‘Something doesn’t add up.’
‘Tell me about it. You can trust me, I’m a cop, a detective super at that.’
‘I’ve been looking at all the Camorra killings since the hit in Majorca,’ he explained, ‘and some don’t fit the pattern.’
‘In what way?’
‘The hits on the senior Petrone clan guys seem much more tidy and professional than all the others. The street killings are the usual horrid mess, but the ones where the bosses are taken out are much more clinical — it’s no wonder Rosario did a runner. Anyway, I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing.’
‘Whoever killed him also seems very keen to the extreme on eliminating witnesses,’ Henry said.
‘Problem is I can only access certain files at the moment. I need to look at some more detailed information that I know exists, but I don’t seem to be able to get into. A glitch, I think.’
Henry nodded in Jerry Tope’s direction. ‘How about our resident hacker? Could he be of assistance?’
Donaldson looked around at Jerry who sipped his coffee thoughtfully and nibbled a custard cream. He knew the Intel unit detective was a skilled hacker and often searched the databases of other organizations without consent. He had once probed deeply into the FBI computer and delved much deeper than most hackers, until he had been discovered by the IT bods at Quantico and chased — in the cyber sense of the word — across the world. Donaldson had been given the task of investigating Tope and there could easily have been much embarrassing egg-on-face all around if the FBI hadn’t actually wanted to recruit Tope.
So far, Henry had deflected their advances on behalf of Jerry, but he guessed that one day a financial package would come along and lure him away from Lancashire. Henry would hang on to him for as long as possible because he recognized a brilliant asset when he saw one, even if he was a glum sort of guy.
Donaldson considered him whilst eating his half-cherry. ‘Nah, back burner… I’ll go and try again. It was probably just one of those IT gremlins.’
‘He’s there if you need him.’
Henry and Donaldson watched Tope as he split apart his custard cream and began to lick the filling with the relish of an adolescent.
Henry dropped Donaldson off at his house, gave Kate a quick wave — who, by rights, should have been sat at an airport now — then shot back to the police station. He had about an hour, he estimated, that he would put to good use by writing up the murder book and doing a spot of problem solving.
Donaldson’s mobile rang as he walked through the door of Henry’s house. He answered it with trepidation as the caller ID told him it was Karen calling. Despite the caution, he tried to give his voice a pleasant lilt.
‘Hi, babe, where the heck are you?’
‘Love, I’m sorry, I couldn’t get away from work.’ Karen was a superintendent working for the Metropolitan Police but seconded to Bramshill, the grand former stately home in Hampshire now home to a broad spectrum of police training. She was head of the overseas development arm, assisting other countries to develop training packages for their high-ranking officers. She did sound contrite.
‘I really wanted to see you,’ Donaldson said sweetly. ‘I really got sidetracked up here.’
‘That’s OK, hon. These things happen.’
There was something in her voice underneath the slightly syrupy tone that Donaldson picked up on.
‘When can I expect you?’
‘I’ll try and get up for lunchtime tomorrow, now. That OK?’
‘I’ll still be here.’ Donaldson had moved out on to the front step to take the call, looking through the front door down the hallway. Kate appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel, watching him on the phone.
‘OK, bye,’ Karen said hesitantly.
The line went dead. Donaldson drew the phone slowly away from his ear. He could not work out the voice. Did she somehow know about his indiscretion? Impossible, he told himself. Unless crazy Vanessa had found out who Karen was and had contacted her to reveal the lurid details of the fling. One thing of which he was certain: if Karen knew, she would not hold back. He would get a full broadside and maybe this was the sweetness before the storm. Then again — maybe she was the one seeing someone else? He gulped drily.
‘Everything all right?’ Kate asked.
‘Yuh, think so. Karen will be coming tomorrow instead of today. Some hold up at work.’
‘Are the kids OK?’
‘Yeah, should be. They’re with Karen’s sister down in Southampton for a few days.’
‘So — are you going to remain standing on the front step, or are you coming in?’
He smiled wonkily at her. ‘Any chance of a shower, and maybe a sandwich?’
‘I have pastrami, I have rye bread, I have crisp salad and I have mayo. I also have a power shower… tempting?’
‘God, yes,’ he gasped.
‘What do you want me to do?’
Henry looked up from the murder book and his mass of notes. The bulky form of Bill Robbins was leaning on the door frame. ‘No luck with found property, I take it?’
‘Nope.’
‘Never mind, good idea, though. Have you had something to eat?’
Bill shook his head.
‘Get something while they’re still open and then hang around will you? Not sure what’s happening to the star witness yet.’
Bill nodded, pushed himself upright and left the MIR to catch a meal in the canteen.
Henry closed the office door, not wanting any more disturbances. Better detectives than him had had cases seriously threatened by not keeping the murder book up to date. It was sometimes difficult to do, especially when things were happening, but there was never any excuse when the lawyers came into the equation, as they always did. And at the moment, Henry’s notes were in disarray. As he sat down he was immediately interrupted by a knock on the door, which opened without invitation as Rik Dean wafted in. Henry thought about saying something about manners, but bit his tongue.
‘Post-mortem carried out on Rory Costain,’ Rik announced brightly. ‘Only confirms what we already know — shot in the head, massive brain trauma, some lovely chunks of bullet recovered.’
‘We need to get them compared to the fragments recovered from Petrone, then the link will be conclusive, but I already believe it is. Can you fix that?’
‘I’ve already got it put through Scientific Support and a motorcyclist is on his way with them to the forensic lab.’
‘Good — and what about Billy Costain and Mandy Carter?’
‘The pathologist will do Billy this evening and Mandy in the morning.’ Rik checked his watch. ‘She wants to start in an hour and said she’d like you to be there for that one.’ Rik sneaked forward, bent slightly and wagged a finger at Henry. ‘And not just because you’re the SIO, I suspect. She spoke very affectionately about you.’ He raised his eyebrows and Henry half-thought he was going to say, ‘Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.’ Instead, Rik said, ‘You got something on the bubble with her?’
‘No,’ Henry said flatly, and if he could have, he would have sent Rik back to stand in on Billy’s PM, but he knew it was something he had to do — professionally and personally. ‘I’ll be there.’
Rik did then wink. ‘Just remember, pal. One day soon we may be kith and kin, you and me, so we now need to set the ground rules of infidelity.’ Henry scowled at him. ‘Like, if I stray and you find out — zip.’ Rik pretended to zip-up his lips. ‘And vice-versa… a family trust thing.’ He looped his forefingers together and pulled, like they were links in a chain.
Henry said tiredly, ‘My sister might be a doozy, but I actually think she’ll see right through you sooner rather than later, or, vice-versa, you’ll see through her, because she finds it equally hard to keep her panties on as you do your flies up. Don’t want to be a killjoy, but if you two ever get hitched I’ll show my ring-piece in Burton’s window.’
‘You can be very cutting, Henry.’
‘The truth often has a sharp edge to it.’ He looked down despondently at the murder book and closed it softly. He guessed it would be a midnight thing. ‘Fancy a bite?’
