Night's Favour (3 page)

It was probably about the time when Rebekah had first told him she was pregnant.

CHAPTER THREE

“We’ve got the prints back.”
 
Elliot banished the serenity with practiced ease.

Carlisle looked up from her computer —
fucking thing
— and gave her partner a stare.
 
“Prints?
 
From what?
 
The meticulously clean van?
 
Or from inside the bar with the ten thousand other prints?
 
No — you’ve got good news, I can see it from your face.
 
Something from the shotgun?”

Elliot’s smirk was almost unholy.
 
“You work too hard.
 
Maybe you should just take the rest of the day off.
 
Shoot some pool.
 
You’re clearly not made out for the long hours of real police work.”
 
He had a manila file, CONFIDENTIAL in faded red ink blocked out in capitals on the front.
 
He tapped on it with a finger.
 
“Leave this one to us.”

“You’re just sore you lost the bet.”

“I didn’t lose the bet.
 
It’s just been... deferred.”

“Deferred my ass.”
 
The murderer had been meticulous enough to stack the bodies in a single location, but had left two things out of place.
 
One, a body impaled on an elephant — sans head — and two, a severed hand.
 
The body had printed easily, ex-military records describing a man better off dead.
 
Sealed file, no name, but the memo from Defence had described an SAS officer deployed into Afghanistan, then dishonourably discharged.
 
The only thing longer than the crimes against noncombatants was the list of heroic missions.
 
The memo had politely suggested they contact Ebonlake Associates, a private security contractor known to pay good rates for men with moral flexibility.

It was on her to-do list.

No, the bet was all about the hand.
 
Elliot thought it had simply been misplaced, that they’d find a matching right hand, or maybe an arm.
 
Carlisle didn’t think so — the killer was too particular.
 
Forensics had done a pretty good job of assembling near complete cadavers from the remains, only a few pieces still out of place.
 
Smart money was on the hand belonging to someone who got away.

So far Carlisle was in the lead.
 
The hand hadn’t matched any of the bodies.
 
Sure, it was possible that it was all that remained of someone, but the killer hadn’t seemed to take trophies.
 
Complete corpses remained, albeit disassembled.
 
It wasn’t conclusive, but it wasn’t looking good for Elliot.

“Prints from the hand on the sidewalk.
 
Valentine Everard, works in computers.
 
Haven’t been able to track down his boss yet.
 
Everard’s on file — we got him for DUI a couple years back.”
 
Elliot flipped a page in the file.
 
“Here it is.
 
Vehicular homicide.”

“Let me guess.
 
He’s not turned up at the hospital yet?”
 
They’d thrown up nothing but dead ends at the ER when they called from the scene, the staff harried and unhelpful.
 
Yes, they were sure that they’d have noticed someone coming in without a hand.
 
Of course they’d call if something turned up.

“
Nada
.”
 
If anything, the smirk grew wider.
 
“So why’s a guy missing his left hand not turn up to the ER?”

Carlisle turned off her screen, grabbing her jacket from where it hung in a crumpled mess over the back of her chair.
 
“The only reason I wouldn’t go to the hospital is if I’d just killed twenty guys.”
 
One arm through her jacket sleeve, she scrabbled around the clutter on her desk for a notebook.
 
“What I don’t get is why you’re so happy.
 
This is only going to prove that I’ve won the bet.”

Elliot nodded.
 
“I just took your view, opened an office pool.
 
I might lose to you, but I’m going to win against — so far — five other fine detectives.”

“Even if you lose, you win?”

“Yep.”

☽ ◇ ☾

“Officers.
 
Please.
 
Try and understand my position.”
 
Carlisle and Elliot were seated on two small, uncomfortable chairs in front of a hideous desk.
 
The man had no courtesy and worse taste.

Carlisle sipped her coffee — say what you will about the man, but his PA made a good brew.
 
Better than the slurry at the station by a long shot.
 
“Mr. Davies.
 
We just want to ask him a few questions.
 
It’s in relation to a multiple homicide.
 
People with families aren’t going to see their kids tonight.”
 
Something about this Davies guy made her skin crawl — for some reason a lot of guys who made it in management were like that.

“We could always come back with a warrant.
 
It’s just easier on you this way.”
 
Elliot hadn’t touched his coffee.
 
He’d eaten the chocolate that came with it, marks of brown still muddy against the white china.
 
He loved his role as the bad cop, said it was one of the things that gave him job satisfaction.

Davies put down his cup — pinky out — and tugged at his cuff, straightening it. “It’s not that I don’t want to help.
 
Really.
 
I do.
 
I’ve got the file right here.”
 
He patted a manila folder closed on the desk, opened it.
 
Scanned the first page, closed it again.
 
“Mr. Everard and I had a meeting just this morning.
 
Legal’s advised me not to divulge any information without the appropriate paperwork.
 
For the company’s protection.”

“That’s his file?”
 
Carlisle was faintly surprised.
 
She wasn’t a great believer in serendipity.

“I can tell you — because it’s an item that the company tabled — that Mr. Everard is on leave for a little while.
 
I really can’t comment further though.”

“Medical leave?”
 
Carlisle sighed.
 
“That figures.”

“I’m sorry?” said Davies.

“The accident.
 
His hand.”
 
Carlisle held up her left arm.

Davies looked between the two of them.
 
“I’m sorry, Detective.
 
I’m not sure —”

“You disgust me.”
 
Elliot stared hard at Davies, his tone suggesting he’d just stood in something unmentionable.
 
“You’re worried about your clerical process when people are dead?
 
I’ve half a mind to just take the damn file.”
 
Elliot started to rise from his chair.
 
“You know —”

Carlisle already had a hand on Elliot’s shoulder, making a show of pulling him back to his seat.
 
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Davies.
 
You can be sure we will be back with a warrant.
 
If you change your mind — here’s my card.”
 
She flipped the small rectangle onto the desk.
 
“C’mon Elliot.
 
Let’s leave the man to his day.
 
Thank you for your time.”

On the street outside Elliot rounded on Carlisle.
 
“Why’d we leave so soon?
 
We’d barely got started.
 
He would have given us something.”

“Two reasons.
 
First, because the guy was a cockroach and I didn’t want to breathe the same air for too long.
 
Second reason?
 
Because I know where Everard is.”

“Fuck off.
 
How can you possibly know that?”
 
Elliot didn’t get many opportunities to be the bad cop.
 
He’d be grumpy until lunch, like a kid who’d missed his chance on the roller coaster.

“Well, ok.
 
I know where he’s going to be.”

“Tell me you didn’t steal something.
 
We’re cops.
 
We can’t steal shit.
 
You’re always stealing shit.”

“That was one goddamned time.
 
Give it a rest.
 
Anyway.
 
You really should learn to read upside down.”

Elliot grinned.
 
“The file.
 
You got something from the file.”

Carlisle patted Elliot on the shoulder.
 
“The first thing on Everard’s file was an HR note.”

“So tell me, oh sensei.
 
Where’s our suspect going to be?”

“They’ve put him in an alcoholics programme — Everard still has a problem with the booze.
 
I think we should turn up for the rank coffee and stale biscuits, and then ask him a couple questions.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’m telling you, Davies is not that bad a guy.”
 
John chewed while he talked, a couple of fries in his hand.
 
It was hard to tell if he was serious through his Ray Bans.

Val snorted, reaching for the bowl of fries.
 
“He’s an asshole.
 
He just put me on gardening leave for a month.”

John was checking out some women a couple tables away.
 
They were checking him out right back, giggling and talking to each other.
 
“Look man.
 
He just gave you four weeks’ paid leave.
 
To do with what you want.
 
Sure, you got to go to a few meetings.
 
Talk some random shit with the AA.
 
It won’t kill you.”

“They don’t want
you
to stop drinking.
 
That might kill me.
 
Can you imagine a week in this town without a beer?
 
Oh for Christ’s sake, stop showing off.”

John stopped, mid stretch, then rubbed at his designer stubble.
 
He’d been flexing in his ever-so-slightly too tight shirt.
 
“Just playing to the crowd, man.
 
I’m getting digits before we’re done here.”

Val turned to look at the ladies.

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” said Val.

“Like, I don’t know, some kind of animal nerd.
 
You’re cramping my style.
 
You don’t look, man.
 
You
glance
.”

“You were the one ogling.
 
Besides, aren’t those two a bit young for you?”

“No such thing.”
 
John looked at the table.
 
“Well, ok.
 
Maybe there is.”

“A pretty boy like you wouldn’t last ten minutes in prison,” said Val.

“Christ, what are you, my mother?”
 
John changed tack.
 
“Tell you what, since you’ve got a week with nothing going on, why not come down and do a session or two with me?”

“A session?”

“A session.”

“At the gym?”

“At the gym.”

“You can’t be serious.
 
I work in IT.”
 
Val looked down at his belly.
 
“This body is built for comfort, not speed.”

“You’re going to die fat and alone.
 
I’m saying this for purely selfish reasons — I don’t want to be one of your pall bearers.”
 
Their waitress — a pretty young thing with a perpetually harassed expression — arrived with their meals.
 
Val’s order was a pasta number named
An Oblivion of Cream
.
 
John had some sort of hunter-gatherer diet meal of grilled turkey breast on a tasteless buckwheat slice.
 
Val didn’t care what it was called — knowledge like that might lead a man to accidentally ordering it.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about.”
 
John pointed at Val’s meal with a knife.
 
“There’s about a billion calories in that.
 
And they all hate you.”

Smearing some cream sauce around on his shirt with a napkin —
stupid restaurant napkins have the absorption qualities of plastic bed sheeting
— Val looked at his belly again.
 
“You’re just jealous.
 
There’s a whole lot of playground here.”

“No really, man.
 
It’s no joke.
 
Come on down, we’ll put you through something light.
 
Maybe get you on a regular programme.
 
It’s on me — and I even promise we’ll have a beer after.
 
You probably shouldn’t, but you’ll have earned it.”

Val looked as his belly again.
 
Hell with it
.
 
“Ok.
 
Sure.”

“What?”

“I said let’s do it.”

John swallowed his mouthful, then took a foamy sip of beer.
 
“I just want to check.
 
You just agreed to come down to the gym with me.”

Val thought back to when Rebekah had admired his body, their youth and passion for each other the most important thing in the world.
 
He knew he’d been sliding ever since, knew she’d have been disappointed.
 
He grabbed almost savagely at his beer, taking a strong pull.
 
“Yeah man.
 
Tomorrow?”