Team Leader Williams waited patiently as York milled on the landing. Finally he nodded and followed Williams into the master bedroom.
Barely over the threshold York stopped dead, a thick bubble of saliva catching in his throat. He edged across the thin carpet, taking in the message scrawled on to the back wall. He could have sent Williams away, have Player ready another staging area, but he did nothing.
Edging further into the dim room, he became overwhelmed with a need for a hit. Beneath his jacket he had begun to sweat. His back felt wet, his chest tight. His vision began to blur as he read the jeering sentences again, scripted neatly in red.
‘Blood?’ he asked Graham quietly.
‘Original, isn’t it.’ said Graham.
Next into the room was Newport. She read the message. ‘What is that, Nick?’
It was uncommon for Newport to use his first name, especially on scene, but he let it go. He backed into the opposite wall and sank to his haunches, eyes fixed on the blood.
‘Anyone hear me?’ Newport snapped. ‘What the bloody hell is that?’
Nobody responded, not even Graham.
‘What does that crap even mean?’ she almost yelled. ‘Williams? Graham?’
She turned on the forensics man like a tiger on prey.
‘Holly, I…I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I want you to explain that to me!' she snarled, nodding at the blood. 'That is not your everyday occurrence, Will, even in our profession. And you!’ she turned on York’s bland expression. ‘How can you be so calm about this? I mean, what's wrong with you, you bloody robot!'
‘Holly…’
‘No, don’t try and brush me off, Nick. This is getting stupid and we’re not even twenty-four hours deep! For Christ's sake, show me some emotion, show me you give a shit!'
York pushed himself back up, wincing as Graham took Newport’s arm in an attempt to calm her. She grabbed the forensics man by his thin wrist and spun him away, pushing his arm up against his back and driving him into the wall. ‘Don’t fucking touch me, Graham!’ she bellowed into his ear. ‘Don’t you ever fucking touch me, understand?’
York wrapped his arm around his partner and yanked her away. ‘Outside,’ he snapped at her. ‘Now!’
Newport’s face suddenly changed. ‘But I – ’
‘Did I stutter, Sergeant? Get out!’
Knowing she was beaten, Newport glanced at the wall once more and then back at York. Then she left the room.
Will Graham massaged his wrist. ‘My God, Nick, what was that all about?’
‘You alright?’
Graham nodded meekly. He looked ready to sob, like a bullied kid.
‘When you have something, you let me know straight away!’
The forensics man nodded again.
‘Williams, get a message to Doug. Tell him to move the unit.’
‘Already on it, sir.’
‘Straight away, Graham, okay!’ York said again and followed Williams down the stairs.
The student or the paedophile, Nicolas, which will it be?
Three houses down, my friend, one, two, three!
23
With little need for discretion now, marked police units had arrived on the scene, flashing beacons painting the street in a brushstroke of primary colours. Mason was blasting out instructions to uniforms, one of which was cordoning off the area from the advancing crowd. At the tactical van he could see Doug Player talking animatedly with Williams.
Along the street, precisely three doors down, was another For Sale sign standing lonely in the mist, guarding the soulless house. Three doors in the opposite direction, a couple was standing in their yard rubber-necking.
He spotted Newport, still in the stab vest, perched on the bonnet of a marked unit. As he neared she looked up, hard eyes showing no remorse. He took a seat next to her, stared ahead. He sniffed and adjusted his trilby.
‘You going to lecture me now?’ she said at last.
‘Nope.’
‘Then what? I’m guessing I’m off the case?’
‘No,’ he said again.
She looked sideways at him. ‘You’re not making this very easy, guv.’
‘Neither are you, Holly. You want me to be on your side, you want me to open up to you? Then you need to reciprocate. You want to tell me what that was in there?’
She examined the blacktop. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do.’
‘Then why are you asking me?’
He ignored the question. ‘Who’s Kellie?’
Newport’s head snapped up. She didn’t question how he knew the name. ‘Kellie is none of your business!’
‘You're my business. You just lost it in there, almost broke Graham’s wrist, and I think the reason you’re so fucked up is because of something going on backstage. So, want to try again?’
Doug Player’s team was advancing on the second terrace, their method and efficiency equalling the first. An excited gasp travelled across the wave of gatherers, hoping for another Fred and Rose West scandal right on their own doorstep.
As the door of the empty house caved inwards with a resounding crunch, Newport said, ‘I just need you to trust me on this one. Please. I need time to take care of something.’
York paused thoughtfully. ‘One more incident like that, Holly, and you’re off this thing, do you understand? These guys rely on us to keep it tight. When we fall apart, they fall apart. So get your shit together! Is that clear?’
‘Crystal,’ she acknowledged. ‘It won’t happen again.’
York nodded. 'I want you to apologise to Will, and then I want you to grab a couple of uniforms and interview the crowd.’
‘Interview the crowd, are you kidding?’
‘Sometimes these guys return to the scene to watch us stepping on each other’s toes. Gives them a hard-on, you know that. Find out where all these people live, what they’re doing here, everything.’
She looked morosely into the gathering of spectators. ‘You’re not letting me into the house this time, are you?’
