‘I do,’ Betsy said. ‘You’re the police officer who arrested Jacko. I remember you giving evidence at the Old Bailey.’
‘Jacko, is it? The man tries to burn down your livelihood and he’s still Jacko to you?’
Micky looked to Betsy for a lead. Her lover’s expression hardened and a new watchfulness crept into her eyes. ‘He was Jacko to us for years. It’s habit, that’s all.’
‘Is it? Is it really all? Or does it betray your real attitude, Ms Thorne?’ The woman’s voice sounded strangled, as if it was a struggle to control herself.
‘You have the advantage of us. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.’
‘You should. It’s been in the news enough this week. It’s Jordan. Carol Jordan. Detective Chief Inspector Carol Jordan. Sister of Michael Jordan.’
The silence that followed Carol’s words seemed to swell till it filled the space between the three women. Finally, it was Betsy who broke it. ‘I’m very sorry. What happened to your brother and his wife was unforgivable.’
‘Partner. Lucy was his partner. Not his wife. They never married. And now, thanks to your ex –’ She tipped a nod to Micky ‘– they never will.’
‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am,’ Micky said.
‘You could try,’ Carol said, eyes blazing.
‘We’re victims too, you know,’ Micky said. ‘Betsy could have died in that burning stable block.’
‘But she didn’t, did she? She had a miraculous escape.’ Carol threw her shoulder bag down on the kitchen table. ‘In my line of work, miraculous escapes are suspicious things, not hallelujah, praise the Lord things. You see, often the miraculous escapes are set-ups. They’re set up to divert suspicion.’ She kept her eyes moving between the two of them, watching their reactions, looking for the tells she’d learned to spot after years at Tony Hill’s side.
‘That’s a pretty outrageous thing to say. An employee of ours died this evening while saving my life,’ Betsy said, her outward show of calm unruffled. Micky knew better, though. She knew that under the surface, Betsy had a temper that would see off the likes of Carol Jordan.
‘Is it really that outrageous? I’m looking at the scale of Vance’s revenge. Tony Hill’s home was burned to the ground. The one place in the world he’s ever felt at home. But all that happens to you is a little fire in a stable block. My brother and his partner were brutally murdered. I’ve never seen so much blood at a crime scene. But all that happens to you is that two horses die. And a stable lad whose name you don’t even bother with. Does that seem proportionate to you?’
‘It was meant to be much worse than that,’ Betsy said. ‘The fire brigade said if we hadn’t had the stable block timbers treated with anti-inflammatory chemicals, the whole roof would have come down. Ja— Vance obviously couldn’t have known that.’
Carol shrugged. ‘Not unless you told him.’ She turned her stare on Micky.
‘Why on earth would we do that? Why would we help him? It’s not as if he’s been a great help to us over the years. His actions destroyed Micky’s TV career.’ Betsy was clipping her syllables tight now, clamping down on her anger.
‘Which suited you just fine, didn’t it? Let’s face it, Betsy, TV was never your world, was it? This is much more like it. Country tweeds and horses. Pukka accents and polo chukkas. Vance’s disgrace did you a favour, I’d say.’
‘That’s not how it was,’ Micky said, her expression pleading. ‘We were pariahs, it’s taken years to rebuild our lives.’
‘You were his enabler, his mask. Practically his accomplice. He hid behind you for years while he kidnapped and tortured teenage girls. You must have known there was something he was hiding all that time. Why should I believe you’re not still facilitating him? Somebody’s helped him set all this up. Why not you? You cared about him once.’
‘This is outrageous,’ Betsy said, her tone a blade that cut through Carol’s tirade.
‘Is it? How does it work, Betsy? I don’t have a big house or a string of horses to care about so I have to lose my brother?’ All at once, Carol sank into the nearest chair. ‘My brother.’ The words came out as a sob. She buried her face in her hands and for the first time since Blake had broken the news, she cried properly. She cried as if she had never cried before in her life and was determined to run through every available variation on the theme. Her whole body convulsed in sobs.
Micky gave Betsy a ‘what do we do now?’ look, but she was too late. Already Betsy was halfway across the room. She pulled up another chair and held Carol close, as if she was her child. Betsy stroked her head and made inarticulate sounds of comfort as Carol cried herself out. At a loss, Micky went to the cupboard and poured three large whiskies. She put them on the table then fetched the kitchen roll.
At last, Carol stopped weeping. She raised her head, gave a hiccuping gulp and swiped her face with the back of her hand. Micky tore off a few sheets of kitchen roll and handed them to her. Carol sniffed and blew and wiped then spotted the whisky. She emptied one of the glasses in a single shuddering swallow then took a deep breath. She looked wrecked, Micky thought. Literally and figuratively. ‘I’m not sorry for what I said,’ she said.
Betsy gave her an admiring smile. ‘Of course you’re not. I rather think you’re a woman after my own heart, Chief Inspector Jordan. But please believe me. It might not look like it from where you’re standing, but we’re Jacko Vance’s victims too. The only difference between us is that you’ve only just joined the club.’
48
After Carol’s whirlwind departure from the barge, Alvin had gone back to HQ. Usually, Tony was glad when people left him to his own devices. Even the people he liked. But right now, every time Carol walked out on him, he was gripped with a fear that it might be for the last time. Her visit to the barge had not been a reconciliation, he knew that. She’d come because she needed something from him and that need had transcended her desire not to have him in her sight. What would happen when all of this was over? The prospect filled him with gloom.
When he hated his own company like this, the only cure he knew was work. And so he turned back to his laptop and tried to put Carol Jordan from his mind. But it wasn’t that easy. He kept coming back to his awareness of her pain. He hated to see her suffer, especially when that suffering could be laid, at least in part, at his door. Worst of all, she’d stormed off. He didn’t know where she was or how to help her.
Tony tried to concentrate, but it wasn’t working. It didn’t help that the saloon smelled of the remains of the fish and chips he hadn’t managed to eat. He pulled the bag out of the bin under the sink and tied it in a knot. Then he climbed out on to the stern and walked up the pontoon to the nearest bin, leaving the doors open so the cool evening air could freshen the interior of the boat. ‘If this was a thriller,’ he said aloud, ‘the bad guy would be sneaking aboard right now and hiding in the cabin.’ He turned back, noting that the boat was motionless. ‘No such luck.’
Back at the boat, he leaned against the stern rail and looked out across the marina. The roofs of the boats looked like black beetles, lined up in rows. A few boats were lit up, their soft yellow light spilling in pools on the black water. In the distance a man was walking a pair of Westies. The voices of a group of young men leaving the pub carried across the marina in a jumble of sound. In the old warehouses, now converted to apartments with views of the canal basin, squares and oblongs of light split up the dark facades in random patterns.