dogs. Apparently they cost a fortune and someone is going to pay for it.” They all looked at Butler but he remained tight-lipped.
“Right,” Baxter said. “You all know what’s required. Let’s get on with it.”
The meeting was over.
In the corridor Cole said to DS Butler. “Don’t take it personally, Sam. They’re just making sure they’re fireproof, that’s all. They like the sound of their own voices. It’s what senior coppers do.” He left the detective sergeant staring down at his own feet. Geoff Maynard spent most of his day revisiting the SOCs; he needed to be there, away from the distractions of the office, absorbing every detail of the surroundings, the hunting grounds, searching for the slightest detail they might have missed, perhaps an indication of the assailant’s state of mind, arousal, impulse, anything. The questions were endless but, like he’d told Donna, even an empty road could give up some answers.
The youngster's voice brought him back.
“That's her,” Brian Lara said and pointed across the High Road toward a slim woman with spiky blond hair. She wore a short burgundy shift – any year's colour – and a black jacket. Not a lot for a freezing night. “That's the one. Classy, like I said.”
“Classy,” Maynard agreed.
They'd left the car twenty minutes earlier to mingle with the toms, the punters, the pissheads, and the passers-by who hadn’t got a clue what was going on. It was close to closing so between the four pubs in the Square the drinkers hurried to get in their last orders. A north-easterly scoured the road and sent plastic bags and front pages demanding the return of the plod scudding past. It lifted hemlines and drew tears from the eyes so that the light from shop windows seemed oddly scattered. Overhead the festive lights swung on their cables. Higher still the sky growled angrily and the ragged clouds were the colour of congealed blood.
The pavements were packed yet it was still a lonely place. Maynard said, “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure. That's the one.”
“That's it, then. You've done your bit.” He stuffed a twenty in the lad's hand. “Burger, right? Just remember what I told you. You can walk away. You do have a choice.”
The score lit up Brian Lara’s eyes. “Right” he said.
He watched the big man cross the road then checked out the note again.
A youngster wearing a hood and oversized clothes appeared from the shadow of a doorway.
“All right, Jay?”
“It's Brian.”
“Yeah, cool.”
“What you wearing that for?”
“It’s the thing, innit?”
“You look like a dickhead. It’ll never catch on.”
The youngster pulled a face and dropped the hood. He said, “What's happening?”
“Tick tock, dick dosh, dick, dick, dosh, dosh, you know?” “Yeah.”
“I fancy a burger, all of a sudden.”
“Good idea. That'll do. Bit of huff later, yeah?”
Geoff Maynard tucked behind and kept a distance of some twenty yards. The last bell meant the pavements were full and he had to weave his way through the celebratory crush. One face looked like another. One street looked like another. Maynard was sober but in this bash of false festivity he seemed to be the only one.
He didn’t know the streets and even in the crowd he felt suddenly exposed. He followed her into a less crowded area away from the shops and boozers and found himself in bedsit land and student territory.
Geoff Maynard was a psychologist, a hands-on mechanic who delved into the cold, unconscious machinery of the criminal mind. He knew what made them tick and slash and kill. He’d spent his days wallowing in their fantasies, his nights sharing their dreams. He knew the dangers and the warning signs.
She had stopped and was looking back at him. She smiled an acknowledgement, a promise of the world and everything in it. Without making it obvious there was no turning he could make, nothing he could do but continue on towards her.
“Hello,” she said, flashing some perfect teeth and a tricky smile that reminded him of something from the distant past.
Chapter 25
They met in the corridor late afternoon, soon after Cole had returned from Hinckley. Donna had spent two hours at the North Mid but it had proved a waste of time. There was nothing to add to her original reports.
She said, “If we do it again it will start to get serious, won’t it? Three times makes it serious. It won’t be an aberration, or a requirement, or a wartime thing, or fling. It will be something else and we’ll be looking for excuses and all that shit.”
He smiled.
She softened.
He smiled again and she gave up altogether.
“Ten?”
That would give her time to get home to change and back again. Not that changing usually mattered. She nodded. She knew the place. The White Horse was the kozzer’s boozer and any other in the area could lead to trouble and indiscretion. It went with the territory. There was no point at all in inviting trouble, particularly on a wind-down. Chas Walker was half-cut and the stanchions weren’t wide enough. “Guv,” he said and looked from Cole to Donna.
“We’re just leaving,” Cole said and turned to Donna. “I’ll run you home.”
Donna smiled, sharing it.
Chas Walker nodded, guessing it.
And yet Donna looked decidedly flushed, almost embarrassed by the proposal. Chas Walker was confused and decided that maybe the DI was not nailing the seconded PC after all.
Donna Fitzgerald finished her drink and got to her feet too quickly. Over his slopping pint Chas Walker gave her a knowing look. Her look back told him that he was right the first time.
Then Cole’s mobile went and ruined it and Donna’s shoulders sagged.
Cole listened, asked a few questions then turned to the others. “Geoff Maynard’s been stabbed. He’s in the North Mid. The plods are roping the scene, taking statements.” He looked at Donna, saw the concern mixed with disappointment. “I’ve got to get over there. I’ll drop you on the way.”
Deflated she said, “I’ll come.”
He glanced at Chas Walker.
Walker lifted his hands. “I’m with you, Guv.”
In A amp;E a uniform told them, “A Stanley knife or something like it, across the face, cut his ear in two then right across the cheek to his mouth.” To elaborate he used his finger and traced a line on his own cheek.
Cole said, “Shit.”
“Agreed. It was a woman. We’ve got a description. A blonde, two legs, good looking.” He shook his head and added, “I’ve never seen so much claret. We got him here with about three minutes to spare. Didn’t wait for an ambulance.”
“What’s happening now?”
“They’ve stopped the bleeding. Surgery later on. It’s going to take some needlework, believe me.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Ouch, or something like that. He’s not saying anything else till the stitches are in. Conversation was not on his mind.”
“What’s your name?”
“Kershaw.”
“You should be in plain clothes.”
