‘It’s Vance. The one murder he did outside his serial murders had the same element of spectacle. What he did then, he’s doing again, now. He’s sending a message. It’s targeted at a specific group of people, just like the last time. And he wants to make sure the message comes through loud and clear. He tipped you off once he was well clear of the crime scene, because he wanted it to be fresh when you got here. He wanted Carol Jordan to see the full horror of what he’d done to the people she loved.’ He felt bitterness like a taste on his tongue. He’d been so slow, so stupid.
Franklin looked unconvinced. ‘You don’t think you’re maybe bigging this up, making yourself a bit too important? Maybe it’s not all about you and DCI Jordan. Maybe it is just a random psycho. Or maybe it’s got something to do with Lucy Bannerman. She was a criminal defence barrister, doc. It’s a job where you piss people off quite regularly.’ His accent thickened, giving even more weight to his words.
‘To the extent where this seems like a reasonable response?’ Tony jerked a thumb upwards.
‘You’re the psychologist. People don’t always deliver… what is it you folk call it? “A proportionate response”? Somebody she should have got off gets sent down … ’ He spread his hands. ‘They order it from inside. Or some toerag on the outside decides topping the brief is a way to earn brownie points.’ He moved towards the tent entrance, reaching for another cigarette. Tony followed him into the open, where a light rain obscured the nearby hills. ‘Alternatively, she got some bastard off – a kiddie fiddler or rapist or something where feelings run high – and some Charles Bronson vigilante weighs in to teach the system a lesson.’ Franklin cupped his hands round the cigarette and lit up, taking in a deep lungful of smoke and exhaling it with a dramatic sigh.
‘In all the years I’ve been doing this job, I’ve never come across the murder of a lawyer because somebody didn’t like the outcome of a case. Not outside TV shows, anyway,’ Tony said. ‘That’s pretty lame as an alternative scenario. And so’s the random psycho. Random psychos tend to be sex killers. And I just explained to you why this wasn’t about sex. Saying it’s about Lucy’s job makes about as much sense as saying it was provoked by the violence in the computer games Michael coded.’
Franklin opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted by one of the technicians calling from inside the barn. ‘Boss? You need to see this.’
‘What is it?’ Franklin threw his cigarette aside with an irritated air and stomped back inside. Tony followed him, figuring any chance to pick up more information about the case was worth taking.
The techie was pointing to where one of the hammer beams of the roof met the wall. A stepladder stood nearby. ‘It’s almost impossible to see it. I saw a tiny flash of light when I was coming down the stairs. You wouldn’t see it in normal lighting, it’s just because we’ve got the crime-scene lamps up.’
‘I still can’t see what you’re on about,’ Franklin said, screwing up his face and peering into the roof.
‘I went up and had a look. It’s a tiny TV camera. We need to do a full electronic sweep. But it looks like somebody’s been spying on them.’
Franklin gave Tony a scornful look over his shoulder. ‘So much for your theory. Vance was banged up until yesterday morning. There’s no way he could be behind this.’
‘You don’t think so? Talk to Sergeant Ambrose at West Mercia about Vance’s contacts with the outside world.’
‘If it makes you any happier, doc, I’ll bear all this in mind,’ Franklin said, condescending. ‘But I’m not putting my next month’s wages on Jacko Vance.’
‘We’ll see whose DNA turns up in the sperm on Lucy’s back.’ Frustrated and fed up, Tony turned away and began to clamber out of his paper suit. There was nothing more for him here. Franklin might pretend to have an open mind, but it was a pretence. He was convinced the answer to this crime lay in Lucy Bannerman’s professional life, and that would be the thrust of his investigation until the undeniable forensics came up with something more than Tony’s conviction based only on experience and instinct.
He was halfway back to the road when he realised Carol had left him stranded.
34
In a little over twenty-four hours, life had been turned on its head for Micky Morgan. News of her ex-husband’s escape had arrived at her farmhouse door in the shape of half a dozen cops who looked like they’d escaped from some TV crime drama. Black outfits, forage caps, stab vests and faces like slabs of granite. Micky was accustomed to being admired and it was disconcerting to have men’s eyes slide off her and show more apparent interest in the layout of her kitchen and back yard. The one in charge introduced himself as Calman. She assumed it was his surname but was too discomfited to ask.
In spite of the fact that her kitchen was big enough for a dozen stable lads to sit round the table eating breakfast, the men in black seemed to fill all the available space. ‘I don’t understand,’ Micky said. ‘How did he escape?’
‘I don’t have much detail,’ Calman said. ‘Only that he impersonated another prisoner who was due to go out on day release.’
‘And he was in Oakworth? Jesus, that’s no distance from here.’
‘It’s about forty-five miles. Which is one of the reasons why we’re so concerned for your safety.’
Betsy had entered from outside just in time to hear Calman’s response. She pulled off her riding hat and shook her head to free her hair. Her face was flushed from riding out and she looked ridiculously fresh compared to the storm troopers mooching round their kitchen. ‘What’s about forty-five miles?’ she said, automatically going to Micky’s side and putting a hand on her partner’s arm.
‘Oakworth Prison. Which, apparently, is where Jacko has just escaped from.’ Micky flashed a look at Betsy that signalled caution. ‘These officers are here to offer us protection.’
‘Do we need protection?’ Betsy said. ‘Why would Jacko want to hurt us?’
‘My orders, Ms Thorne,’ Calman said.
He knows exactly what the set-up is here, Micky thought. He’s been briefed. Someone told him about the subterfuge of marriage we concocted between Jacko and me to save my TV career from the homo-phobic tantrums of the tabloids. Is he here to protect us or to keep an eye on us? ‘I agree with Betsy,’ Micky said.
But that had been before Calman had broken the news of a double murder in Yorkshire that his bosses believe might be Vance’s handiwork. This time, the officer by his side in the kitchen had a gun, a big black affair the like of which she’d never seen outside a TV screen. It screamed incongruity. H&K just didn’t go with Aga. ‘I don’t believe Jacko would do that,’ Micky said. ‘Surely there are other possibilities?’
‘Possibilities?’ Calman said, sounding as if he’d never heard the word spoken before. ‘We like to concentrate on the likely answers. Experience shows that’s usually where the truth lies. We’re going to be giving you blanket coverage. Both driveways will have officers on duty and we’ll have other armed officers patrolling. I know you’ve got your lads out walking the fields. I’ll be talking to them, making sure they know what the parameters for action are. I don’t want you to worry, ladies. I just want you to take care.’
They’d stamped out into the yard, leaving Micky and Betsy to stare at each other across the table. Betsy had spoken first. ‘Has he called you?’ she asked.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Micky said. ‘He wouldn’t be so crazy. And if he was, you think I wouldn’t tell you?’
Betsy’s smile was strained. ‘Funny old thing, loyalty.’
Micky jumped up and rounded the end of the table. She hugged Betsy close and said, ‘You are the only loyalty I have. I only married him because I wanted to be with you.’