knew he would have some stashed in the shed …’
‘Waited for him to leave and then followed him?’
‘Maybe. It makes sense. Only her and her father could have known where he’d be with the boy.’
Delaney frowned. ‘I’m pretty sure the old man wasn’t lying about not realising the boy had been taken. He was pretty eaten up with guilt.’
‘I know, and the mother was absolutely distraught.’ Sally shook her head. ‘You’re right, she couldn’t be that good an actress.’
Delaney sighed. ‘You clock up as many miles on the old shoe leather as me, detective constable, and you’ll realise that people are capable of doing the most inhumane things, the cruellest things imaginable, and lying about them straight to your face whilst crying bucketloads of crocodile tears.’
‘I guess.’
‘That woman you mentioned. How many weeks was she on television looking absolutely distraught and pleading for her daughter’s return?’
‘True.’
‘It’s a sick, sad world, Sally. No known cure.’
‘What’s the point, then?’
‘To ease the suffering. Where we can. When we can. It’s all we can do, the likes of us.’
Sally shook her head again. ‘I don’t believe that, sir. And neither do you.’
‘That a fact?’
Sally nodded. ‘You could take it to the CPS.’
Delaney smiled and took another pull on his pint. ‘You sure I shouldn’t have a word with my cousin about you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I reckon you’d make a better psychologist than a policewoman, Sally.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Sally, quite animated. ‘It’s you who know people, sir. That’s why you are so much better than the likes of the chief superintendent in his fancy office. You know what makes people tick and that’s why you’re such a good copper, such a great detective.’
Delaney looked at her, amused. ‘Sometimes, constable, I’m not sure I could detect my own nose if I had swine fever and half a pound of pepper up it.’
‘Maybe a while back, sir, when, and you’ll forgive me for saying it, you had that nose permanently jammed in a bottle of Irish whiskey. But not any more.’
Delaney laughed out loud. ‘See? You know people too, and you’re not afraid to show it.’
‘Yeah, well, some people are easier to read than others.’
‘So what’s your take on Rosemary Woods, then?’
Sally frowned thoughtfully. ‘What would be in it for her, if she
‘Motive, Sally. It’s at the heart of everything.’
‘True.’
‘If we know
Sally shook her head and Delaney took his glass to the bar. ‘Another delicious pint, please, barman,’ he said without a hint of irony in his voice. The barman grunted and tossed the last photo in the box: a group of quiff-haired men dressed in Teddy-boy suits and brothel creepers by the look of it. The 1950s, Delaney thought – that wasn’t just another country, it was another fecking universe.
*
Jennifer Hickling struggled to breathe but the hand clamped around her mouth was tightening. The woman pushed her back against the wall and leaned in, her voice throbbing with menace.
‘You’re not welcome here, bitch.’
Jennifer struggled but to no avail. ‘Let me go.’
The woman released her and Jenny ran up the road, darting left into Camden High Street.
She took a moment or two to catch her breath but had no intention of going anywhere else. She had a few regulars who were due a little later. Good money for very little work. Just a few hand jobs and one who liked her on her knees down the alleyway she used. But at least he didn’t insist on using a condom – she hated the taste of latex – and was clean and she made damn sure he never finished in her mouth. She knew what she was. She didn’t like it and she intended to change it. Jenny knew what she was, what she’d been made into … but she had her standards.
She looked at her watch and decided to let the foreign bitch have the street for a while while she had a coffee. Wait till the old whore picked up another punter. Any luck it would be a mad bastard who strangled her.
But Jennifer Hickling didn’t believe in luck any more. At least, not the good kind.
*
