Page 31

chapter thirty-one

The fog was thicker on the banks of the Thames.

Gabriella knew it was to do with being in a valley, and the cold coming off the water mixing with warmer air, but that’s as far as her knowledge went.

Whatever the reason, she could not see James, or anyone else for that matter.

When they’d arrived, they’d been greeted by someone with a torch, and so she’d caught a glimpse of a wall, stairs leading downward, and a man in uniform, but that was all.

She felt as if she were in a cloud-like cocoon, where no sound or light could penetrate.

According to the clock on the dashboard, forty minutes later four figures emerged beside the car, and she straightened in her seat, unaware until now that she had slumped right down.

“It’s definitely her,” James was saying. “We have a case file. I’ve brought it with me, if you need any of the details right now.”

“You have a suspect, don’t you?” one of the men asked, and she realized his bulk was due to the life jacket he was wearing.

“I think it was the father. I don’t know if it was premeditated, but my information is that he liked to hit his wife and daughter around, and the daughter had had enough and was saving up to move out.” James lifted his shoulders. “I think they might have both been drinking, and he hit her harder than he meant to. Or maybe he did mean to kill her. That can be up to the pathologist to decide. And you. But you’ll have trouble because he’s a big man at the docks.”

The other man swore. “That’s great.”

James shrugged again. “We conducted interviews with the family, and with the victim’s friend, and we’ll give copies of those to you.”

“Appreciate it, mate.” Both men turned and were gobbled up by the white fog.

James and Hartridge got into the car, bringing with them the smell of river water and, faintly, of decomposition.

“What’s your preference, Ian?” James turned around in his seat. “Do you need to get back to the office or can I drop you at the barracks?”

“The barracks,” Hartridge said, and then leaned back and closed his eyes.

Gabriella said nothing, having a feeling both men were decompressing after seeing something terrible, and Hartridge slid out of the car when they reached the barracks where he lived with barely a murmured goodbye.

“Thank you for being so patient.” James glanced at her as he pulled away. “I know it was asking a lot.”

“I know why you asked.” Gabriella left it at that. There could surely be nothing constructive to say about whatever James had had to deal with at the river, so she asked the question both she and Hartridge had been desperate to know the answer to. “What did your boss want? Are you all right?”

James was silent for a moment. “I did something . . . unusual.”

She waited for him to elaborate.

He sighed. “While I was looking into some old cases, I stumbled across information that pointed to Whetford covering up a murder case he’d been in charge of years ago.”

“Covering up?” She frowned. “So the murderer would go free?”

“That’s what it looked like. And given his modus operandi , I guessed he had gotten a kickback for doing it.” James swore as a car suddenly appeared in front of them, brake lights glowing red. He stopped, waiting for a bit, but the car didn’t move and he swore again and got out.

When he came back, he was shaking his head. “The high street is backed up to Holland Rd, it looks like.”

There was no one behind them, yet, and they had just passed a side street, so James reversed and turned the car up it. She couldn’t see the street name, but this was her new patch, and she knew it was only a street or two over from Holland Park, but on the other side of the park to where she’d had the run-in with Tanner this morning.

What little of the houses she could see were large, with deep front gardens, just like the ones she’d run past to get away from Tanner.

To shift her thoughts, she went back to James’s problem. “If Whetford was covering for a murder, he’s playing a dangerous game, surely?” She wondered why Whetford would trust a murderer not to tie him off as a loose end.

“He gave himself some insurance. He hid the evidence on police property in a place where he thought only he could find it again,” James said.

“But you found it?” Gabriella turned to him, but he kept his gaze firmly on the thick white fog in front of them.

“I found it,” he agreed. “And I submitted the hidden evidence to the lab.”

She gasped out loud. “You took his insurance away.”

His lips quirked up for a quick smile. Then he shook his head. “And there will be repercussions.”

“So does he know it was you? Was that why he came to see you?” She thought there would have been more shouting if that was the case.

“He suspects, but he isn’t sure. And because he isn’t sure, he’s dancing around the actual accusations he wants to make, because they’re confessions of sorts.” James sighed. “He’s still capable of doing damage to both me and Hartridge. But hopefully I’ve given him something else to concentrate on.” He suddenly slammed on the brakes, but they were going so slowly, they stopped almost immediately.

The headlights illuminated a man, waving both his arms.

James pulled over to the side of the road and got out, and Gabriella did the same.

“I hit a van head on,” the man said. “I’m afraid the road is blocked.”

The smell of burned rubber and petrol hung in the air, and that, along with the smog, make Gabriella cough.

James had taken his torch out of the car, and played it across a large sedan, crumpled into the front of a grocer’s truck.

There was no one else around.

“Where’s the truck driver?” James asked.

“Gone to find a telephone,” the man said. “I’m here to stop anyone driving into us.”

James sighed and turned to her, speaking low. “This is going to come under the local nick’s remit, but we’re not getting any further tonight in the car. Are you up for a walk?”

Getting home would probably take an hour on foot, Gabriella guessed, but even that might be safer and quicker than taking the car. “That’s fine.”

They returned to the Wolseley to fetch their things, and by then two coppers had arrived. James spoke to them quietly to one side, and the man who’d hit the truck sidled up beside Gabriella.

“What’s he saying, do you think?” he asked.

“He’s with the Met. Probably professional courtesy,” she said.

“Gotcha.” The man seemed relieved. “Rum conditions, eh? Wish I hadn’t decided to drive.”

Before Gabriella had to find a response to that, James appeared beside her. “Ready?”

She nodded, walking with him into the swirling mist as the conversation behind them faded.

It was eery. Gabriella felt as if she were in some kind of inbetween world. The glow of house lights to her left allowed glimpses of a gate post or a low hedge, and occasionally glinted off the window of a car parked on the street to her right.

James was closed in, saying nothing, and what little she could see of his profile seemed tight and clenched.

“You think tonight’s the night, don’t you?” she asked, and was surprised at how soft her voice sounded. “You think he’s going to hunt another victim.”

He turned to look at her, his expression grim. “Yes.”

To know someone was going to be hurt, but not who or where, was torturous.

“And he’s kept to Kensington and Chelsea, and Hammersmith and Fulham?” That would narrow the where.

James gave a jerky shrug. “That we know of. Teddy Roe told me there was another body he found that looked like a murder, under the rubble in a house near here.” He pulled a notebook out his pocket and shone his torch down on it. Gave a nod. “If tonight is the when, then Harborne Close might be the where.”

“Would it be worth having a look?” she asked.

“More than worth it.” He played his torch light to the right, as if hunting for a street name in that direction. “The address Teddy Roe gave me is the most likely lead I’ve got right now.”

She was about to ask him if he wanted to go straight there when suddenly there was a shriek of brakes and then a scream from up ahead, and they both broke into a run, the light from James’s torch bouncing up and down.

They reached the scene of the accident in less than a minute, and while Gabriella had seen a few pedestrians being hit by a car during the course of her work, there was something about the light from the headlamps spilling over a crumpled body, surrounded by swirling white, that shocked her.

“Teddy Roe?” She realized she knew who the body was, the shock deepening, and she crouched beside him and took his hand.

It trembled in her own, and she felt a wave of relief that he was still alive.

James crouched on Teddy Roe’s other side, moving his jacket off his chest to check for injuries, and feeling his pulse.

Then he looked up at the car, and the headlamps illuminated his face. It glittered in the light as the tiny droplets of mist that clung to his stubble reflected the glow.

He looked like a Viking, about to go to war, or the archer he was named after, standing, bow drawn, on the battlefield.

Whatever had been keeping the person in the car, they suddenly scrambled out.

“I didn’t see him,” the man blurted.

That was probably true. It was very difficult to see, but Gabriella was inclined to dislike him because he’d hit Teddy Roe and then stayed in the car.

If they hadn’t been here, would he have driven around the body and left?

It was difficult to make out the driver in the fog and darkness, and James rose to his feet, hand going into the inner pocket of his coat to produce his warrant card.

“DS Archer,” he said. “And you are?”

Teddy Roe groaned, and Gabriella brushed his hair off his face in a soothing motion.

“Can you tell me where it hurts?” she asked him.

“Gabriella?” He half-opened his eyes, and she realized, now she was so close to him, they were almost arctic blue. “Legs,” he said, then closed his eyes again and went limp.

James and the driver had gone quiet and turned to listen to her and Teddy Roe’s exchange, but as soon as Teddy Roe seemed to lose consciousness again, James turned back sharply.

“Name?”

“Colonel Johnson.” The driver snapped it out, irritated.

“Do you live nearby?” James asked.

“No. I was visiting a friend, and was on my way home,” Johnson said, almost affronted. “Why?”

“So my friend can get help by calling the ambulance,” James said. “That would be easier if you lived nearby.”

“Oh.” Johnson sounded chastened. “No, unfortunately not. And my friend doesn’t have a telephone.”

It could be true, but Gabriella was more inclined to believe he was lying because he didn’t want them going to his friend’s house—either out of embarrassment, or because he was uncomfortable with his friend’s name going into any official report.

“I’ll go to this one here,” she said, pointing to a house right opposite them. “The lights are on, so someone’s home.”

James nodded, and she gently untangled her fingers from Teddy Roe’s and ran.