beside her, leaning forward, her cold hand growing colder in his own.
He couldn't remember, later, leaving the ambulance or entering the hospital-just that he was suddenly there and in the corridor, and a doctor was standing in front of him, putting out both hands as if to restrain him, and speaking all the time, explaining, while behind him they were wheeling her away, not walking, hurrying, almost running.
A nurse led him to a place where he was supposed to wait.
Another brought a cup of hot, sweet tea and the smell and taste of the tea and the taste and smell of blood made him retch, and the nurse helped him to the men's room where he threw up into the lavatory bowl and then knelt there on the damp floor, his forehead resting against the cold, spattered edge of porcelain, listening to his own breathing as it slowed and slowed until he felt he could push himself to his feet, just, and turn, steadying himself for a moment against the cubicle door, before walking the four long paces to the sink and splashing cold water again and again in his face, a face that, in the mirror, looked more like a mask than it did his own.
'Lynn,' he said. And again, 'Lynn, Lynn!'
The nurse was waiting outside, anxious, and she led him back to where there were others, also waiting, faces he knew and vaguely recognised, faces showing sympathy, concern, and then the doctor stepped between them and Resnick knew what he had known ever since he had seen her body, one arm flung out, one leg folded beneath her on the path; ever since he had forced his breath into the cold, bloodied void of her mouth.
Lynn Alice Kellogg, pronounced dead, 23:35.
Twenty-four
The sun came out and went back in. Somewhere south of Leicester and still some thirty minutes from her destination, a brief flurry of rain washed across the train window and when it faltered to nothing and a smidgeon of sun reappeared, Karen looked in vain for a rainbow. Some kind of a sign. She'd led an investigation into the death of a fellow officer before. Also a woman, a Detective Sergeant in SO7, Organised and Serious Crime. Her body had been found amongst the tangled undergrowth beside a disused railway line. Multiple stab wounds: forty-odd years old and half her life still ahead of her.
Now this.
Karen leafed again through the pile of papers Sherry had downloaded from the Web and thrust into her hands as she was leaving. Alongside basic information about the structure of the Nottinghamshire Force and the two most recent Police Authority reports, more encouraging words about the county extolled a heritage which spread from Byron and Robin Hood to Paul Smith and Brian Clough, and which had spawned, amongst other notable items, HP Sauce, ibuprofen and the Bramley apple. Well, Karen thought, just watch out for the worm.
At Radcliffe, just a few miles short of the city, the Trent had overflowed its banks into the neighbouring fields, leaving cattle to wander, disconsolately, through edges of cold grey water, while, close alongside the train tracks, the power station leached smoke up into the already-grey sky.
Taking first a mirror from her bag, Karen used a brush to apply a few last touches to her makeup. Silk shirt, black suit from Max Mara which had sent her credit limit hovering perilously close to red, boots with enough of a heel to lift her above most men she'd be likely to meet and level with the rest, she was ready for whatever the remainder of the day would bring.
At the AMT in the station forecourt, she bought an espresso and drank it swiftly down.
There was a car waiting to take her to the Force headquarters at Sherwood Lodge. Karen let the young PC place her bags in the boot, sat back, and snapped her seat belt into place.
Another officer waited at the entrance to escort her to the office of the Assistant Chief Constable. Assistant Chief Constable (Crime), as it said on the door. Flanking him were Bill Berry, wearing a pale grey three-piece suit that might have looked good on a younger man, and the Chief Superintendent responsible for the Nottingham City division. The ACC held out his hand with a few words of welcome and the hope she'd had a pleasant enough journey. Karen nodded, it had been fine; she said no to coffee, but yes to water. Sat and waited.
'Bill,' the ACC said, 'why don't you fill in the details?'
Berry cleared his throat and set his cup aside. The facts, such as they were known, were brutal and sparse. One officer dead, another in mourning: one bullet to the upper body, another to the head. Two cartridge cases had been found at the scene. The neighbours had been canvassed, the taxi driver who had driven DI Kellogg from the railway station had been questioned; a vehicle found abandoned some three-quarters of a mile away was being examined in the supposition that it might have been used in the killer's getaway. A postmortem had been arranged for the following morning.
'Any suspects?' Karen addressed the ACC directly.
'Not immediately.'
'Except-' Bill Berry began.
'Except?'
After a nod from the ACC, Berry cleared his throat again. 'There was a shooting a few weeks back, a teenage girl killed. DI Kellogg was wounded in the same incident. The girl's father blamed Kellogg for his daughter's death. Publicly. He and DI Resnick had a couple of run-ins on the subject afterwards. One of which was also public. Quite a bit of bad feeling between them echoed in the local press.'
'This Resnick,' Karen asked, 'what's his involvement here?'
'He was my number two on the investigation,' Berry said.
'Into the girl's death?'
'Yes.'
'He was also,' the Chief Superintendent added, speaking for the first time, 'Lynn Kellogg's partner.'
'Partner, as in living together?'
'Yes.'
'Ah.' Karen nodded, understanding. 'Complications,' wasn't that what Harkin had said? Her Assistant Commissioner back in the Met, not a man to use words lightly.
'The father,' Karen said. 'The one you mentioned. He's been questioned?'
'Gone AWOL, apparently,' Berry said. 'No one in the family claims to know where.'
'Convenient,' Karen said tartly.
'Absolutely. Though this wouldn't be the first time he's just walked out without notice, apparently. Last occasion, he didn't come back for several years.'
'But we are looking?'
'Oh, yes, we're looking.'
Great start, Karen was thinking, number-one suspect does a runner, and no one knows where to find him.
'I understand,' she said, 'there's a team assembled?'
'Yes. The same one, give or take, as was working the girl's murder.'
'That's sorted?'
'CPS're still a tad leery, but yes, bar the shouting. Lad called Lee Williams. Picked him up for armed robbery, post office out on the edge of the city. Fell into our lap, really.' He grinned. 'Way it happens sometimes, if you're lucky.' He waited a couple of beats. 'I daresay you'll want your own bagman.'
'Yes, sir. I might feel a bit marooned, otherwise.'
'It is a man?' Berry held back a smile.
'Oh, yes,' Karen said. Mike Ramsden would have been quick to take a swing at anyone who called him anything else.
'There's a press conference in forty minutes,' the ACC said, 'and I'll want you there. Any problems?'
'None at all, sir,' Karen said.
Media interest was widespread. The killing of a police officer-a woman officer, especially-was still rare enough to be big news. The nationals were there in force, print and TV news. The room was packed, close to overflowing. After giving the bare details of the shooting, the Assistant Chief Constable spoke of the determination of his officers to bring the perpetrators to justice.
