‘Eh?’ said Crazy.
‘I’m talking to that bitch in the back — so over the top. How come? I want to know how come.’
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at,’ she said. ‘He was your brother and I liked him, that’s all. The news has upset me, but it obviously hasn’t upset you.’
‘I want to know why,’ he insisted.
They had reached junction 32. Crazy peeled off on to the M55. The road was quiet and he was making good progress.
‘Give me your mobile phone.’ Ray held out his hand to Burrows.
‘I haven’t got it with me.’
‘Yes you have, now give it to me.’
‘Why?’
‘Jack, just give it to me or I’ll climb over these seats and lace you.’
Her shaking hand reached into her shoulder bag. She handed the phone to Ray, who switched it on and waited for it to connect. Then he went straight into the record of the last ten calls she had made. He stared at the display and snorted. ‘Why have you been calling him?’
She closed her eyes and dropped her chin. ‘To talk,’ she said meekly.
‘What about?’
‘Oh just things. . nothing really.’
‘You have never had any reason to call him, Jack.’ Ray released his seat belt and fed it slowly back on to the inertia reel. ‘No reason at all.’ He lowered his voice and said, ‘Keep driving,’ to Crazy.
Suddenly he spun out of his seat, found a foothold on the dash board and propelled himself back through the gap in the seats and hit Burrows hard across the side of the face with the phone, knocking her head against the side window. Then he was on top of her. He discarded the phone and set about her, pummelling her with his fists, slapping her, grabbing her hair and smacking her head against the door frame, while under his breath he growled the word, ‘Bitch, bitch, bitch,’ with each blow.
In front, Crazy concentrated on keeping the car in a straight line while at the same time enjoying watching the action behind through his appropriately adjusted rear-view mirror.
Crazy pulled on to the driveway outside Ray’s house. He killed the engine and lights. Ray climbed out of the back seat and stood to one side while Burrows crawled out, her face a battered and bleeding red pulp. She tried to stand, but her legs were weak and would not take her weight. She staggered against the car, sucking desperately for breath through her bloody nose and cut lip.
Ray watched her coldly, not attempting to assist her.
‘Get in the house,’ he said.
She held on to the car, smearing blood across the roof. ‘Can’t.’
Ray drove his fist into the small of her back, punching her kidneys as hard as he could. She emitted a long moan of pain and sank to her knees. Ray picked her up by the collar and threw her to the ground, stamping on her head.
‘Shit, boss,’ Crazy intervened. ‘Not here, not in public.’
Cragg was breathing heavily, the look on his face murderous, but he saw the wisdom of Crazy’s words.
‘Drag her in and dump her in a bedroom.’
Henry and Jane had stayed for the post-mortems after Ray had formally identified his brother. Both detectives had carefully watched his reaction. Ray had been icy and clinical, showing no emotion whatsoever. They had accompanied him back to his car, which he had got into, and nodded at both occupants. Crazy was as impassive as Ray, but Burrows was deeply affected by the fact that Marty was a goner.
Henry leaned into the car and told Ray that a detective would be calling round to see him to obtain a statement regarding the identification. Some time later, Henry would also want to interview Ray himself to get more information about Marty, his movements, friends, acquaintances and bad habits. Ray did not seem too pleased by this news and Henry already knew that very little would be forthcoming from that particular conversation.
The post-mortems were long and detailed, carried out thoroughly and painstakingly by Professor Baines.
It was 1 a.m. when Henry and Roscoe landed back at Blackpool.
He dropped her off and drove straight home. He saw her in his rear-view mirror, watching him leave.
‘Bugger,’ he said and kept going.
Henry was exhausted when he reached home, but even so he took a little time in the front room, accompanied by a large Jack Daniel’s to review the day he’d had and to plan for the forthcoming one. He was glad to be up to his neck in work and, for the first time in a long time, was thriving on it. There was much to do and he knew he would have little time to sleep. That did not bother him too much. The coffee and adrenaline of concurrent murder enquiries would keep him going in the early stages and it was imperative to pull a cohesive plan together or things would go off half-cocked and he would just get confused.
With paper and pen, he started to jot a ‘To Do’ list under five separate headings.
1. Cold Case
— search flat again (maybe support unit to do)
— find ex-house manager
— annoy Jack Burrows. What is it with her and the Cragg bros?
2. JJ amp; Carrie
— see informant again
— forensics
3. King’s Cross
— liaise with Jane?!
4. Marty/unknown
— search Marty’s house
— stmt from Ray
— annoy Burrows
— forensics from hotel room
— circulate details of ‘unknown’
— four in a car
5. McDonald’s. .
That was as far as he got before his eyelids started to droop. He heard movement upstairs and thought someone was going to the toilet, then there were quiet footsteps on the stairs and a sleepy Kate appeared at the living-room door. She rubbed her eyes. She was wrapped in a less than alluring dressing gown. Her short hair was awry and there were tramlines across her face from where she had been lying on pillows. Henry stifled a gasp. She looked damned wonderful.
‘Hi,’ she croaked with a crooked smile.
‘Hello, gorgeous.’
‘You busy?’
‘Yeah — ish.’
She was wearing big teddy-bear slippers, which she dragged across the floor, stopping in front of Henry. She bent down, picked up his pad and pen and pretended to read his notes. ‘Um — very interesting.’ She dropped them on to the coffee table before dropping herself into his lap and winding her arms around his neck. She smelled wonderful and musty. Henry had to catch his breath, especially when the dressing gown fell open to reveal one perfectly formed breast and one hard little nipple.
‘God, I love you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, I just do.’
‘And I love you,’ he admitted honestly for the first time in a long time.
She gently took hold of his face and kissed him, long, slow, warm, wet. She had amazing lips.
‘I know it’s late,’ she said, snuggling her face into his neck, ‘but how do you fancy making love?’
There was no doubt that his body, though exhausted, wanted to oblige.
‘Here?’ he asked.
‘Mm,’ she breathed from deep in her throat, ‘right here, right now.’
Henry pushed her gown off her shoulders and ran his hands across her soft, white skin. He knew he was where he belonged.
They were waiting for Miller to arrive, sitting in the living room of Ray’s house. Crazy was smoking one of his thin roll-ups and sipping a beer. Ray was staring at the porn channel on satellite TV, the sound turned low. He had a bottle of Stella in his hand.
‘I just don’t see Dix doing that,’ Crazy ventured reasonably. ‘He doesn’t have it in him, doesn’t have the bottle.’
‘He had the bottle to nick my money.’
‘That was just a spur of the moment thing.’ Ray shot Crazy a hard look and Crazy raised his hands defensively. ‘I’m not defending the cunt. I’m just saying that he probably wouldn’t do something like that.’
‘He was a good taxman. He put guns to a lot of people’s heads. I think he had it in him. I think Marty found him and Dix popped him.’
‘So who’s the other guy? It doesn’t make sense. Dix shooting two people — naah.’
‘I don’t know who he was, and I don’t care,’ spat Ray. ‘All I know is that silly twat of a half-brother of mine’s been whacked and my money is still missing. As I said, I’m not so much fussed about Marty. It’s my money I want back.’