Hard Evidence

Delaney stood up angrily and crossed to her, grabbing her wrist. 'What's this got to do with her?'

Stella flinched backwards, out of his grasp, taken aback by the anger in his voice. She rubbed her wrist, passively dismissive. 'It's got nothing to do with her as far as I know.'

'So why mention her?'

'Because she's dead, Inspector Delaney. She was supposed to be your friend. And now she's dead.'

The anger in Delaney's eyes was replaced momentarily with something else, something guarded. 'What did she tell you about me?'

'Come off it, Inspector. You think we don't talk to each other? You think I don't know what was going on?'

'I looked out for her, that's all.'

Stella let his statement hang for a moment, then smiled at him. 'And you did a real good job.'

Sally looked over at Delaney, puzzled. 'Guv?'

Delaney shook his head. 'It's got nothing to do with this.'

Stella nodded. 'Like I say, the police's assurances of protection don't exactly count for a great deal. You've worked the streets as long as I have, you learn that pretty fast.'

'If you know something about where Candy Morgan is, Stella, you damn well better tell me what it is.'

Stella met his gaze, almost sympathetic. 'I know she was planning to get back at her family.'

'Get back how?'

'I don't know. She didn't tell me everything. It was something she was going to do. That's all she said. She was going to get back at them big time. Hurt them in the worst way possible.'

Delaney looked hard into her eyes; she didn't flinch or look away. 'She gets in touch with you, you call me, okay?'

Stella gave the slightest of nods, and Delaney gestured to Sally to join him. He looked back at Stella as they walked to the door. 'You'd do well to remember it's not just losing your parole that you've got to be scared of.'

16.

Delaney pulled his seatbelt with an angry tug around his shoulder and snapped it into place.

'Guv. About what she was saying?'

'Just leave it, Sally.'

'I was just going to say, if Jackie Malone was a friend of yours then I'm sorry. And if I can help…'

Delaney looked at her and sighed, shaking his head.

'I just want you to know I've got your back.'

'I appreciate it.' Delaney flipped the radio on. A group of teenage boys were singing close harmony in a language Delaney didn't understand even though it was English. He pushed the tuning button and Johnny Cash came on the air; he was going to walk the line apparently. Something Delaney had stopped doing a long time ago.

Kate sat back down at her desk. Collecting together the glossy photos of Jackie Malone pre-and post-post-mortem. In two dimensions the wounds looked worse somehow. Kate knew that they were inflicted after she had died, but laid out like that on her desk they seemed too graphic, too manufactured. Somebody turning mutilation into an art form, making a statement out of the slashes and cuts in Jackie Malone's naked body like the symbols of a grotesque new language. What was it they were trying to say? she wondered.

Her job was to deconstruct the manner of death, not the meaning of it, and yet as she looked at the black-and-white photos she found herself thinking that she could identify the killer's signature if only she could understand the language he was speaking. She could almost hear Delaney's mocking voice in her head. Could she do her bloody job or not?

She shivered, despite the heat, and scooped the photos up, sliding them into a large white envelope and put them into her desk drawer, slamming it shut. Damn the man. Damn him straight to Irish hell!

She ran the back of her hand across her forehead, swallowing; her throat had gone suddenly dry. She looked at her watch and decided to break for lunch. Something she rarely did, usually just grabbing a sandwich at her desk. But she needed some air. She needed to get out.

She left the building, stopping to draw in a lungful of the hot, dry air, and then walked away, leaving the morgue behind. She felt a slight prickling in her back and looked over her shoulder; no one was there, but as she continued to walk she couldn't quite throw away the feeling of disquiet. She shook the thoughts away again. Whoever had done what they did to Jackie Malone hadn't done it to leave Kate Walker a personal message, and thinking that they had was plainly ridiculous. So why did the skin on her back still crawl?

Delaney looked at his watch, running his sleeve over his sweating forehead. It had been a long day but it was still only two o'clock. The sun riding high in the sky burned hotter than ever. Bonner carried two large Styrofoam cups of coffee up to Delaney as he leaned back against his car talking on his mobile phone.

Sally Cartwright was still waiting at the serving hatch of Bab's Kebabs, a burger van that to her knowledge had never sold kebabs, and that was permanently stationed conveniently close to the White City nick, in a little industrial park. Roy, the man who owned and ran the van, was a big fan of science fiction, apparently, but if there was a connection Sally wasn't a good enough detective to find it. Roy was unimpressed as he dangled the herbal tea bag that Sally had provided into a cup of hot water.

'You drink this shit and you're never going to make detective inspector. Black coffee and doughnuts, that's what you should be having.'

'And you watch too much American television.'

Roy scowled. 'What television should I be watching? British?'

Sally considered. He had a point.

'Best shows in recent years. Battlestar Galactica, Heroes, A Town Called Eureka. All American.'

'Right,' said Sally, not really listening; she hadn't seen any of them.

'And look at the garbage we put out. Cape Wrath? Do me a favour.' Roy flipped the bacon sizzling on his grill, warming to his theme. 'And don't get me started on Doctor Who.' He glared back at her with the impassioned eyes of a zealot. 'Should have stopped with Tom Baker.'

'Not my thing.'

'Yeah, well.' Roy flicked the herbal tea bag into the bin. 'What would you know anyway? You're only just out of school uniform yourself. But if Doctor Who was supposed to be a grinning idiot then he would have been written that way from the start. He's not a bloody Blue Peter presenter, is he?'

'I think he's quite sexy.'

'Sexy! He's Scottish!'

Sally didn't have an answer for that so stayed silent as she watched Roy spear the bacon from the griddle and lay it across some thick slices of white bread.

'I suppose next you'll be telling me you want red sauce with these.'

Sally jerked her thumb backwards at Delaney and Bonner. 'They're for them. I don't eat bacon sandwiches.'

'Maybe you should.'

'Why?'

'What is it they say? You are what you eat. And this is pig, isn't it?'

'Good one, Roy. Tell it to Delaney.'

Roy shrugged. 'Nah. He's a miserable fucker. Am I right?'

Sally laughed, despite herself. 'You're not wrong.'

'Never am, me.'

Sally collected the sandwiches and walked away before he could get started on Red Dwarf.

Across at the car, Delaney was finishing his call. 'He can't have just vanished off the face of the planet. Look harder.'

He folded his phone as Bonner handed him one of the coffees. 'Billy Martin?'

'Nobody's seen him. Nobody's heard anything about him. For days now.'

Bonner shrugged. 'He'll turn up, boss. He's a regular turd. Flush the cistern round the sewer a few times and he's bound to come floating up sooner or later, smelling of shit and talking the same.'

'Later might be too late.' Delaney saw Sally approaching and changed the subject. 'What have you got for me on Candy Morgan?'

Bonner looked puzzled. 'Nothing. You told me to-'

Delaney held up his hand to cut him off as Sally joined them, holding out the sandwiches.