and see what happens.
‘So if it’s not sexual and it’s not political, what’s the point? What are you getting out of it? If it was just Robbie, I could believe in revenge for something that happened at school-he took something from you, he made you feel small, he hurt you in some way he probably didn’t even know about. But it’s inconceivable that Danny Wade could have done any of those things. Danny was geek boy-model railways, for Christ’s sake. That’s so far down the food chain, the only thing lower was the ones who escaped from Special Needs.’ He sighed. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
What did make sense, however, was that the killer must have left tracks. Given that the locals had written it up as a tragic accident, there wouldn’t have been anything more than desultory inquiries on the ground at the time, especially since it was already established that Jana gained nothing from Danny’s death. But even now, if the right questions were asked, there might be answers. Someone may have seen Danny meeting up with his killer in the pub. Someone may have seen him arrive at Danny’s on the night of the murder. If only he wasn’t stuck in this hospital bed, it wouldn’t matter that Carol was dismissing his intuitions. He could go to Dore himself and talk to the locals. Though on balance that wasn’t always the best way.
For every person he could connect with, there was usually at least one other who picked up on the weirdness in him and freaked out. All his life, Tony had felt he was passing for human. It was a masquerade that didn’t fool all of the people all of the time. And the leg brace wouldn’t help, that was for sure.
None of which mattered, of course, because he wasn’t going to be able to go to Dore and sniff around on his own account. Tony gave a frustrated sigh. Then suddenly, his eyes widened. There was someone who could charm information from a Trappist. Someone who owed him a favour.
Smiling now, Tony reached for the phone.
Carol looked out at her team. Everybody was either staring at a screen or deep in a phone conversation. She slipped a miniature of vodka out of her drawer, uncapped it below desk level, then discreetly tipped it into her coffee. She’d learned from her own traumas in the job that alcohol was a good friend and a bad master. It had come close to making her its servant, but she’d clawed her way back from that and now she could readily convince herself that she was in charge. Her truth was that in times of stress and frustration, times like this, it was her refuge and her strength. Especially when Tony wasn’t there.
Not that he would rebuke her. Nothing so blatant. No, it was more that his presence was a reproach to her, a reminder that there were other options for escape. Options they had come close to pursuing several times before. But always, whenever they drew close, something intervened. Usually something related to work. It was, she thought, the ultimate irony. That which brought them together invariably threw obstacles in their way. And neither of them could ever figure out how to overcome the obstacles until the moment of possibility had passed.
She sipped the drink, loving the way she could feel it spread through her. God, but they needed something to break on this case.
As if in answer to her fervent request, Sam Evans stuck his head round the door. Carol nodded him in. She always felt a certain ambivalence towards Sam. She knew he was ambitious, and because she had once shared that trait, she understood both how valuable and how dangerous that was for a cop. She also recognized his maverick instincts as being close to her own. He was no team player. But then, she hadn’t been much of one either when she’d been at his rank. She’d only become a team player once she’d found a team worth playing for. There was enough of her in Sam for her to understand him and thus to forgive. What she couldn’t forgive was his sneakiness. She knew he spied on his colleagues, though he did it well enough for them not to have worked it out. He’d once dropped her in the shit with Brandon to make his own achievements seem even better than they were. The bottom line was that she couldn’t trust him, which felt more of a liability the longer the unit was up and running.
‘I think I might have something, guv,’ he said, almost preening as he sat. He tugged the knees of his trousers to preserve the crease and squared his shoulders inside the well-ironed shirt.
She hardly dared hope. ‘What sort of something?’
He tossed the original email on to the desk and gave her a moment to read it. ‘I spoke to Bindie. This stalker, Rhys Butler, he jumped Robbie outside the team hotel in Birmingham. The cops lifted him, let him off with a caution. I spoke to the arresting officer. They went easy on Butler because Robbie and Bindie didn’t want the publicity. Anyway, this DC Singh kept an eye on Butler. Dropped round his place, made sure he took down his wank wall and stayed well away from them both. Butler swore he was over it. He’d lost his job and that had tipped him over the edge, he claimed. He played the good boy for a few months then he got a new job and moved to Newcastle. But here’s the kicker, guv.’ He gave it the dramatic pause. ‘He’s a lab rat in a pharmacology company.’
Experience had taught Carol that there were more false dawns in murder investigations than decent meals in a police canteen. But in the absence of anything stronger to chase, she was more than willing to pursue this lead. ‘Great work, Sam. I want you to get on to Northumbria and see if they can help us with an address.’
Sam’s smile reminded her of Nelson faced with a bowl of chicken livers. He laid a second piece of paper in front of her. ‘Work and home,’ he said.
Now she let herself return his smile. The only question was whether to let Northumbria bring him in. It didn’t take long to make the decision. Carol told herself she wanted to see Rhys Butler’s home for herself. She didn’t want to delegate it to some uniform who didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for. She pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘So, what are we waiting for?’
Yousef opened the fridge. The glass beaker sat on the shelf, clear liquid filling most of it. But the bottom layer was the crystalline powder he needed. Carefully, he took the beaker out and placed it on the worktop. He’d already set up a glass funnel lined with filter paper. He closed his eyes and muttered his way through a prayer asking the prophet to intercede and help his plan to fruition. Then he lifted the beaker and poured the liquid through the filter.
It took less time than he’d expected. He peered through the window in his face protector at the heap of white crystals. It didn’t look enough to cause the mayhem he’d been told it would. But what did he know? Fabric and the rag trade, that was what he knew about. He had to rely on what he had been told. Nothing made sense otherwise. Not the sleepless nights, not the transformation of his spirit, not the pain he was going to cause his family. He couldn’t be the only one of them feeling this way. He just had to get past his weaknesses and focus on the goal.
Gently, he lifted the filter paper out of the funnel and tipped the contents into a bowl of iced water. He swilled the crystals around, washing them clean of the liquid they’d been precipitated from. Then he distributed the explosive among a couple of dozen paper plates so it could dry with the least chance of an accidental explosion.
He pushed up his face protector and shook his head in amazement. He’d done it. He’d made enough TATP to blow a hole in the main stand of Victoria Park. All that remained was for him to assemble the rest of the
