The Kill (32 page)

‘Why?’ He looked wounded.

‘Two sugars? You might as well have a Coke and have done with it.’

Mal was new enough to the team that he wanted to get everything right, all the time, and apparently that extended to making hot drinks. ‘Give us a chance.’

‘I might. Maybe. Sometime.’

‘Rather you than me, mate,’ Chris said. ‘I wouldn’t want the pressure.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, it’s just a cup of tea,’ I said. ‘How difficult can it be?’

‘Very, apparently.’ Mal was looking daunted.

‘Don’t intimidate the new boy, Maeve,’ Chris said. ‘Give him a chance to find his feet first.’

‘I’m not that intimidating,’ I said. ‘I’m not intimidating at all.’

There was a short silence broken only by the kettle coming to the boil. I poured the water in and turned to face them. ‘Am I intimidating?’

Chris held up his finger and thumb an inch or so apart. ‘Little bit.’

‘I wouldn’t have said so,’ Mal said quickly. ‘Impressive is the word I’d have used.’

‘Thanks, Mal.’

‘Smooth.’ Chris’s expression was pure disgust.

‘I’m just saying it as I see it.’

Eventually I left them to their tea and bickering. I was still smiling when I went back into the office, carrying my mug. As I walked in, I saw Derwent leaning over Dave Kemp’s desk, talking to him in a low voice. His forehead was creased with worry. He glanced up and saw me, then straightened up.

‘Kerrigan.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Where’s your bloke working at the moment?’

It wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I blinked, trying to remember at the same time as I was wondering why he wanted to know. The handle of the mug slipped a little so my fingers touched the hot china and I twisted to put it down on the nearest desk.

‘I don’t know. Somewhere south of the river, I think. Bexley?’

Derwent didn’t reply and I glanced up, surprised, to see from his face that it was the wrong answer. Before he could say anything, Godley hurried out of his office.

‘Have we got confirmation?’

Kemp looked up. He had his phone clamped to his ear. ‘Just waiting to hear, boss.’

Godley swore, and even though it was under his breath I was shocked.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked Derwent.

‘We don’t know for sure yet.’

‘Well, what do we
think
has happened?’

‘Just wait.’

‘Sir—’

Derwent stopped me with an impatient hand waved in my direction. He was focused on Dave Kemp’s face, as was Godley, so I looked at Dave too. He was listening to something carefully, his pen racing across the paper in front of him as he took down the details.

‘Right. Right. Okay. So that’s confirmed. And do we know the identity of the victim?’

I looked back to Godley to see his shoulders slump. He leaned back against the doorframe behind him as if his legs wouldn’t hold him up.

‘Another one?’ Chris Pettifer came to stand beside me, the good humour absolutely in abeyance as the police officer in him came to the fore.

‘So it seems.’ I was back to feeling cold, in a way that had nothing to do with getting soaked while I was out. It was fear, I thought, with a kind of hazy detachment. My brain seemed to be working too slowly. Why had Derwent asked about Rob? Why had he looked so upset when I told him where he was working? I knew the answer and I didn’t want to know it. I was running away from reaching a conclusion, and I would keep running until I had to stop, until reality crashed in and made me accept what had happened.

Dave hung up and turned around. ‘That’s confirmed. One fatality. They’re not releasing the ID yet. It was a Flying Squad surveillance operation. They were in a car, sitting outside a suspect’s address. A motorbike drew up beside them and bam, took out the passenger, then made off. Whoever shot him made them as cops, which is embarrassing for starters.’

He was talking about it as if it was just another murder, the way we all talked about murders, with that levity that makes the job bearable. Derwent leaned down, his face very close to Dave’s.

‘Shut up.’

‘What?’

‘Kerrigan’s boyfriend is on the Flying Squad.’

And everyone looked at me.

I was standing completely still, like a puppet waiting for someone to make it move. I wondered how this could have happened, how I could have been laughing and giving a lecture on the art of tea-making at the same time as my world began to spin out of control. I swayed, just a little, and Pettifer put his arm around me.

‘It’s all right, lovely. He’ll be all right.’

I looked around, seeing the shock on almost every face. They all knew Rob, except for some of the newer detectives. Most of them had worked with him. Many of them had mildly resented me for bringing about his departure from the team as a result of our relationship. No one wanted to hear bad news about him.

Derwent moved, then, as if he couldn’t stand doing nothing for a moment longer. He came towards me and picked up the phone from the desk where I’d abandoned my mug. ‘What’s his number?’

I took the phone out of his hand, pulling myself together. ‘It’s okay. I’ll call him myself.’

I turned away as I dialled the number, although I knew everyone was still watching me. I couldn’t stand to see the worry harden on their faces as the phone rang once, twice, three times …

‘Voicemail.’ I had listened to his message before I said it, to his warm Manchester-inflected voice suggesting I left my number. It was impossible that I wouldn’t hear it again, for real. I hung up and turned back, looking for Godley. ‘Sir, it could be a long time before we get a name—’

‘I’ll take you.’ Derwent was jangling his car keys. He had already picked up his coat, and mine. ‘You’ll need to go down there to find out what’s going on. No point in waiting for them to get around to calling us.’

‘Yes, Maeve, you must go,’ Godley said. ‘Get a head start on us.’

I followed Derwent out through the crowded but silent office, not catching anyone’s eye. I didn’t want to see their pity.

I didn’t want to deserve it.

Chapter 22

Derwent was almost completely silent as he drove down to Bexley, which I appreciated. He indulged in very little of his usual showing off but the unmarked car was fitted with lights and a siren and he used them wherever he could, slipping down bus lanes and edging across junctions in the teeth of the heavy evening traffic.

The rain slowed us down, of course. The windscreen wipers seemed to be sawing across my nerves as they swept over the glass in front of my face. I sat holding my phone in both hands, biting my lip. Everything suddenly seemed clear. I loved Rob more than anything, including my job. Especially my job, which took me away from him all the time. I wanted to be with him forever. I wanted to have children with him. I’d never been sure it was possible, but of course it was. I could move to a different, less demanding area. Something with regular hours. Missing persons, maybe. Murder investigation was a quick way to burn out, and I’d had my fill of it. Work didn’t matter. Work was much less important than life. If I had a choice to make I would choose him, every time. I just needed to be able to tell him that. If he was okay. But he would be okay. There was no need to worry.

It wasn’t difficult to find the place where the shooting had happened when every blue light for five miles had congregated at that spot. Derwent parked and got out of the car without waiting for me, running to intercept a small blonde woman. I recognised her immediately.

Inspector Deborah Ormond.

Rob’s boss.

I watched them talking, trying to read what they were saying and failing. Inspector Ormond’s response to Derwent’s questions was tight-lipped and she was turned a little away from me. I had to rely on Derwent’s expression to guess what was going on. He was frowning, intent. Unreadable, at least to me.

It seemed like forever before Derwent looked back to where I was standing beside his car and gave me a thumbs-up. Not Rob.

The relief swept through me with a rush. I leaned against the side of the car, feeling weak and oddly numb. I would have given the moon and stars to know that he was all right, and now I did know, and I was glad – of course I was glad. But I couldn’t recover instantly from the fear that had gripped me.

Derwent was doing his best to deal with Debbie, who was not one of his admirers, probably because they had had a fling that ended badly. She looked a lot less glamorous than usual. Her hair was scraped back into a messy ponytail and her make-up had gone, washed off by the rain or tears or both. She looked much older, suddenly, and I felt sorry for her. Losing one of her team had to be painful. She had the ultimate responsibility for them, after all. Derwent finished off the conversation with an actual pat on her back, which didn’t seem to impress her in the least, and jogged back to me.

‘Right. Debs says it was a guy called Harry Cromer. He’s been on her team for three years. Good bloke, she said. Forty last year.’

‘I’ve met him,’ I said, shocked all over again. I remembered him well. He had had big ears and a goofy smile, but you underestimated him at your peril. More than once, I’d seen him win an argument with a remark pointed enough to draw blood. I’d seen him be kind, too. ‘He was a really nice guy.’

‘Yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it wasn’t your boyfriend but Cromer sounds like the kind of cop we didn’t want to lose.’

‘There aren’t all that many I’d spare.’ I leaned around Derwent, trying to see behind him. ‘Did she say where Rob is?’

‘Somewhere in that lot.’ Derwent jerked a thumb at the maelstrom of ambulances and police cars that was blocking the street. ‘She said she’d tell him you were here.’

‘I bet she will,’ I said. Deborah Ormond disliked me and liked Rob rather too much. The idea of her doing me a favour was unlikely.

‘Now, now.’

‘You know what she’s like.’

‘Better than you do.’ Derwent grinned.

‘I always forget you two have history.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘But I try to. I don’t want to call it
romantic
history …’

‘Nothing romantic about it.’ The grin widened.

‘Quite. How was your little reunion?’

‘Awkward.’

‘I thought you were going to hug her. So did she.’

‘Jesus, no.’ Derwent shuddered. ‘You don’t want to get that close, believe me. Not twice. Not when you’ve escaped more or less intact the first time.’

My mood was all over the place. I was on the verge of hysterical laughter, and I knew it was inappropriate. I also knew it was shock. It could just as easily have been anger, or tears. And Derwent was fully aware of how I was feeling, talking more or less at random, giving me the space and time to recover. I squared my shoulders.

‘I should go and find Rob, and you probably need to get started on this shooting.’

‘Yeah. Hey, Kerrigan—’ I had started to move past him but he grabbed my arm to keep me where I was. ‘It sounds as if your bloke is in a bit of a bad way. He was running the operation. He was coming round the corner when the shooting happened. He just missed seeing the bike, according to Debbie.’

I felt the pit of my stomach drop. ‘Oh no. Poor Rob.’

‘He’s going to feel pretty shit about this, even though it’s not his fault. He was the surveillance commander. He put the guys in the car. He picked the location for the stakeout. If they were made, it’s his responsibility, or at least he’ll take it that way.’

I nodded, looking up at Derwent, who seemed to have something else to say though he was taking his time about it.

‘Look, I know what I’m talking about, okay? He’s going to struggle.’

‘Did you?’

The response was instant: shutdown. ‘We’re not talking about me.’

‘But you’re speaking from personal experience.’ I remembered what he’d said about wives and girlfriends crying on his shoulders; I hadn’t really thought about why they might need to.

‘As I said, we’re not talking about me. Just – just look after him, okay?’

‘Of course I will.’

Derwent nodded, his eyes not meeting mine. ‘Go and find him and take him home as soon as they let him go. Don’t let him hang around. Get a cab.’

‘I will,’ I said again. This time, when I walked away from Derwent, he let me go.

I found Rob sitting in an ambulance and my first reaction was pure, instinctive panic, even though I knew he was all right. His clothes were dark and sticky with blood. I ran up the steps.

‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’

He looked down at himself. ‘It’s not my blood. Harry bled all over me.’

I had a sudden, awful image in my mind of Rob hauling his friend out of the front of the car and trying to save him as he lay dying in the street. I swallowed and went to stand beside him, one hand on his back. ‘I didn’t know who it was. I just knew it was one of your team. I couldn’t get through on your phone—’

‘I think I left it in the car. Or the street.’ His voice was flat. He sipped from the cup of water he was holding.

‘We should try to get it back before we go home.’

He made a noise that could have been agreement, or could have been
you’ll be lucky
, or could even have been
I don’t care
.

‘Everyone at work was worried about you,’ I said, needing him to know. ‘I was, a bit. At least, I was a bit panicky.’

‘Sorry.’ That affectless tone again.

‘Why are you sitting here? Do you need to get checked out?’

‘No. They let me wait in here because of the rain and the people staring at me.’

‘Do you need to give a statement or anything?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve spoken to a couple of people already. I didn’t see anything useful. I heard the shot and I heard the bike accelerate away but I was too late when I came round the corner. I saw nothing.’

‘Was Harry on his own in the van?’

‘No. Richie Saunders was there too. He gave a statement. Didn’t see a huge amount, understandably. There were two of them. The gunman was the pillion passenger, as you’d expect. They were wearing helmets and by the time they drove off he was too shocked to take much in. If you think I look bad you should see him.’