'Like how? Like he couldn't do it by himself? Like he hasn't done it by himself half a million times before?'
'Like you could have stopped him. As I just suggested.'
'Are you serious?' She got to her feet and stepped towards him. 'Don't you listen to anything I say? I know I'm some dumb fuck from down under but give me credit, my love. The whole point of this circus, this little adventure, is that nothing stops these guys. Offer them detox and there's a shortage of beds. Get them into rehab and most of them do a runner. Put them in jail and you're guaranteed a junkie for life. Little me? I just point my camera and watch. Why? Because a classful of kids might just come to the conclusion, way down the line, that junk isn't worth it.' She glowered at him, still furious. 'Is anyone at home? Or am I wasting my time?'
Faraday busied himself with the teapot. He'd seen Eadie in these moods before but he'd never been on the receiving end. Her anger was truly volcanic. It had an almost physical impact. Spill it on the carpet and the flat would be in flames.
Reaching for the sugar bowl, he watched her prowling up and down. Twice she reached for the zapper, then changed her mind. With it finally in her hand, she stabbed savagely at the BBC News 24 button. Another volley of cruise missiles. Terrific.
Faraday abandoned the tea and stepped towards her. When she turned to confront him again, he nodded down towards the screen.
'Show me everything,' he said. 'From the start.'
Winter was early for the nine o'clock conference in the cluttered first-floor office at Kingston Crescent that served as a base for the Portsmouth Crime Squad. Settling himself at his desk beside the window, he fired up his PC and logged on. A couple of mouse clicks took him into the Daily State, a constantly updated tally of incidents that kept a finger on the city's rough pulse. Amongst last night's excitements a couple of D amp; Ds, a warehouse break-in, and a neighbour dispute was something else that caught his eye.
Checking the name of the attending DC, he reached for the phone. This time in the morning, the divisional CID office over at Highland Road should be filling up.
'Bev?' He recognised the voice at once. 'Paul. Dawn there, by any chance?'
'Duty last night, mate. She's gone home.'
'Cheers.'
Winter put the phone down. Dawn Ellis was a young DC on division, one of the few detectives in the city for whom Winter had any respect.
Recently, after a troubling encounter with a rogue newcomer from the Met, he'd developed an almost fatherly concern for her well-being.
When he finally got through, it was obvious she'd been asleep.
'I don't know why I bother with the tablets,' she muttered. 'Think of the money I'd save.'
'Sorry, love.' Winter was still peering at the overnight log. 'This smack overdose in Old Portsmouth last night, was that yours?'
'Yes.'
'What happened?'
There was a pause while Dawn mustered her thoughts. Cathy Lamb, meanwhile, had appeared at the office door. She looked even more fraught than usual.
'Student called Daniel Kelly.' It was Dawn again. 'Girlfriend found him dead in bed with a works in his arm. Uniform attended first, then me.'
'And?'
'I took a statement. Tango One sorted an undertaker. I was out within the hour.'
'Anything dodgy?'
'Not that I could see. According to the girl, he'd been shooting up for years. Rich kid, nothing better to do with his money. You should have seen his flat. Puts my place to shame.' She paused again. 'What is this?'
'There's mention here of a video crew.'
'That's right. According to the girl, he'd been involved in making a video. She thinks the crew may have been with him at some point last night. I left the details in the office. Needs sorting.'
'You've got a number for these people? A name?'
'Can't remember. It's some kind of production company, begins with 'A'. Talk to Bev.' She smothered a yawn. 'Night, night.'
Winter looked up to find Cathy Lamb standing over his desk. For once she didn't seem remotely interested in the details on Winter's screen.
'My office,' she said. 'Now.'
Jimmy Suttle and another squad DC were already occupying most of Cathy's tiny office. Winter joined them, shutting the door and wedging himself in the corner. Cathy, it turned out, had just spent an uncomfortable half-hour with the Chief Superintendent. The town railway station had been sealed off at four the morning while fire and ambulance did their best to disentangle an assault victim from one of the entry turnstiles on the main concourse. The young man in question was now occupying a cubicle in the Queen Alexandra Hospital A 8c E Department.
'He's one of our Scousers,' Cathy said wearily. 'And Secretan's drawn the obvious conclusion. What didn't help was a bloody MP on the station.'
'At that time in the morning?'
'He was going to a conference in Birmingham. Anti-Social Behaviour.
And if you think that's funny…'
Secretan, she said, was chewing the furniture. The turf war had now gone very public indeed and the last thing he needed was yet more grief from headquarters. He wanted a full report on his desk by noon, and an action plan within twenty-four hours.
'Action plan?'
'We have to seal this off, nip it in the bud. So far the MP's agreed not to talk to the press but there were other punters there and they undoubtedly will. Secretan's writing the headlines already.'
'How are we so sure about turf wars? They leave a note? Name and address?'
'Good as.' Cathy summoned a weak smile. 'Someone had taken the trouble to adjust the lad's watch, then stamp on it. Any guesses?'
Jimmy Suttle stirred.
'6.57?'
'Exactly.'
Winter beamed his approval. The boy was learning fast. He turned back to Cathy Lamb as she listed the immediate actions. The Scouser had so far refused to offer a statement. A search of his clothing had revealed a set of car keys, a single wrap of heroin, and a scribbled list of mobile numbers. A couple of squad DCs up in A 8c E were waiting to take a statement but a fractured jaw and a mouthful of broken teeth didn't help and it wasn't looking hopeful. As far as witnesses were concerned, a postman had rung in with details on a van.
He'd been en route to the start of his shift in the nearby sorting centre and had noticed the van backed into the side entrance to the station. The rear doors were open and there was some kind of fracas going on. The van looked like a Transit old, maybe a builder's wagon.
'There's CCTV on the concourse.' Cathy was looking at Winter. 'And another one outside across the road. According to the postie we're looking at half two in the morning. OK?'
Winter nodded. The CCTV control room in the bowels of the Civic Centre was his least favourite destination but already he'd put money on a rapid result. Secretan was right. Odds on, these were the beginnings of a serious turf war. This was about trespass, about the bunch of young lunatics who'd descended on the city and torn up the rules. If you were local and your patience had run out, then there ways of sending a message. Giving one of the Scousers a hiding and dumping him at the railway station didn't leave much room for ambiguity. Fuck off or else.
Winter was still wondering about the Transit when Suttle caught his eye.
'Bazza?'
'Has to be.' Winter returned to Cathy Lamb. 'Anything else, boss?'
Already late for a scheduled conference at the Tumbril HQ on Whale Island, Faraday found himself caught in rush-hour traffic. Inching towards his fourth set of red lights, he turned over the morning's events. The row with
