‘Rob, take Jim with you…’
Brennan halted mid-stride, ‘Would you like me to carry him?’
‘Very droll… This is not the time for jokes, Brennan.’
‘I’m not joking, sir…’ He turned to Gallagher, ‘Shift your arse, Jim, I’m not waiting for you.’
As they left the Chief Super’s office, Brennan noticed Benny had spun his seat to face the window. He sat staring out into the open sky like a man who had lost his way in the world.
On the stairs Brennan took out his mobile phone and dialled DS Stevie McGuire’s number. The phone was answered on the third ring.
‘Hello, sir…’
‘Stevie, where are you now?’
‘Erm, well, let me see…’ there was a pause on the line, ‘if you orientate yourself from the Straiton roundabout then we’re about half a mile down the A720… past the last crime scene.’
‘Same side of the road?’
‘Which road?’
‘The bypass, Stevie.’
‘Yes, same side… But the other side of the access road.’
‘Right. I know where you are.’
Brennan let the front door of the station swing shut behind him; he watched Gallagher open it again himself and jog towards the VW Passat. When he was behind the wheel, he turned over the ignition and watched as Gallagher broke into a sprint. When the DI was in the passenger’s seat, Brennan released the handbrake and pulled out.
They drove in complete quiet for the best part of the journey, until Gallagher broke the silence. ‘Look, it wasn’t my idea to put me in the press call. You can’t blame me for that.’
Brennan bit. ‘You’ve had your mind set on big-footing me from this investigation from the off, Jim; if it wasn’t the press call it would have been something else.’
‘That’s some fucking ego you have… Why would I want your case?’
Brennan smirked at him, ‘Because you’re a glory hunter, always have been. You let your ambition get in the way of good sense. This time, it might have been Benny’s idea for you to be on the panel but you could have said no… I mean, didn’t you see that fucking hack there?’
‘Jesus Christ, Rob, how many hacks are there? I can’t be expected to remember every fucking one.’
Brennan took his eyes from the road, fleetingly put them on Gallagher, ‘He remembered you well enough.’
The conversation ended as abruptly as it had begun. At the Straiton roundabout Brennan eased off the accelerator pedal and lowered the gears, took second. There were no officers viewable from the road. He scanned further down the exit and put his indicator on. At the point of the original crime scene Brennan started to look for the access road DS Stevie McGuire had mentioned; when he spotted it he started to slow again, dropped down through the gears once more.
‘You know, Jim, there’s something I don’t quite understand.’
Gallagher sneered, ‘Oh really, is that a doubt?’
Brennan turned the car into the access road, ‘Oh I’ve got many a doubt about you, Jim… Maybe you can clear just one up for me.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘Right from the start, I’ve warned you off this case, my case, there’s no way you could have been unaware that you weren’t welcome. Yet, you persisted, and even after a spectacular downfall, you’re still here. Why?’
Gallagher fell silent, for a moment he stared out into the fields and then he returned his gaze to Brennan. ‘You don’t get it do you?’
‘Get what, Jim?’
‘That you’re not the only one who cares about the job.’
‘Oh, I know I’m not. But I’ll tell you what else I know: you’re not one of the ones who gives two shits about this job, Jim. So don’t be playing that old tune and expecting me to put coins in your cup.’
Gallagher smirked, exhaled a long breath and turned back to the fields.
Brennan glanced at him, stored away his expression. The doubts he harboured about Jim Gallagher’s interest in the case remained intact as he pulled up to the crime scene fronted by two uniformed officers.
Brennan felt the wet beneath the wheels of the car as he eased the vehicle into the verge. He motioned Gallagher to get out before he blocked his door with a dry-stone dyke. As he left the Passatt, Brennan started to fasten his coat; he scanned the fields for members of the force, alighted on the sight of DS Stevie McGuire running towards him.
‘All right, boss,’ McGuire was breathless.
‘Stevie… What’s the SP?’
‘Well, you’re not going to like this.’
Brennan nodded, agreed with him inwardly. ‘Try me anyway.’
McGuire brought himself up to the gate that separated the field he stood in from the road; he leaned his arms over the top rung and eyed the DI directly. ‘It’s a young girl, maybe early twenties…’
‘We got a cause of death?’
‘There’s bruising to the neck and puncture wounds to the torso.’
Brennan eased himself over the gate, jumped down into the field and started to walk towards the small crowd of officers. ‘Sounds familiar.’
McGuire raced after him, he was panting again as he spoke. ‘Sir, that’s not all that’s familiar… There’s the eye gouging and the genital mutilation as well. Boss, this is identical to the other cases; our man’s struck again.’
Chapter 41
DI Rob Brennan took the blue coverings the SOCO handed out and slotted them over his shoes; he was already gloved as he turned the flap on the white tent and proceeded towards the murder scene. Jim Gallagher had reached the corpse before him, was hunched over staring at the victim, his hand pressed firm to his mouth. When he saw him, Brennan halted for a moment, placed an arm in front of DS McGuire and raised a finger to his mouth. As Brennan observed the older inspector at work he felt suddenly suffused with a new opinion of the man.
Brennan turned to McGuire, said, ‘See that?’
‘Oh, I saw it.’
‘He’s rattled, Stevie.’
‘Certainly looks it.’
‘Why though?’
McGuire turned to Brennan, spoke, ‘Aren’t you, boss?’
Brennan thinned his eyes, ‘Not like that I’m not, no.’ He lowered his arm, walked forward. As the detectives reached the corpse, Gallagher rose and placed his hands in his pockets. His complexion was pale, pasty. A line of sweat formed on his top lip as he looked at his colleagues.
‘Everything OK, Jim?’ said Brennan.
He paused, a thought seemed to spark in his mind; his countenance altered. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
Brennan rounded Gallagher, crouched low on his haunches and stared at the young girl lying on her back in the wet field. Her neck was heavily bruised, he identified the finger marks as being consistent with strangulation. Her dyed blonde hair had been soaked in the rain and her arms were splayed behind her, one beneath her torso, one to the side, as if she had been dumped. He ran his gaze head to toe; she was wearing only one shoe, a black high-heeled shoe, and there was more but older bruising on her knees. Above her thin white thighs was a covering of blood that matched the hacking scars on her pubis and extended over her stomach and the exposed parts of her thorax. Half of the girl’s face was submerged in the soggy earth, the other half was bruised and blackened; some
