press get hold of that we're going to look fucking stupid. So we keep our mouths shut. No one, all right? Not even wives and husbands and mothers or whatever. Mouths shut.'
A few heads nod, most of us stare blankly at him or at the floor. No one's going to tell anyone anything. Maybe if he doesn't go, Bloonsbury'll get his head panned in.
'So, what have we got? Herrod took a call from Josephine Johnson yesterday morning, putting him on to Ian Healy. Went round there on his own. Given what happened, he was a bloody idiot.' Pauses, takes a deep breath. No friends of Herrod here to offend. 'Whatever the exact turn of events, it ended with the sergeant dead. Healy, realising we're onto him, disappears. From hair samples in the flat, forensics have confirmed that it was Healy who killed Ann Keller and Police Constable Bathurst. Some of us may wonder why Evelyn was killed, but it looks as if she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'
Looks around the room. Was that last comment directed solely at me? Might have been. He's right, anyway. Forget about Crow and some great conspiracy. Bathurst goes to see Miller to give her confession; for whatever reason they end up in bed, as you do; on her way home in the middle of the night, Bathurst is stumbled upon by Healy, and that seals her fate. Shouldn't have been walking alone through the streets in the middle of the night when there was a killer loose. No conspiracy.
'Now Herrod. Three murders and our killer has gone to ground. We know he's our man, we need to know where he is. We need to speak to everybody that's ever met the guy. Family, friends, clients, whoever. Hutton, you just been down to his office?'
'Aye. Brought back everything we could find. Just about to go and look through it all, see what we can get. The secretary's downstairs, trying to be stoic.'
'I know. I'll speak to her when we're done. But she won't tell us anything. Nothing to tell.'
He stops, looks around the room again. Not one for speeches our Dan. My mind strays again to Miller, as he starts dividing up the areas of responsibility. Who's to look where, talk to whom. I know what I've got for the next few hours. Looking through bloody file after file of Ian Healy's confidential papers. Landed with Morrow to help. Still be a long job. Look at the watch — almost seven o'clock already. Think of Peggy for the first time since this morning. Have to cancel again. She should understand. If she doesn't, then there just isn't any point, is there?
Too much is happening. Two women; a murder inquiry, which quickly consumes two colleagues; an old police conspiracy involving who knows how many idiots at the station. Too much crap going on at once. I just need a few hours to step back from it, assess the whole lot. Make some decisions, discard some of the garbage. But I'm not getting the chance. Every ten minutes there's something new. A revelation, a demand, whatever. At least today has simplified it a little. We're looking for Ian Healy, period. What I also need is for one of the women to tell me to take a hike — or both of them for that matter — and then things would be even simpler.
Switch back on for the wrap up.
'Right, people. You all know what you're doing. We need this sorted out quickly, so get out there and get on with it. And no fucking about.'
Taylor walks from the room and the meeting breaks up. Trail out near the back, no one saying anything. There's a job to be done, have to get on with it. Get back to my desk, Morrow comes trotting up.
'Right, Tom. Might as well sit at Herrod's desk. Seat should be cold by now.'
Raises his eyebrows, doesn't look too impressed. A dead man's seat. I push a box of papers over to him.
'What are we looking for?' he says.
'No idea, Constable,' I say. 'Let me know when you find it.'
Lift the phone. Get the call to Peggy out of the way before I start. One ring and she lifts straight away.
'Hello?'
'Hi…'
'Oh, God, Thomas,' she says. Sounds relieved. 'Are you all right? I heard about Herrod.'
'Aye, I'm fine. He's not doing so well though.'
'What's going on there, for God's sake?'
'Everything's cool. Herrod was just stupid.' I'm all sympathy. Peggy didn't like him any more than I did.
'Well, just you be careful.'
'Aye, I will. Look, I'm not going to be able to make it over tonight. This just keeps getting worse and worse.'
'Oh, please, Thomas. I'm worried. I want to see you.' Start to object, she doesn't give me the chance. 'I'm not going anywhere. It doesn't matter when you come, I'll be in bed whatever time it is. Just come over and join me.'
What the hell, it doesn't make any difference. Might as well sleep at their place as my own. Although, what happens if I've somewhere else to go tomorrow night?
'Aye, all right then. But really, don't wait up.'
'I won't.'
'OK. And as long as you're not going to be annoyed if I crawl in at half-five.'
'It won't matter.'
'Right then, I'll be there.'
'Thanks, Thomas. The children'll be delighted to see you in the morning.'
All part of the plan.
'Aye, it'll be good.'
Say our goodbyes, hang up. Morrow's got his head buried in his pile of paper, good lad. If Herrod had still been there he would have been listening avidly to every word and not attempting to hide the fact.
Phone goes again as soon as I hang up. Internal. If this is Ramsey with some apology for a crime, I'm going to give the bastard a doing.
'Hutton.'
'Thomas.' It's Charlotte.
Shit. Look up. Her office door is closed. She must have come back while we were in the meeting. I was wanting things simplified.
'Hi.'
I bet Morrow would want to listen to this if he knew who was on the phone.
'You'll be working late?' she says.
'No question.'
'I understand. Of course. But I was wondering if you could come over later?'
Come on… I don't need this. I'm supposed to go charging down to Helensburgh at three o'clock in the morning? I can't. Not tonight. Can't stand up Peggy again.
She is aware of my hesitation. Sounds anxious.
'Not Helensburgh. I've got a flat. Kelvinside.' Of course. 'You could just come over there when you've finished.'
She sounds like a normal human being. Alone. Vulnerable. Breathe deeply. You promised your ex-wife, your possibly soon to be next wife.
'Things are just getting a little out of hand,' she says. 'I need to talk, that's all.'
Why now? Why tonight? Why can't she want to talk tomorrow night? Where's the idiot Frank when you need him?
'All right,' I say. Fingers rubbing at my forehead. Thomas Hutton — the fucking idiot who can't say no.
'Thanks,' she says. Immediately sounds more assured. 'I'll be here late as well. I'll speak to you before I go.'
'Aye.'
She hangs up. Put the phone down. Stare at it. Wait for it to ring again with some other demand on my time for the middle of the coming night. When it doesn't, I lift the top paper off the pile and start to adjust myself to searching through the life and work of Ian Healy; see what I can come up with.
Haven't got two lines when the door to Bloonsbury's office opens and the broken man walks out. There are six or seven people in the room as he walks through and every one of us stops what we're doing to stare at the guy. Bloody eyes, face streaked and ugly. A mess. Appears to be walking in a bit more of a straight line than usual but his shoulders are hunched, shuffling gait. He stops halfway across the room. Has become aware that everyone is
