‘Sir?’ She hadn’t spoken to him since the arrest — he’d been on the phone non-stop ever since — and she wondered what he wanted to say.
‘Well done on stopping Kent,’ he said as he reached her. ‘It could have been embarrassing if he’d got away.’
She liked that about him. The fact that, unlike many of the senior officers she’d dealt with over the years, he was honest, and said what he was thinking. ‘No problem. It’s nice to have had the chance to get involved.’
MacLeod frowned. ‘You know I’d have you back on active duty like a shot if I could, Tina. But it’s the bloody regulations. You know how it is. They swamp us.’
‘If there’s anything you can do, it’d be a help. I didn’t join up to watch other people do the glory jobs.’
‘I’ll have a word.’ He breathed in deeply, and Tina could tell he hadn’t just come over to congratulate her. ‘I don’t suppose there’ll be any complaints from Kent about any inappropriate use of force. .’
‘I should imagine right now that’s the least of his problems.’
‘But you’re going to have to be careful, Tina,’ he continued, leaning in closer, clearly choosing his words carefully. ‘Sometimes you can let your enthusiasm for stopping a suspect get the better of you. You laid into Kent pretty hard back there.’
‘He needed to be stopped.’
‘I know that, and quite frankly, on a personal level I think he deserves everything he gets, and plenty more besides. But you’re a high-profile officer.’
She started to argue but he held up a hand. ‘I know it’s not your fault that people know who you are, but like it or not, you’re just going to have to accept it. And you’re going to have to remember that your actions get noticed. You step out of line, people are going to come down hard on you. I’m only saying this because you’re one of my people, and I want to protect you. I also think you’re an extremely good police officer. It was you who got the break with Kent, you who should get the credit. Don’t ruin it by kicking hell out of our suspect in the middle of the street in broad daylight.’
Tina felt defensive, and her first instinct was to fight back, to say that she’d only used the minimum amount of force necessary, and if people couldn’t handle that then frankly that was their lookout. But she didn’t. She had no desire to have a run-in with her boss, and, if she was honest with herself, he was right. ‘Thanks, sir. I’ll bear that in mind. Is that everything?’
He smiled. ‘Yeah, that’s everything. Lecture over. And well done again.’
She turned away and went inside, making her way up the threadbare staircase to the first floor, conscious that her foot was playing up again. It was the second time she’d been shot in the space of five years. Add to that the fact that she’d killed a man and that two of her colleagues, one a lover, had been murdered, and it was hardly a wonder she had such a high profile.
The Black Widow, they’d called her at one time. Perhaps they still did, she wasn’t entirely sure. Either way, people tended to keep their distance from her, as if she was some kind of jinx, and because of this she’d become something of a loner. She was a nomad too, unable to settle fully in any one job. She’d already left the force once before coming back a year later and joining Soca, the Serious Organised Crime Agency, where she’d lasted a year before returning to where she’d first been a wet-behind-the-ears DC, at Islington CID. But regular detective work hadn’t lived up to her expectations either, so when a slot on CMIT had come up with a chance for promotion, she’d jumped at it. Perhaps her profile hadn’t done her as much harm as she’d thought, because she’d got the job, and was making a pretty decent go of it too, although she preferred detective work to the management of others.
The reinforced door to Andrew Kent’s flat had been propped open with a telephone directory and there was a vague smell of stale sweat coming from inside, mixed with cheap air freshener. It was a cramped little one-bed place with a narrow corridor connecting the rooms, and it was already busy with members of the team, working two and three to a room, meticulously going through Kent’s possessions. They would take this place apart piece by piece over the next few days until they’d searched every last inch of it. A man who’d brutally murdered five women was always going to keep some kind of trophy from his experiences — a means of helping him to relive them — and however well he might have hidden it, they’d find it. Because now they had him in custody, time was on their side.
Tina made her way down the corridor, flicking on the light as she did so, and stopped at Kent’s bedroom.
It was surprisingly spacious, with ancient-looking wardrobes rising up on either side of an unmade double bed with sheets that were badly in need of a wash. A framed Van Gogh print of a night scene hung, slightly crooked, above the bed and there was a stack of paperback books on the bedside table, one of which was
DCs Anji Rodriguez and Grier were already in there. Rodriguez was going through one of the wardrobes, patting down various items of Kent’s clothing with the kind of ferocity that suggested she was imagining he was still in them, before chucking each item on to a pile next to her. She looked in a bad mood, courtesy no doubt of being made to look a fool during the arrest, and she didn’t look round as Tina came in. Grier, meanwhile, was on his hands and knees pulling open the bedside table drawers, and sifting through Kent’s underwear. He gave her a brief nod and went back to his work while she stood in the doorway thinking that it was hard to come to terms with what made murderers tick. To all intents and purposes, they lived just like anyone else. Watching soap operas, eating takeaways, reading Charles Dickens novels. Yet they could carry out crimes so horrific that it was almost impossible for a normal human being to comprehend them. And Andrew Kent’s crimes were about as bad as they got. Tina had seen what his victims had looked like after he’d finished with them. Tied helpless to their beds and beaten so savagely that they were rendered utterly unrecognizable. Mutilated both before and after death in ways that had made some of the officers on the scene physically sick. It was the main reason Tina had taken so much pleasure in spraying the bastard with the gas and hitting him with all her strength as he’d lain incapacitated in front of her.
‘What’s this then?’ said Grier, his voice interrupting her thoughts. He was tugging at something behind the bedside table. A second later there was the sound of tape being torn away from the woodwork, then Grier slowly got to his feet with his back to Tina and Rodriguez, who both stared at him, waiting.
And then, as he turned to them, a wide smile on his face beneath the coveralls, Tina saw what he was holding in his hand.
She tensed, her mouth suddenly dry, experiencing a curious mixture of elation and nausea.
It was the evidence they were looking for.
Part Two
YESTERDAY
Three
All my life I wanted to be a police officer. To protect the weak and the vulnerable and take on the bad guys. As far back as I can remember, I had this burning desire for justice. At school I confronted bullies if I saw them picking on smaller kids. If they didn’t back down, I’d fight them. In the early days I lost more times than I won, so I took up boxing, and the ratio quickly changed. My dad always said I should join the army, which is what my brother John ended up doing. He said I was too aggressive for the police, and maybe I was, because my first three years in uniform were an exercise in boredom and gradual disillusionment. I could never quite get over the fact that the public could abuse and assault me at will, with little fear of prosecution, whereas I couldn’t do the same back to them. So I decided to become a detective, only to find that life in CID is ninety per cent paperwork, nine per cent detective work, and one per cent excitement, and that’s if you’re lucky. Not exactly Dirty Harry.
My boss at the time, and the man who, with the possible exception of my dad, I’ve always respected most in the world, saw my frustration, and told me that maybe I should try undercover work.
DCI Dougie MacLeod — he taught me one hell of a lot, including the art of patience, which was something I
