Hard Evidence

But the thing that lay on the bank would never go swimming again, would never dart and shimmer in the cool water, and, truth to tell, had never been considered beautiful.

Delaney pushed roughly through a crowd of morbid onlookers and ducked under the yellow police tape, wincing as his neck muscles objected. He walked over to the group of officers processing the scene, followed by an amused Bonner.

'You're getting old, Cowboy.'

'Every day.' He was surprised to see Kate Walker in attendance. Henley was out in the sticks, and although her accent blended into the background as smoothly as a cucumber slice in a crust-trimmed sandwich, she was a town girl work-wise. Strictly city limits.

'Bit out of your jurisdiction isn't it, Dr Walker?'

'I was asked.' Kate turned her attention back to the thing that had washed up on the shallow bank. The time in the water had not been kind to Billy Martin. His corpse was bloated with gas and his skin was loose and grey; a rough stroke would slough that skin straight off the body.

'Lucky for us he was carrying ID. His mother wouldn't recognise him.'

Delaney watched, feeling neither pity nor loss, as Kate carefully tilted the head to one side. Billy Martin was the kind of person Delaney joined the police force to hurt. Not physically hurt, but in every other way he could. To stop him and to stop his kind. He was a pimp, a rapist, a trader in other people's misery, and Delaney wouldn't have thrown him a rope of piss to save him from drowning. What he did feel as he looked down on Billy Martin's aborted body was disappointment. His death was linked to his sister Jackie Malone's death, Delaney was sure of it, and now whatever secrets Billy Martin had to tell were beyond his powers of persuasion to extract. Delaney dealt with the living; it was up to Kate Walker now to probe Martin's inner recesses and find, if any, what secrets the bloated corpse might conceal.

'What have you got?'

Kate looked back up at Delaney, squinting still in the bright sunlight. 'He was tied up with coat-hanger wire. Hands and feet. Then dumped in the water.'

'Alive?'

Kate nodded grimly. 'For a while.'

'They say drowning is one of the better ways to die.'

'Not like this. He must have been terrified out of his wits.'

'Billy Martin didn't have a lot of those.'

'You knew him?'

'He's Jackie Malone's brother. Her maiden name was Martin.'

'What happened to her husband?'

'He died of a heroin overdose eight months after they got married and six months after she fell pregnant.'

'Not a lucky family.'

'Never were. Can you make a guess at what time it happened?'

'Judging by the state of his skin and the time he was found, I would say he's been in the water a few days. Roughly about the time of the Malone murder. Can't be more specific, I'm afraid.'

'Anything else you can tell me now?'

Kate nodded towards one of the forensic officers. 'He had a quarter of an ounce of cocaine on him. Kept sweet in a waterproof plastic container.'

'Convenient.'

'Yeah.'

Delaney took in the dark lustre of her hair, the brilliant flash of emerald from her eyes, the way she almost always had a hint of a smile dancing on her lips, then he caught himself and looked down again at Billy Martin's grossly disfigured face.

'Thanks, Kate.' A dismissal. He walked over to speak to the Scene of Crime Officers, feeling her gaze on his back but not turning round.

Half a mile or so upriver from where the body of Billy Martin was found was an old ivy-covered brick pub called the Saracen's Head. Bonner, at the bar, scowled as Delaney fed the jukebox some more coins and punched buttons. It was an old-fashioned country pub. The kind that had a large fireplace and bowls of water and nibbles for dogs. A pub with history, with original oak beams and warm brick walls, and photos of the Victorian forebears of local people who still used the place. A half-a-yard-of-ale glass hung on the wall, and the stone flags on the floor in front of the bar were worn smooth and slightly concave by the countless pairs of feet that had walked across them over the passing centuries.

It had tradition and heritage, everything Bonner hated in a pub, Delaney surmised, judging by the look on his face as he joined him at the bar. Bonner took his change from a twenty-something barman who had the same enthusiasm for his work as a duck has for orange sauce, then handed Delaney his pint, his frown deepening as the sound of a Dixie Chick, regretting losing her virginity to someone named Earl, started playing in the background.

Delaney took a swallow of his ale. 'Jesus, Eddie, what is this shit?'

'They call it Old Peculier for a reason, boss. It's supposed to taste like that. I thought you'd like it.' He smiled, taking a pull on his own cold pint of lager.

Delaney put his glass back on the counter, wiping his lips as Kate Walker came in through the front door and walked over to them. She smiled tentatively at Delaney. 'Hot out there.'

'It is.'

'Thought I'd join you for a drink, if it's not a problem?'

Bonner moved a bar stool across for her. 'Of course it isn't.'

Kate flashed a quick smile at the young barman, who had suddenly become more interested in his job. 'Vodka and tonic, please.'

The barman nodded enthusiastically and took down a glass. Kate looked across at Delaney and arched an eyebrow. 'Anything for you, Inspector?'

Delaney gestured at his glass of ale. 'I'll trade this for a whisky, please.'

Kate looked over at Bonner. 'Sergeant?'

'I'm fine with this, thanks.'

The barman lifted a hefty whisky glass to the optic, but Kate stopped him before he could pour. 'The good stuff, and make it a double.'

He nodded and poured out a large shot of Glenmorangie and put the glass on the bar.

Kate gestured. 'Scottish whisky all right with you?'

Delaney picked up the glass. 'We live in troubled times, Dr Walker. So needs must when the Devil drives.'

'It's Kate. Please.'

Delaney swirled the whisky around the glass, the sun lighting it to a sparkling tawny gold. He held it up to Kate. 'Slainte.'

'What does that mean exactly?'

Delaney considered for a moment. 'That I'm probably living in the wrong country.'

Kate clinked her glass against his and drained her vodka and tonic in one. 'I have to go.'

Delaney looked surprised. 'You just got here.'

'Just for a quick one, it's so damn hot out there. And besides, I'm driving. Got a date with Billy Martin waiting for me back in the office.'

'Be careful. He's got a reputation,' said Bonner.

Kate looked pointedly at Delaney. 'Haven't they all?'

Delaney almost smiled. 'Drive carefully.' He watched her as she walked to the door. There was definitely an animal litheness in her movement, a sensuality that wasn't lost on him or on the young barman, who was watching her leave with open admiration. Delaney glared at him and he turned back quickly to polishing beer glasses. Delaney took another sip of his whisky and had to concede to himself that he liked it. A day for surprises all round.

Bonner leaned forward, interrupting his thoughts. 'So, Billy Martin, what do you reckon, boss?'

Delaney shrugged. 'He's not going to win any more beauty contests.'

'He was a piece of work. No doubt about that. Seems he upset the wrong people this time.'

'I want you to go back to Jackie Malone's flat. Canvass her neighbours again. See if he had been there on the day she was killed.'