‘Come in under your own steam tomorrow. BMP HQ, not Northern Division. Ask for MIT. Have you got that?’
She nodded. ‘MIT.’
‘If you’re a no-show, I’ll be here tomorrow night, mob-handed. Whether you’re here or not, your boss will know all about how helpful you’ve been to the police. Are we clear on that?’
She glared at him, eyes sparkling with frustration. ‘I’ll stick to my end, you stick to yours.’
He heard her swear at him as he walked back to the car, but he didn’t care. She might have wiped the tapes in the club, but her boss didn’t control all the road cameras. Sam was pretty sure that, whatever direction Leanne’s killer had taken, he would be picked up. This killer’s days were numbered and it was all thanks to Sam Evans. Jordan would have to acknowledge this piece of work. She might be on her way out, but Sam was on his way up.
25
A watery sun infiltrated Tony’s kitchen, giving everything a slightly surreal cast. While the coffee brewed, he browsed the news online. Vance’s escape was the headline everywhere, an excuse for a rehash of his crimes and trials. Tony featured in most of the stories, Carol in a few. The media had tried to get to Micky Morgan, Vance’s ex-wife, but they’d arrived at the stud where she and her partner bred racehorses to find a horsebox across the drive and hard-faced stable lads patrolling the perimeter. Nobody had even seen Micky, never mind managed to get a quote. Instead they’d settled for interviewing an assortment of nobodies who had once worked alongside Vance. The prison authorities hadn’t come out of it well either, which was as predictable as morning following night.
There wasn’t much coverage of Leanne Considine’s murder, mostly because as far as the media was concerned she was still identity unknown. Once they discovered who she was and that she had a secret double life, there would be a feeding frenzy. Her housemates would be under siege till they cracked and revealed – or invented – her lurid life. If they had any sense, they’d screw enough money out of the media to pay their university fees.
But for now, she was just a down-page filler for the nationals. Even Penny Burgess had to be content with eight paragraphs. Carol had told him about the press conference, but Penny hadn’t had the nerve to go against what Reekie had said. She’d be furious when she found out the truth, he thought, picking up his espresso and going through to his study. He glanced out of the window, gratified to see the surveillance van still parked on the other side of the street.
The downside of Carol’s refusal to have her own protection was that he was stuck in Bradfield until Vance was either behind bars or deemed not to be a risk. If he went down to the house he’d fallen in love with in Worcester, his protection would come with him. Which would mean leaving Carol exposed and vulnerable here at night. And that was definitely thinking the unthinkable.
The other great unthinkable was what was going to happen between him and Carol. For years, they’d danced a strange quadrille, drawing closer, then being driven apart by events and their own histories. They were like those bar magnets kids used in experiments at school; one moment, the attraction was irresistible, then you switched poles and the force between them made it impossible for them to get close. In the few months since her acceptance of his offer of a home in the house he’d inherited, they’d typically managed to avoid any real discussion of what that might mean beyond the fact. The only thing that was clear was that she would have her own space – a bedroom, a bathroom and a room that would double as a sitting room and home office. Whether this change in geographical circumstance would mean a different kind of change was something neither of them seemed able to broach.
Tony was almost convinced he was ready to try to move forward. Well, moving forward was what pop psychology would call it. He was well aware that what passed for forward motion was often a way of heralding a different kind of change. He didn’t want to damage the quality of his connection with Carol and part of him was still concerned that climbing into bed together would do just that. He’d never had much success with the business of sex. Mostly, he’d been impotent. He could become aroused, though probably a lot less than most men seemed to. But as soon as he got naked with a woman, his penis clocked off. He’d tried Viagra, which had cured the physical symptoms but messed with his head. On the other hand, maybe that had been more to do with the fact that the woman he’d been with was not Carol. Tony let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. It was all so complicated. Maybe they should just leave things be. OK, it wasn’t perfect. But what was?
Meanwhile, the best he could do for Carol was to work behind the scenes to help her team ensure that their last hurrah ended in glory. But before he got stuck into that, he needed to find out what was happening in the hunt for Vance.
He didn’t want to put Ambrose in an awkward spot with his boss, so rather than call him, he sent a text. Tony felt quite proud of himself as he hit the ‘send’ button. When it came to passing for human, he knew he still had plenty to learn. But maybe he was finally picking up a few pointers in the tact-and-diplomacy department.
He’d barely begun to download the files Stacey had left in the Cloud for him when Ambrose called back. ‘Hiya, mate,’ Ambrose said in his low rumble. No names; he was always careful not to compromise himself.
‘Thanks for getting back to me.’ That was one he’d learned by heart; apparently, unless you were a teenage boy, you didn’t just grunt when somebody returned a call. ‘Any news on Vance?’
‘He’s still in the wind. And we’re under siege from the world’s media,’ Ambrose said. ‘We found the taxi he nicked. He left it round the back of the northbound services on the M42. But no sign of the man himself. We’ve got officers going through the CCTV cameras as we speak, but don’t hold your breath. The best definition pictures are from inside the services building. If Vance didn’t go in there, we’re probably fucked.’
‘I suppose it was too much to hope for.’
‘I’m only just beginning to realise what a clever bastard he is. I never paid much attention to the case at the time, I had too much going on in my own neck of the woods. Have you got any tips?’
‘He’s not on your patch any more. I’d put money on it. Whatever his plans are, I’m pretty sure they don’t involve hanging around Oakworth. And he will have plans,’ Tony said heavily.
‘Obviously. You don’t go to those lengths to get out and not be sorted on the outside. Does the name Terry Gates mean anything to you, by the way?’
‘Oh shit,’ Tony groaned. ‘Sometimes I am too stupid to live.’ Even as he spoke, he hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be a prediction.
A humourless laugh came down the phone. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘Fuck. Ambrose, I’m sorry. I should have remembered Terry Gates.’ As he spoke, Tony could see Gates in his mind’s eye. Arms with cables of muscle under the skin, big brown eyes like a trusting animal, an open face that
