Hard Evidence

'Didn't know if you wanted sauce but he put it on anyway.'

Delaney took a sandwich and nodded at Bonner. 'You hear anything, call me first.' He turned back to Sally as he opened the passenger side of the car. 'You can drive.'

'Where are we going?'

'Candy Morgan's counsellor. She poked around in her head for long enough, apparently; let's see if she found anything useful in there.'

'Guv.'

Sally got into the car as Delaney took a bite of his sandwich and chewed happily. In his opinion Roy, the science-fiction-obsessed burger boy, was an irritating feck. But he could cook a bacon sandwich.

He swallowed the mouthful, but as he thought about where Billy Martin might be, his hunger was suddenly gone. He thought about Jackie Malone lying on the morgue table, and then guiltily he thought about Kate Walker too. Thought about her long, shapely legs. Thought about her dark, luxuriant hair, the way she tossed it angrily back, the flash of her eyes and the soft curve of her bloodred lips. And despite himself he smiled.

Kate felt rather than saw the movement. She spun around, her arm flying up, palm forward, instinctively defensive. The blow glanced off her forearm, sliding painfully across her elbow. She gasped but didn't let the pain stop her from completing her spin, taking her out of harm's way. She centred herself and lashed out with her right foot, the kick reaching high to slam into her assailant's head.

The other woman was tall – at five ten she had a good couple of inches on Kate – but years of yoga had made Kate more than flexible, and there was anger behind the kick. The taller woman grunted, taken unawares, and dropped to her knees. Kate pulled back her hand, making an upside-down fist, her other hand held palm down to the side of her waist, and stepped up as her opponent fought to catch her breath. Their eyes locked as Kate readied herself.

'Enough.' The woman held up a hand. 'For Christ's sake, Kate, that felt like you meant it.'

Kate grimaced apologetically and held out a hand to help her up. 'Sorry, Jane. Didn't mean to knock you over.'

Jane laughed, wincing with pain. 'I'd hate to be here when you did.'

'Want to call it a draw?'

'I want to call it a day. This body is getting too old for this kind of abuse.'

Kate slapped her on the back. 'Rubbish.' At forty-five, Dr Jane Harrington still had the kind of body a lot of twenty-two-year-olds would envy. And as they walked off the exercise mats across the gym towards the showers, Kate could see that they were both getting a fair number of admiring glances. Some of them almost welcome.

In the shower block, Kate turned the dial medium high and stood under the fierce jets of steaming water. Her body ached all over, but it was a pleasant ache, the kind that only came from hard exercise, exercise that took her off into a different space and flooded her body with endorphins. She had always been sporty, even as a girl, but in martial arts she had really found her element. The discipline, the focus, the toughness of mind and body. And she was good at it. That was important to Kate; she didn't like to be second best at anything. And the confidence the training gave her was more than just a bonus. She liked to be in control of her life, and if somebody meant to hurt her, then they would find out just how in control she was. The hot water hammered her skin and she felt glowing, vibrant. She didn't know why she let that arrogant prick Delaney get under her skin, but he did, he always had. She smiled, a little guiltily, remembering how hard she had kicked her friend. She was sure that subconsciously it was Jack Delaney she wanted to be kicking. It was certainly him who had made her call Jane and suggest a workout. Sometimes you just had to burn the negative energy away, and the dojo was the best place Kate knew to do that. As a doctor she could see comic irony in violence as therapy, but it was controlled violence and Kate was all for it.

Jane held out a glass of orange juice as Kate walked up to join her at the sports club bar, dropping her holdall to the floor and taking the drink gratefully.

'I was beginning to think you'd drowned in that shower.'

'Was I long?'

'Kate, you are always long. But today I think you set a new record.'

'Sorry.' Kate clinked her glass against Jane's and took a long swallow, finishing half of it.

'So what's going on?'

Kate sat on the tall stool beside her and put her glass on the marble bar counter. 'What do you mean?'

'You seemed a bit distracted earlier.'

'Distracted?'

'Tense. Preoccupied. You don't usually knock seven bells out of me. Six maybe; not usually seven.'

'Just work.'

'Oh?'

Kate shook her head dismissively. 'Nothing specific, just a couple of cases.'

'Not like you to bring your work away from the office.'

'It's pretty nasty. A prostitute. She was cut up really badly.'

Jane looked at her closely as she took a deep swallow of her own drink.

'You know what I think you should do?'

Kate laughed. 'Come and work with you, I suppose?'

'I know your job isn't doing you any good.'

'I make a difference, Jane.'

'You took a Hippocratic oath to save lives. How is cutting up dead people doing that?'

'Because when I help catch a murderer and put them away, it stops them from killing again.'

Jane was unconvinced. 'Killing again? How many victims that you deal with are murdered by a serial killer?'

Kate didn't answer and Jane nodded smugly. 'Exactly. You know as well as I do that ninety-nine-point-something of all murders are committed by family members or friends or criminal associates. The serial killer is a myth for all practical purposes outside of American films and novels.'

'Not true. Serial killing has increased enormously in America. And what they have in America always ends up here a few years later.'

'Yeah. McDonald's maybe. And indoor bowling alleys and nude beach volleyball. But the Fred Wests and the Nilsens and the Shipmans, they're rare. They're nothing to do with some fashion from America. They make up a tiny fraction of your work and you know it.'

Kate laughed and shook her head. 'It's the same old story, Jane. I'm not going to change. I love what I do. The dead deserve justice just as much as the living.'

'Justice? You're a doctor, Kate, not a lawyer.'

'Either way, I'm not going to change my job. I love what I do.'

Jane laughed ironically. 'I hope you make a better forensic pathologist than you do an actress.'

'Why don't we change the subject?'

Jane fixed her with a look. 'Okay. How's the love life?'

'What love life?'

'Something has got you coiled up like a jungle cat stuck in a bathtub of soapy water, and if it isn't work… it's got to be a man.'

Kate shook her head. 'What is it they say? A woman needs a man like a fish needs a deep fat fryer.'

Jane leaned in and looked her in the eye. 'Yeah. Definitely a man. You going to tell me about it?'

Kate stood up and finished her drink. 'I have to get back to work.'

Jane called after her. 'Just tell me it's not one of your clients.'

Elaine Simmons was in her early fifties. Dressed conservatively in a thick woollen skirt and jacket, despite the heat. Delaney was used to judging people by appearances, and he knew Ms Simmons was aware of it. After all, they both played the same kind of game. Delaney was used to reading people so he could help put them behind bars. Ms Simmons was used to reading people to keep them out. If asked for his views on the role counsellors played in keeping crime statistics down, he wasn't usually complimentary.

'The point is, Ms Simmons, you recommended Candy Morgan for release.'

Elaine Simmons smiled at him in a neutral kind of way. 'I'm guessing here that you don't usually have much time for the likes of me, Inspector.'

'You'd be guessing right.'

'Wishy-washy liberals, holding the criminals' hands and treating them with more respect than their victims.'

'Sounds about the right description.'

'We all have a job to do.'