Cage of Bones

And he hung up.

Marina was left with a dead handset. She slipped it into her pocket, didn’t move. The office was still in full swing, activity all around her, but she couldn’t move. Stood still as a statue.

Then she snapped herself out of it. No. She had to do something.

She had to find Don, talk to him. Maybe he could help her, shed some light on what was wrong with Phil.

She left the incident room.

Set off down the corridor looking for him.

58

Rose Martin had driven up and down the street three times. Not because she was practising any kind of surveillance. Just because she couldn’t find a parking space. And now that she had finally found one – at the opposite end of the street, nearly round the corner, useless if she did want to do surveillance – she was angry.

Very angry.

She had done some checking before coming back here. Found out a few things about Faith Luscombe. She had gone into the town centre, to the main CCTV control room. Asked to see footage from two nights previous of New Town. Specifically the corner Faith Luscombe had been working from.

Nothing. No cameras on that stretch. Probably why Faith had chosen it. From what Donna Warren had told her, Rose had worked out what time Faith had been there, and from her ultimate destination had worked out the route the car would have taken out of town. That kind of requisitioning would take time, she was told. She gave her best smile, flashed a bit of cleavage and said she would be very grateful if it was done as quickly as possible. They would see what they could do.

Her next stop had been to see Nick Lines at the mortuary. He hadn’t been pleased to see her, although with his bald head and cadaverous appearance, he never looked pleased to see anyone. She asked to look at Faith Luscombe’s body.

‘If you’re sure,’ he had said. ‘It’s not pretty.’

‘I can take it,’ she had said, not sure if she could.

He was right. It wasn’t pretty. Rose struggled to keep her eyes on it.

‘Is there… anything you’ve picked up about it?’

‘We haven’t done a post-mortem, if that’s what you mean,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t requested. Cause of death was being mangled by two cars. No surprises there.’

‘So nothing unusual?’ She felt her heart sinking. She had been sure there would be something. Hoped there would be something.

‘Just this,’ he said, pointing to the sole of her right foot. ‘This mark. Looks like a brand.’

‘A brand? Like a cow?’

‘Could be,’ he said. ‘Some of the extreme body modification crowd go in for it too. One step up from the ubiquity of tattoos. And much more painful, of course.’

‘Would she have been into that, d’you think?’

He frowned. ‘Not sure. If it had been on her arm or body, I’d have said yes. Show it off, flaunt it. But on the sole of her foot? I don’t know.’

‘Have you seen anything like it before?’

‘Never. Not like this, anyway.’

She thanked him for his time and asked for a photo of the brand. Then went to see Donna Warren once more.

She turned the ignition off, sat there in silence for a few seconds. Counting her breaths. Slowly in, two, three, four, slowly out, two, three, four. Controlling herself. Like Marina had encouraged her to do. She didn’t want to give the woman credit for anything, but this had helped. Simple really; she should have thought of it herself. Take a few seconds, breathe, calm herself down. Then, if there was still some residual anger hanging round in her system, channel it into whatever she was about to do. Simple.

Especially when it involved Donna Warren. Channelling rage in her direction would be a pleasure.

Rose hated being made a fool of. Always had done. Refused to put up with it. All the way through training at Hendon, she had worked hard to make sure she was never the butt of jokes. Never bullied or picked on. She always stood up for herself, always gave as good as she got. Sometimes too much so. When her attitude began to be commented on, to threaten her future plans, she knew she had to rein it in, find new coping mechanisms. And she had done. It was obvious, really. Subsume the rage, channel it. Into career advancement. Into making sure she was better than the rest of her year at everything she did. Into being the youngest DI in the Met. The highest flyer.

But it hadn’t quite worked out that way.

And none of it was her fault.

She checked her wing mirror, looked down the street at Donna’s house. Studied it. Sat like that for several minutes. There was nothing to see. No one came or went; she didn’t see anyone at the windows or the door. Nothing.

Rose ran a few options through her mind. Quickly rejected all but one.

She nodded to herself. Got out of the car, locked it, began walking down the street. Hyper-vigilant all the time.

She needn’t have been. No one watched her, approached her, moved away from her. The only other people she saw were a young couple, both wearing tracksuits but, from the unfit, lumpen shape of their bodies, going nowhere near a gym. They were coming down the road pushing a buggy with a child inside it, bulging Aldi bags hanging from the handlebars.

Rose smiled to herself. I might have a few issues, she thought, but at least I’m not as bad as them.

She approached Donna’s front door. Stood before it. Before she could raise her hand to knock, she felt that old familiar rage bubbling up inside her. Looked at her hand. It was shaking. She put it in her jeans pocket, breathed in slowly once more. Out once more.

When she was composed, she knocked.

As soon as her hand was away from the door, her stance changed. She was ready. When the cheap whore arrived, opened the door, Rose would be on her. Inside, door closed behind her, and then her lesson could start. See what happened when you played Rose Martin for an idiot. See how far that attitude got her. She wouldn’t do that again in a hurry. No. She’d be begging and pleading for another chance, screaming how sorry she was. How she’d never do it again. Yeah. Just wait. Just you see.

Nothing. No answer.

Sighing in irritation, Rose tried the door again. Waited.

Nothing.

Another angry sigh. Not in. After all that, not in.

Rose looked round, hoping to see Donna walking towards her. Didn’t happen. Even the lumpen couple and their child had disappeared. No one about.

Rose turned back to the door. Smiled.

She could still give Donna a surprise. In fact, this way, the surprise would be that much bigger. A much better way to show Donna just who was in charge. She would be terrified.

Giving a last check over her shoulder, making sure there was no one about, no one watching her, Rose turned back to the door. Took out a set of lockpicks in a leather case.

Got to work on Donna’s front door.

So happy with herself, she could have whistled.

59