staring at next week? 'Badger At Dusk', perhaps. He wondered if he'd be here long enough to see it.
Keable had finished. 'Well?'
Thorne gave Keable his full attention. The DCI's expression seemed open and amenable. So far this had gone a lot better than might have been expected.
'We should make it clear,' chipped in Tughan, 'that nobody's asking if you're interested in accepting this offer, because it isn't really an offer. You don't have any choice.'
Thorne knew he was hooked and landed, but he still wanted to struggle a little. He ignored Tughan and spoke directly to Keable. 'I appreciate you keeping the disciplinary side of recent events low-key, Frank, but I'm still a bit confused as to exactly what you want me to do in return.'
Because I wasn't really listening. Sorry. 'Consultant… secret weapon.., supersub, whatever you choose to call it, I'll still be the one DI too many. Brewer's still around, I don't think Nick's planning on going anywhere…'
He smiled at Tughan. The Irishman smiled back, his face blank.
'… so what am I actually going to be doing day to day, Frank?'
Keable took a few seconds to formulate a response. When it came it was spoken gently but the steel was barely hidden. 'It was you who wanted out in the first place, Thorne, and you got what you wanted. You made a bloody mess of it and here you are again. You're not in any position to be questioning anything.'
Thorne nodded. He needed to be careful. 'Yes, sir.' He glanced across at Tughan. This time the bastard's smile was genuine.
Keable stood and walked round his desk. There was a small mirror on top of the filing cabinet in the corner and he crouched to catch his reflection and adjust his tie. 'I want you as an unofficial part of this operation. I know that you're anything but stupid and you realise that while you're here the killer knows where to find you.'
He'd know where to find me wherever I was. He's watching. 'This seems important to him and what's important to him is important to me. There's not a great deal we're sure of, as far as this case goes, but the killer has some.., affinity with you, which I intend to take full advantage of. If you're unhappy about that, tough.' Keable stood up. His fie was perfect. 'Are you?'
Thorne shook his head. He was anything but unhappy about it. Not that he intended to sit about and wait for the killer to pop by and say hello. The initiative, which he'd had at one point, had slipped away. He'd allowed it to slip away. He wanted it back.
Keable was moving past Tughan, back towards his chair. 'Plus, if you're here, we know where to find you as well.'
Thorne almost smiled. 'One question, sir…'
'Go ahead.'
'Jeremy Bishop. Off limits?'
Thorne Saw the look pass between Keable and Tughan. He could almost have sworn that he heard the temperature drop.
'I was getting to that. Dr Bishop is quite aware that you turning up at his house a fortnight ago was a charade of some sort. Be thankful he doesn't know that you were illegally gathering carpet fibres from the boot of his car.'
He still hadn't spoken to Phil Hendricks. He'd call him later.
'They got stuck to my briefcase, which he offered to put in the boot.'
'Of course they did,' scoffed Tughan.
'Do they match?'
Keable's mouth actually dropped open.
Tughan pushed himself away from the wall. 'I think people are right, Thorne. I think you've fucking lost it. Yes, they match, but so would fibres taken from any Volvo of that colour and mode made since 1994. Do you not think we checked those things? Have you any idea how many cars that is?'
Thorne hadn't and didn't much care.
Keable picked up the baton. 'Dr Bishop has rung several times to complain about anonymous phone calls. He's making accusations.'
Thorne met his gaze, unblinking. Keable was the first to look away.
'These calls are becoming more and more frequent.'
How many times had he called Bishop since the funeral? He could barely remember. They seemed like things he was doing in his sleep.
'Dr Bishop is predictably angry and upset, as is his son, who has been in to complain, and now his daughter is jumping on the bandwagon. She rang yesterday to ask what was being done.'
The daughter rallying to the cause. That was interesting.
'If I ever get confirmation that you know more about this than you're saying, Tom, I won't be able to save you. I won't want to save you.'
Thorne tried to look suitably chastened. Then a smile. Needing to lighten it. 'You've still not answered the question, Frank. Is he off limits or not?'
Things got no lighter.
'Detective Inspector Thorne, are you in any doubt that the person who killed Margaret Byrne is also responsible for the deaths of Helen Doyle, Leonie Holden and the others?'
Thorne thought for a second or two. 'I'm in no doubt that the person who killed Leonie, Helen and the others was responsible for the death of Margaret Byrne.'
Keable stared at him. His thick, unruly eyebrows knotted in confusion. Then he saw the subtle difference. His face reddened in an instant and his voice dropped to a threatening whisper. 'Don't play fucking silly games with me, Thorne.'
'I'm not playing games…'
'I don't want to listen to this rubbish again. Psychopaths do not hire hit men.'
Jeremy Bishop was no ordinary psychopath, but deep down Thorne knew that Keable was right. The alibi had to be flawed. Else?
He didn't know what else.
'So I'm not even allowed to mention his name?'
'You're being childish. If you want to waste your time you can think what you like, but don't waste mine, or this operation's. Tom…' Thorne looked up. Keable was leaning forward and staring deep into his eyes. 'It's been four weeks since Helen Doyle was killed, two months since he attacked Alison Willetts, six-months or more since Christine Owen was killed, and Christ knows when he began planning the whole, sick bloody thing.'
Then he stole the drugs. Something about Bishop stealing the Midazolam still bothered Thorne. It floated about at the back of his head, but he couldn't grasp it. Like a tune he couldn't place.
Keable got to his point. 'Despite the blather in the papers and the earnest faces at the press conferences, we've got nothing, Tom.'
Tughan looked at the floor. Was that the merest glimpse of guilt? Thorne looked back to Keable.
'I just can't understand your refusal to look at this with an open mind. There are no other suspects. So far, this operation has achieved nothing.'
Tughan wasn't having it. 'Every officer on this operation has been working his balls off, Thorne. We've done everything we should have, everything. We found a very credible. witness in Margaret Byrne-'
Thorne cut him off. 'And got her killed.'
The words struck Tughan like hot fat in his face. He marched across the room shouting, the spittle flying on to Thorne's mouth. 'Jeremy Bishop has got nothing to do with it. Nothing. While you've been in Cloud fucking Cuckoo Land we've been doing our jobs. Bishop is not a suspect. The only courtroom he's ever going to see the inside of is the one trying the lawsuit for harassment, which he'll be bringing against you.'
Thorne was out of his chair in a second. He casually took hold of Tughan's wrist and began to squeeze. The blood fled from the Irishman's face. Keable got to his feet and Thorne released his grip.. Tughan stepped quickly back towards the wall, breathing heavily.
Thorne wearily raised an arm and made a lazy, swatting motion at something unseen by anybody else in the room. He lifted his jacket from the back of the chair and slowly pulled it on murmuring, 'No other suspects, Frank…' He took a step towards the door.
Keable screamed, 'Then get me some!'
