Looks at his feet, and then fills himself with Daphne Cotton.
With Fred Stein.
With Angie Martindale.
Even Trevor fucking Jefferson.
He finds himself suddenly aware that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are not the same things as ‘right’ and wrong’.
And he knows that the reason he has to catch the right man, has to reset the scales by flinging the right murderer into the right cell, is the same reason he will not let himself kiss this sexy, passionate, powerful woman.
It’s because somebody has to give a damn about the rules.
And because nobody else really gives a fuck.
CHAPTER 24
McAvoy and Pharaoh are forty miles from Hull when the call comes through. Forty miles from Wakefield Prison, too. A little under an hour from a private meeting room, a table, three chairs, and an hour in the company of the only man who can tell him if he is right.
Pharaoh, in the driver’s seat, pulls the mobile from between her thighs and answers with the word ‘Tom’. She gives a few brief grunts and curses. Her face darkens as she hangs up.
Silently, one hand distractedly silencing McAvoy’s questions, she pulls onto the hard shoulder.
‘I think we’re at the end of the road,’ says Pharaoh.
‘What? It’s miles yet …’
‘Chandler. He tried to kill himself.’
McAvoy feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.
‘How?’
‘Had a razor in that false leg of his. Nobody checked. Found him in his cell, bleeding from the throat. The wrists. The ankles. Well, the ankle …’
‘He knew we were coming,’ says McAvoy flatly.
‘He didn’t, Hector,’ she says, and her voice is barely audible over the sound of the articulated lorries that tear past, inches away. ‘We were off-radar, my love. The warden was doing us a favour. We were going out on a limb. If his solicitor had found out …’
‘He knew.’
‘Hector.’
‘He fucking knew.’
There is silence for a moment.
He knows what she will say next. Knows that Pharaoh has gone as far as she can. That she, Spink, Tremberg, all of them, will begin to convince themselves of Chandler’s guilt. That they will begin to do what needs to be done to ensure Colin Ray’s case remains watertight. That they are all seen to get their man.
‘You know he didn’t do it,’ says McAvoy. ‘Not properly, I mean.’
‘I don’t know what to think, Hector. These are the actions of a guilty man.’
‘A guilty man who happens to be innocent.’
Pharaoh shakes her head.
‘We haven’t really got anything, have we?’ she says, half to herself. ‘Not you and me. Not Colin. We’ve made a bloody pig’s ear of this from the start. Serious and Organised? Which one do you see me as?’
McAvoy looks out of the window. Watches the angry sky.
‘What do you really think?’ asks Pharaoh.
McAvoy sighs. ‘I think what Chandler saw as an idea for a book, somebody else saw as something more. Something that made sense. I don’t know …’ Raps himself on the forehead with a bruised knuckle, furious at his inability to unravel the tangle of thoughts that were messing up his mind. ‘This isn’t random. I know that much. This isn’t a crime for love or money or revenge. These are deaths that only make sense in the mind of one person. Somebody is redressing the balance. They’re taking away their second chances at life. People who survived when nobody else did. They’re being bumped off in the same way that somebody thinks they should have died. That means something. They’re replicating the conditions. They’re trying to take the miracle away. The only reason I could see Chandler doing that is to get himself a book out of it, but I met the man and there’s anger and self- loathing in those eyes but there’s no …’
‘Evil? McAvoy, it’s not always about-’
‘I know, I know. Most crimes are just about anger or drink or hitting somebody harder than their head can take. But I’ve looked into evil eyes and the eyes of the man who’s doing this aren’t like that. This is about sadness and despair and having to do something you don’t want to do. It’s about paying the price. It’s …’
Pharaoh reaches out and puts a hand on the back of his own. She nods at him.
‘Who do you think is killing these people, Hector?’
‘Someone like me,’ he says.
‘You’d never do this,’ she says. ‘You’d never hurt people.’
‘I would,’ he says to the floor. ‘For my family. For love. I’d send my soul to hell for the people I love. I’d cry while I was doing it, but I’d do it. Wouldn’t you?’
Pharaoh turns away. ‘Not everybody loves like you.’
‘So we need to find a man who does. Somebody strong enough to fight me. Somebody capable of cutting their way out of a container and killing an old man. Somebody close enough to Chandler to use his connections. To make him call Algirdas. We’re looking for a man who loves like me.’
His face is angry, his gestures manic. Pharaoh, involuntarily, seems to shrink back a little in her seat, and McAvoy instantly realises the intimidating picture he must be presenting.
‘I’m sorry, guv, I just …’
Pharaoh shakes her head slowly, the tension breaking only when she gives a half smile. She follows it up with a punch to his shoulder.
‘You should come with a bloody manual,’ she says. ‘Your Roisin must be a saint.’
McAvoy gives the faintest of laughs.
‘She’s better than all of us,’ he says, gesturing, his vague wave taking in the street and its drunken occupants, its boarded-up shops and litter-strewn doorways. ‘Better than all this.’
Pharaoh regards him, holding his gaze. Eventually, she nods, a decision apparently made. ‘Keep making her shine, Hector. See if any of it rubs off.’
CHAPTER 25
McAvoy is lounging against one of the red brick columns that make up the elegant portico framing the glass sliding doors.
‘Detective Sergeant McAvoy?’
He turns and sees a tall, slender, short-haired woman in a Puffa jacket over a white coat and trouser suit. The woman extends a pale, ringless hand which disappears entirely as McAvoy closes it in his own and takes care not to squeeze.
‘Megan Straub,’ she says.
McAvoy smiles and is pleased to see it returned.
‘I’m Anne’s doctor,’ she says, gesturing for him to follow her back into the warm embrace of the modern hospital. ‘I think some of our executives and pencil-pushers are a bit upset about all this,’ she adds brightly as the double doors swish open and they begin walking down a long corridor laid with gleaming polished wood.
‘Well, as I explained, this is a murder investigation …’
‘Yes, they said something like that,’ says Doctor Straub carelessly, then laughs and adds: ‘I can’t imagine Anne’s a suspect.’
‘No, nothing like that,’ begins McAvoy, and then halts abruptly as he notices that the doctor has stopped by a door and is standing with her fingers on the handle.
