Hanging Hill

‘Goldrab?’

‘That’s right. David Adam Goldrab.’

2

It was hot in the office. The printer was still whirring, churning out hot sheets of paper. Zoe stared at the names, willing them to mean something – to convey something to her. Marc Rainer, Jo Gordon-Catling, Richard Rose, David Goldrab. ‘Come on, London Tarn,’ she murmured. ‘Which one is you?’

None of the documentation helped. She needed a face to put to the details. But the emails from SOCA and the targeting team could take ages. She pushed back her chair, wandered out into the kitchen at the end of the corridor and put on the kettle. Waiting for it to boil, she stood at the window, idly looking down into the car park. There were marked vehicles moving around down there, in and out, pedestrians coming and going. Finding London Tarn, after all these years? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that at all.

She was about to turn away when she noticed an officer and a teenage boy in school uniform coming across the forecourt. She put her forehead against the window. She recognized the thatch of blond hair. It was Peter Cyrus – Millie’s friend. Frowning, she switched off the kettle and went out into the corridor. DC Goods was coming out of the incident room, scanning a memo.

‘Goodsy?’

He looked up. ‘Hmm?’

‘One of Ralph Hernandez’s friends is in the building. Peter Cyrus. Any idea what that’s about?’

He cocked his head on one side. ‘Don’t you know?’

‘Don’t I know what?’

‘About the CCTV.’

‘What CCTV?’

‘I thought everyone knew.’

‘Well, probably everyone does. Just not me. You know.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘I’ve got that sign here that says, “Important information to share? Please ensure I’m the last person you tell.”’

He shrugged apologetically. ‘Ben’s had a team trawling the pubs. The ones Hernandez was supposed to be drinking in with his mates?’

‘Ye-es,’ she said cautiously.

‘Well, he wasn’t there. None of them were. We’ve interviewed regulars and the bar staff, who’ve checked till receipts and CCTV. They’ve all been lying.’

3

Zoe couldn’t see Peter Cyrus anywhere, but she found Nial Sweetman sitting in a surly huddle in the reception area. She saw him through the glass door as she came down the corridor and knew from his face he’d rather be anywhere than there. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, and when he saw it was her, a faint ray of hope crossed his face. She shook her head. ‘No. It’s not me who’s interviewing you. I’m sorry.’

He drooped back, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. Zoe glanced at the desk sergeant, who was speaking on the phone, standing staring out of the window, not paying attention. She stood near Nial, her arms crossed, monitoring the sergeant out of the corner of her eye, speaking in a low whisper out of the side of her mouth.

‘I shouldn’t talk to you. I could get into serious trouble. They could even charge you with obstruction.’

‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘That’s what my dad said might happen.’

‘Why the hell did you do it?’

Nial shrugged. ‘Because he’s a mate? Because I thought it was a good idea. That’s what I’m going to tell them. That it was my idea.’

‘Well, was it?’

‘Of course,’ he said evasively. ‘And that’s what Ralph’s going to say. And Peter.’

‘You know the shit load of trouble you’re going to be in.’

‘He’s a mate,’ he said fiercely, ‘and mates look out for each other.’

Zoe shook her head. When would people learn? The desk sergeant was yawning now, scratching his chest as he talked. ‘So, Nial,’ she murmured, ‘when they ask you where you really were that night, what’re you going to say?’

‘That I was at home.’

‘With Ralph?’

‘Well…’ Nial shifted uneasily.

‘Well?’

He rubbed his nose and glanced at the open door, the sunlight coming down in the street outside. He gave it a hungry look, as if he was going to sign a pact with the devil and knew that might be the last daylight he ever saw.

‘Nial?’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Not with him. I don’t know where he was. But I can promise you this.’ He stared up at her. There were red patches on his face. ‘I can promise you he wasn’t out hurting Lorne Wood.’

4

Zoe went back to her office, clenching her teeth so hard they hurt. She couldn’t get Ralph’s face out of her head, how he’d been so scared of his parents. She couldn’t get Nial out of her head either – He wasn’t out hurting Lorne Wood. Nial knew what she only had a hunch about: that Ralph wasn’t a killer.

The door to the incident room stood open, the whiteboard covered with scribbles, Ralph’s photo pinned up. She passed it, went into her office and stared at the reams of paperwork among which there might be a person who might know something that might prove them all wrong. Something that would let Ralph off the hook. She sank into her chair, a sense of defeat creeping over her. A lot of ‘mights’ and no ‘concretes’. Ralph didn’t stand a chance. Didn’t stand a sodding chance.

Somewhere outside the office a door slammed. She didn’t get up but used her toe to pull her door open a fraction. Ben was coming along the corridor. He was holding a folder under his arm, his glasses in the other hand, a strained look on his face, as if this case was really doing his head in. Behind him came Nial, slouching along uneasily, trying to act nonchalant and doing such a bad job of it that he only managed to look furtive. The two weren’t exchanging a word.

Zoe was about to retreat when Ben’s office door opened and Debbie came out. She was wearing a creamy lace dress – feminine and innocent – high green sandals on her tanned feet. There was a bit of a sway in her step, as if she was enjoying life. Her face changed when she saw Nial. She stopped in front of the door, crossed her arms and frowned at him as he passed. Like a head-mistress who’d just come face to face with the biggest troublemaker in the whole school. He raised his eyes sullenly to her and, very, very slowly, Debbie shook her head. If the gesture had had words they’d have been: you silly, silly little boy. Then, as if there was nothing more disappointing to her in the whole world, she turned on a heel and walked away in the opposite direction.

Before anyone could see her, Zoe kicked the door closed and turned her chair back to the computer. Her face was hot. She rolled up her right sleeve and studied the skin. Covered with marks and scabs. She found a piece of flesh that wasn’t marked. It would be easy to dig her nails into it – so easy. She closed her eyes. You don’t have to,