‘And let me guess, he bought petrol from the Sainsbury’s supermarket.’
‘Kept the receipt so he could claim it back on expenses.’
‘Can you email me a photo? Well, two photos: one of the guy and one of the receipt?’
I’d got to the edge of the police cordon, where a bored PC in a fluorescent-yellow padded jacket stood, huffing warm breath into his hands and stomping his feet, behind the line of blue-and-white ‘POLICE’ tape.
And there was Helen MacNeil, standing at the open hatch to ‘FIONA’S FANTASTIC FRIED-FOOD EMPORIUM!’ clutching a polystyrene cup of something and a thing in a roll. Staring at me. No sign of her horrible companion, so I gave her a small wave and a tight smile. Then went back to the phone.
‘I’m starting to think things might not be as straightforward as they seemed.’
A moment’s silence. Followed by, ‘Straightforward? Have you been working on a different case, because the one I’m investigating has been a great big bucket of slithering venomous snakes since the start!’
‘No, I meant...’ Yeah. ‘Look, I’ve got to go: Helen MacNeil’s here.’
‘Have you told her about her granddaughter?’
‘Do you want me to?’
‘No.’ And with that, Mother hung up.
I thumbed out a reply to Leah’s latest text.
Where are you? How can you be texting
me, when the police have got your phone?
SEND.
Helen MacNeil stomped over to the cordon, chewing on her butty. ‘You found something.’
I nodded towards the manky yellow Golf. Couldn’t tell if anyone was inside, the industrial estate’s lights sucked the colour out of everything and the rusty hatchback’s windscreen was opaque in the gloom. ‘You didn’t ditch Jennifer, then.’
‘Is it Leah? Is she in there? Did he kill her?’
‘She’s using you, Helen. And once she’s done, she’ll dump you and move on to the next sucker.’
Helen’s butty stabbed towards the warehouse. ‘IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER IN THERE?’
‘No, OK? She’s not.’ I closed my eyes for a second, took a breath, and tried for that reassuring-police-officer voice again. Maybe this time it’d work? ‘Shouting the odds isn’t helping you any, Helen. Go home. We’ll be in touch if—’
‘What home? You mean the one that’ll fall into the North Sea, soon as the next storm front hits? The one I’ve been thrown out of by the bastarding council, who want sixteen grand to tear it down first? That home?’
Pop-ding.
‘Investigations like this take time. We—’
‘HE KILLED MY DAUGHTER!’ Hurling her polystyrene cup to the ground, where it exploded in a spray of beige.
The PC shuffled over. ‘All right, let’s all calm down.’
‘DON’T YOU TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!’ Helen glared at him, hard enough to make him back off a pace.
‘It’s all right, Constable, she’s with me.’ I ducked under the cordon and grabbed her arm, pulling her along. ‘Why don’t we have a nice walk?’
Pop-ding.
Soon as we were out of listening range: ‘Will you stop acting like a psycho for two sodding minutes?’
Helen shook her arm free. ‘Gordon Smith killed my—’
‘I know. And what do you think’s going to help catch him: shouting the odds, or letting us do our jobs?’
‘YOU’RE DOING BUGGER ALL!’
Henry hunkered down and growled at her.
‘We’re working. And you’re not the only one who’s lost a child.’
She scowled back at me. ‘Six million.’
‘It’s not—’
‘Don’t pretend you’ve never taken a bung, because I know you have.’
‘That wasn’t—’
‘Six million pounds and all you’ve got to do is give me an hour alone with him, somewhere out of the way. Somewhere no one can hear him screaming.’ She stepped in closer, till our noses were almost touching. ‘One parent to another. Because the bastard killed my child, same as some bastard killed yours. And he deserves to suffer.’
Had to admit, she had a point...
The last glimmer of sun disappeared below the cold blue horizon. Clouds thickening overhead. Wind picking up enough to send a ceilidh of crisp packets whirling into a reel that swept across the road as I ducked back under the cordon of ‘POLICE’ tape again and pulled out my phone.
Checked the two text messages from Leah:
U found my phone? Cool!!!!
I lost it ages ago 6 weeks had 2 blagg
this 1 off my mate coz she was getting a
upgrade but it’s knowhere near as good
And:
I don’t no how grandad knew David but
they were all happy & friendly when he
got in the car so I thought they was
friends
But they wasn’t friends later
Bit of an understatement, given what Gordon Smith had done to him.
It explained Mother’s phone cock-up, though. If Leah had lost it six weeks ago, that would be one week before she disappeared. Only she hadn’t lost it at all — Smith had taken it. Planning ahead. Knowing we’d probably try to trace Leah through her phone, and that he could use that to throw us off track.
Like I told Franklin: you don’t get away with killing people for fifty-six years by being an idiot.
Which meant we’d need a new warrant to track the phone she was actually using, and Watt was a complete and utter moron. And I’d take great pleasure pointing that out to him the next time we met.
Henry went back in the car, then I lumbered through the prop warehouse to the scenery one. It looked as if Franklin had finished her statement, because DS Marland was getting her to sign it in his notebook.
Marland held up a finger. ‘Ah, ex-DI Henderson, shall we...?’ A frown. ‘Er... Mr Henderson? Hello?’
But I didn’t stop, I hobbled straight past, making for the heart of the huge open space, where the diesel generator’s growl was the loudest.
Those two big work lights glared down on David Quinn’s tattered remains, making every drop of scarlet sparkle as if it’d been wired up to the mains. It was impossible to tell which of the white SOC-suited figures was DCI Jopson — they all looked the same with their facemasks and safety goggles on.
But I was about a dozen feet away when one of them looked up at me and froze. Then hurried in my direction, arms held out trying to block my way:
A man’s voice, so definitely not DCI Jopson, only slightly muffled by the facemask. ‘WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?’
‘Where’s Jopson?’
He kept coming. ‘THIS IS A CRIME SCENE, YOU MORON! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!’
‘Jopson, I’ve got—’
His hand slammed into my chest, forcing me back a step. ‘BUGGER OFF OUT OF IT, YOU’RE CONTAMINATING—’
The SOC suit crinkled as I grabbed a fistful and hauled, pulling the dick off his feet and hurling him face-first into the rack containing Widow Twanky’s laundry. He bounced off it, setting the metalwork ringing, then crashed backwards onto the concrete floor with a breath-robbing whoomph.
Looked as if he was about to struggle to his feet and have another go, so I thunked the rubber tip of my walking stick hard into his stomach, and, as he folded up, jabbed it into his chest and forced him down again.