blues though — I’ll order another bottle of red. Let’s get drunk.”
For the next hour they continued drinking. Michael did his best to brighten her mood with more of his ‘office’ stories. It worked; she was soon in fits of giggles again.
Draining the last of his wine he peered over his glass and searched Dawn’s face. He studied her eyes and she returned his look with her own probing intent.
He reached across and lightly touched her hand. “I’ll order a taxi. Do you fancy coming back to my place — for a nightcap — instead of going back to your lonely hotel room?”
“Will we regret this in the morning?”
“I’ll regret it if you say no.”
A smile lit up her face. “You’ve talked me into it.”
His heart lifted.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DAY TWENTY FIVE: 17th September.
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Marcus Hill had been a police officer for fifteen years and he had developed ‘a nose’ for sniffing out when something wasn’t right. And as he watched the grey Ford Mondeo in the distance, circling, ever so slowly, around the recently cropped wheat field, he had that feeling that something was wrong.
Firstly, because the farmer who owned this field had a red Nissan Navarro, and besides he’d only ever seen the farmer’s tractor going around in that field. And secondly, there had been quite a few complaints over the years about fly-tipping in this locality. Thirdly, the lane just above the field was where a couple of burned out stolen cars had been found in recent months.
Marcus had spotted the Ford Mondeo two minutes earlier. He had been making his way back to the station for his meal, having spent the last twenty minutes driving around the countryside section of his beat — where the roads were less congested, and where the scenery was better. It had been an unusually quiet afternoon, and he was taking every opportunity to savour the tranquil moment — these instances were few and far between — especially on the afternoon shift.
The car had attracted his attention because it had emerged from a copse of trees, which he knew was the site of a ruined eighth century chapel. He had an interest in local history, and he knew it had protected status.
Marcus pulled his police car off the road and drifted up onto the grass verge, settling next to a gap in the hedge, where he hoped for a better view. He saw that the Mondeo had come to a stop, but such was the angle of its parking that he was unable to get a view of its number plate. He watched as the passenger door opened. A man dressed in a long dark coat disembarked.
Leaning across the passenger seat of the police car Marcus strained his eyes to get a clearer description but he was too far away. He watched on as the dark clothed man made his way to the rear of the Mondeo where he popped open the tailgate.
Marcus decided he had seen enough. His suspicions were aroused. He radioed in, using his personal airwaves set, informing the communications room operator what he could see, and asked for back up. Then he pulled back onto the road and set off towards the track, half a mile away, where he knew he would be able to get access to where the Mondeo was.
The public bridle-path he turned onto was rutted and undulated and lined by heavy hawthorn bushes, and it took him much longer than he had anticipated finding an opening into the field.
Marcus spotted the gap at the last moment, and pulling the steering hard left, bounced up and over a tufted incline, and dropped down hard onto the recently harvested field. The heavy landing knocked the wind out him and he slammed on the brakes. The police car skidded to a halt. As he grabbed his breath he scoured the fields to gather his bearings. He espied the Mondeo twenty yards away, though he realised, when he saw that both front doors were open, and the car devoid of passengers, that he had lost the element of surprise.
He flung open his driver’s door and sprinted towards the car, giving an update over his personal radio, whilst at the same time searching the field with his eyes to see if anyone was making a run for it.
There was no sign of life. He guessed they had dashed into the copse where the old chapel was. Once his colleagues arrived Marcus knew that there would be nowhere for them to hide. They’d surround them and soon flush them out.
He stopped at the Mondeo, craning his neck inside, through the open doors, just in case one of them was laying low in the seats. The car was empty. Then he made his way to the rear where the tailgate was still up.
Now let’s see what you were up to, shall we!
What he found in the boot momentarily startled him — curled up in the foetal position lay a man, and he’d seen enough corpses in his time to realise this man was dead.
The sudden rustle of leaves coming from the coppice behind made Marcus jerk up his head. Emerging through the bushes and into relief he saw a stocky built man. A black woollen ski mask covered his head. He reached for his baton and simultaneously depressed the emergency button of his radio — his Status-Zero alert — a signal which overrode all other communications on that channel and let colleagues know that he was in imminent danger.
Marcus never heard the footsteps behind him and never felt the blow to his head, though his ears registered the sharp crack as his skull fractured.
The very last thing he saw, before his vision pitched into darkness, was the galaxy of stars which exploded inside his head.