York adjusted his trilby. ‘If you say so,’ he muttered.
2
DCI York stood to the rear of the room known as the Pit, as Detective Superintendent Judy Mason, or the Pit Bull as the department furtively referred to her, gave her briefing. York struggled to stay focused.
It wasn’t the method of the murders that bothered him, but the way everything had been so carefully executed. Will Graham would not find anything from a forensics angle, York was certain of that, just as the CCTV cameras would show them nothing. Whoever had done this was smart and he had a plan. This wasn’t going to go away quickly.
‘You’ll go crazy, thinking like that.’
Newport arrived at his side and handed him some coffee from the machine in the corridor. ‘You know,’ she added, ‘you’ve had that stain on your lapel since breakfast.’
York glanced down at his jacket. There was no stain.
‘What were you thinking about?’
He stared straight ahead. ‘I have a bad feeling about this one, Holly. I think this is going to become personal, for both of us.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘This guy is clever, smarter than the average. He’s going to be watching us. I’ll be amazed if he doesn’t know our names already.’
'Should I take that coffee back? You sound wired.'
York lowered his tone. ‘Twice in as many weeks, did you think of that?’
‘Twice what?’
‘Do you not read the papers, Sergeant?’
It took a moment for it to click. ‘That Fred and Rosemary West thing in Gloucester?’
York shrugged. ‘Too convenient?’
‘A bit. Are you sure you’re alright, boss? You don’t look good.’
‘I haven’t been sleeping.’
‘You been to see anyone about that?’
‘Yeah.’
The melee of officers listened attentively as Judy Mason talked about the transfer of the two unidentified corpses to Pathology, and of Will Graham’s field team bringing in new evidence.
‘You’re not buying all this, are you?’ Newport asked.
York kept his eyes trained on the gathering. ‘Buying what?’
‘You don’t think Graham’s going to find anything.’
‘I know he isn’t. Nothing he wasn’t meant to find.’
The briefing over, Superintendant Mason asked for York and Newport to join her in one of the briefing rooms. Something to do with the recording they'd found. It was currently with Jonathan Wheeler, the department’s data analyst. Like Will Graham, Wheeler had a room full of toys and he was good at what he did, though what that might have been was anybody’s guess.
Slowly the throng of bodies swarming around the Superintendent began to thin. Mason headed directly to the meeting rooms. York caught her eye as she passed and acknowledged her with the slightest of nods. Mason returned it.
‘Tell them I’ll be there in a minute,’ he said to Newport.
‘Yep,’ she muttered and trailed Mason.
*
‘How do you feel?’
York heard the question but didn’t reply. Instead he peered into his own charcoal eyes in the bathroom mirror.
There was no easy answer to that question. In truth he felt morally lost. Who was he now? He was a man. He was a police officer. The moral list ended there; the immoral list was longer.
‘I asked you a question, Nicky.’
‘I heard it,' York acknowledged.
‘Are you choosing not to answer?’
‘Am I choosing...not to...’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m choosing to think.'
Twisting the tap, York leaned forwards and splashed his face with cold water. The icy spray jolted him.
In the minute that followed there was silence in the bathroom. York was thankful for that. He wasn’t a fan of probing questions. Unless he was the one asking them.
‘You can’t go on like this, Nicky. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Like what?’
‘You know what I’m talking about. You can’t go on punishing yourself.’
Refusing to avert the stiff gaze from his own eyes, York knew what the words meant. ‘I feel…’
‘Yes?’
‘I feel sometimes as though I’m wading through the ashes of my life's remains. And it's fucking slow going.’
A pause. ‘Go on…’
‘How am I supposed to feel? All I know is anger. Moments of levity actually cause me pain now.’
‘Then you must push that demon out.’
York bent over the sink. ‘I don’t believe in demons, you know that.’
‘Choosing not to believe in demons won’t protect you from them.’
The density of that remark slugged York in the gut. For a moment he stood frigidly, doused in the subtle bathroom glow. ‘What should I do?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Nicky.’
York gave a subtle nod. Giving his face one more splash of cold water, he turned off the tap and took a step back. The mirror’s reflection of the bathroom gave nothing away. Turning, he took in the room with his own eyes and blinked, blinked again.
He was alone.
3
As York entered the cramped and sweltering briefing room, four sets of eyes tracked him.
‘Good of you to join us, Nick,’ Mason stated in her almost manly tone. There was an edge of sarcasm in the comment, which wasn’t lost on anyone. York didn’t mind, Mason’s brogue was her way of pressing her authority. An authority few dared question. She was blonde and petite, which gave off a natural air of underestimation. An underestimation some had lived to regret.
‘Had to use the bathroom,’ he told her, meeting Mason’s eyes and holding them.
In the room was Newport, Will Graham and Jonathan Wheeler. Graham stood and shook hands with York as he passed, forever – and happily so – in the detective’s shadow. A couple of stone overweight, Graham’s shirt, probably bought for him by his mother, stretched over his belly daring the buttons to pop. His trousers, definitely bought for him by his
