On the other side of the office, Gaz was taking bets on the Newcastle-Leeds game.
I opened the envelope and pulled out the card with my teeth and my left hand.
“Do you want in, Eddie?” shouted Gaz.
On the front of the card was a cabin made of logs in the middle of a snow-covered forest.
“Ten bob on Lorimer,” I said, opening the card.
“Jack’s got him.”
Inside the card, over the Christmas message, were stuck two more strips of Dymo tape.
Quietly I said, “I’ll have Yorath then.”
Punched into the top plastic strip was:
“You what?”
Punched into the bottom plastic strip was:
HEIGHTS .
“Yorath,” I said, staring at the card. “Anyone I know?” I looked up.
Jack Whitehead said, “I just hope it’s from a woman.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard you were hanging around with young boys,” smiled Jack.
I put the card inside my jacket pocket. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. With orange hair.”
“Who’d you hear that from then, Jack?”
“A little bird.”
“You stink of drink.”
“So do you.”
“It’s Christmas.”
“Not for much longer,” grinned Jack. “Boss wants to see you.”
“I know,” I said, not moving.
“He asked me to come and find you, make sure you didn’t get lost again.”
“Going to hold my hand?”
“You’re not my type.”
“Bollocks.”
“Fuck off, Jack. Listen.”
I pressed play again:
“
“Bollocks,” said Jack again. “He’s talking about the photo graphs in the papers, on TV.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Her face was everywhere.”
“Ashworth knows more than that.”
“Myshkin fucking confessed.”
“That means fuck all and you know it.”
Bill Hadden sat behind his desk, his glasses halfway down his nose, stroking his beard and saying nowt.
“You should see all the shit they took from the little pervert’s room.”
“Like what?”
“Photos of little girls, boxes of them.”
I looked at Hadden and said, “Myshkin didn’t do it.”
He said slowly, “But why make a scapegoat of him?”
“Why do you think? Tradition.”
“Thirty years,” said Jack. “Thirty years and I know firemen never lie and coppers often do. But not this time.”
“They know he didn’t do it and you know he didn’t.”
“He did it. He coughed.”
“So fucking what?”
“You ever heard the word forensic?”
“That’s bullshit. They’ve got nothing.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Hadden, leaning forward in his chair. “It seems like we’ve had this conversation before.”
“Exactly,” muttered Jack.
“No, before I believed Myshkin did it, but…”
Hadden raised his hands. “Edward, please.”
“Sorry,” I said, staring at the cards on his desk.
He said, “When are they going to remand him again?”
“First thing Monday,” said Jack.
“More charges?”
“He’s already coughed to Jeanette Garland and that Rochdale lass…”
“Susan Ridyard,” I said.
“But I’ve heard there’s more in offing.”
I said, “He said owt about where the bodies are?”
“Your back garden, Scoop.”
“Right then,” said Hadden, being Dad. “Edward, you have that background piece on Myshkin ready for Monday. Jack, you do the remand.”
“Will do, Chief,” said Jack, getting up.
“Nice piece on those two coppers,” nodded Hadden, ever the proud father.
“Thanks. Nice blokes, I’ve known them a while,” said Jack at the door.
Hadden said, “See you tomorrow night, Jack.”
“Yep. See you Scoop,” laughed Jack as he left.
“Bye.” I was on my feet, still looking at the cards on Hadden’s desk.
“Sit down for a moment, will you,” said Hadden, standing up.
I sat back down.
“Edward, I want you to take the rest of the month off.”
“What?”
Hadden had his back to me, staring out at the dark sky.
“I don’t understand,” I said, understanding him exactly, focusing on one small card tucked in amongst the rest.
“I don’t want you coming into the office like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like this,” he said, turning and pointing at me.
“I was on a building site this morning, getting the story.”
“What story?”
“Clare Kemplay.”
“It’s over.”
I stared at the desk, at that one card, at another cabin made of logs in the middle of another snow-covered forest.
“Take the rest of the month off. Get that hand seen to,” said Hadden, sitting back down.
I stood up. “You still want that Myshkin piece?”
“Yeah, of course. Type it up and give it to Jack.”
I opened the door, last ditch, thinking fuck ‘em all:
“Do you know the Fosters?”
Hadden didn’t look up from his desk.
“Councillor William Shaw?”
