Tania Carver - The Creeper

‘What?’

‘The film. Don’t say you haven’t seen it?’

‘No. You have kids, then?’

‘Nephews. Two of them.’

‘Right.’

Mickey fell silent. Anni waited. Eventually she decided to prompt him.

‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about, then?’

‘Yeah. When are you free?’

She told him she had an address for the soldier on a houseboat by the quayside at the Hythe.

‘Where we found the body,’ said Mickey.

‘Probably,’ she said. ‘D’you want to meet up there?’

He did. They made a time, rang off.

She drove away, glad to be heading back to the town. Feeling much safer there than in the country.

The Super sat behind the desk in Fenwick’s office. Stared at him, unsmiling.

‘Jesus Christ. What a fucking mess.’

Phil said nothing.

Fenwick was sitting next to him, a red welt over the side of his lip, his cheek puffed up, face turned away from the Super, eyes still on him. Phil kept the swollen knuckles of his right hand covered with his left.

The Super was never known by his full title, Chief Superintendent Brian Denton, at least not throughout Colchester Division. Just the Super. He wasn’t a physically imposing man but he had the confidence and presence that comes from knowing whatever he said was going to be listened to and acted on. With his swept-back grey hair, impeccable uniform and artfully concealed broken veins on his nose, Phil was always reminded of an ageing matinee idol who thought he was bound for Hollywood but somehow ended up in daytime soaps. Not everyone can run the Met.

But he was a first-class copper and he still retained a thief taker’s instinct, no matter how many years he had spent behind a desk.

Usually on a case like this Phil reported directly to the Super at Chelmsford, the DCI at the station, his direct superior, taking more of an office management role. The Super had mentioned Fenwick before. Phil got the impression he didn’t rate him much.

‘Heads should roll for this.’

Phil again said nothing.

Fenwick, however, leaned forward. ‘Well, sir, I… I’ve covered all bases adequately. Perhaps if the…’ – he risked a sly, angry glance at Phil – ‘… shall we say lower-ranking officers had done their jobs properly, we wouldn’t be in this mess.’

Phil’s vision turned red. His hands began to shake. Bastard .

He still said nothing.

The Super stared at Fenwick. ‘Surely as senior officer the blame should lie with you, DCI Fenwick?’

Fenwick went red. ‘Well, yes, perhaps… but I’m not out on the front line. I’m here, coordinating. I can’t be held responsible for everything that goes on.’

‘So you’re… what? Just a glorified office manager, is that what you’re saying?’

It was Fenwick’s turn to shake. Phil suppressed a grin.

‘I… I… no…’

The Super cut in. ‘This is a bloody mess. You’ve got more resources and bodies on this one than any other case in Essex. I want results. And I want this kept quiet, the press out of. If I see one word of this in the papers I’ll have both your jobs, clear?’

They both nodded.

‘Good. Right.’ He turned to Phil. ‘DI Brennan. Did you get a confession out of the suspect before he was taken to hospital?’

Phil shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

‘Pity.’ He looked at his watch. Sighed. Clearly on his way to another appointment. He looked between the two of them irritably. ‘Can I trust you both to carry on with this? Without one blaming the other for failings either real or imagined? Or the other feeling the need to express his feelings physically, no matter how deserving the recipient may be of them?’

The Super’s eyes twinkled. Phil caught it. He didn’t know if Fenwick had.

He knows. He knows what’s happened .

Phil nodded. ‘You can, sir.’

Fenwick was more hesitant.

‘Problem, DCI Fenwick?’

Fenwick risked a sly look at Phil, eyes lit by a vengeful light.

Here it comes, he thought.

‘Yes? I’m waiting.’

Fenwick shook his head, dropped his eyes to the floor.

‘Good. DI Brennan, you’re still in charge of this investigation. Move it forward, get results. The whole world and his bloody wife are looking over our shoulder on this one. DCI Fenwick, you’re in charge of damage control here. Like I said, not one word of this to the press. Or heads will roll.’

The Super stood up, bid them good day, let himself out.

Fenwick breathed a sigh or relief.

Silence in the room.

‘Not one word, Ben,’ said Phil eventually, ‘or heads will roll.’

Fenwick turned to him, quickly, angrily. ‘You won’t get away with what you did.’

There were plenty of retorts that came into Phil’s mind then but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he stood up, left the office and walked back to the bar.

The investigation was in full swing. Phones were being worked, keyboards pounded, voices raised, bodies all over the room. But there was something Phil was interested in more than the investigation at the moment. All to do with the plan he had thought up on the way to work.

He walked across to Milhouse, crouched at the side of his desk.

‘Milhouse,’ he said, ‘need you to run a check on someone for me.’

Milhouse looked up, pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘Who?’

He handed him a folded slip of paper. Milhouse opened it, read it. Then looked up, his mouth a perfect ‘O’ of shock.

‘This is-’

‘Marina.’

‘Right.’ Milhouse frowned. ‘What kind of check?’

‘Financial, mainly.’ He gave him another sheet of folded paper. ‘Here’s her account details. Debit and credit cards. I want to know if you can find a trail, see where they’ve been used.’

‘But, this is… this is against the law.’

Phil tried to act casual. ‘Strictly speaking, without a warrant and all that, yes. But please. As a favour to your superior officer? A discreet favour?’

Milhouse looked between the computer and the paper. Eventually he nodded.

Phil managed a smile. ‘Thanks. This means a lot to me. And let me know as soon as you find something, yeah?’

Milhouse said he would.

He stood up, crossed to the door. Fenwick was just walking through it.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To do some policework.’

He swept through the doors before Fenwick could say anything else.

Rose Martin looked up from her desk. Ben was standing by the double doors, watching Phil Brennan walk away. She knew the look on his face by now – angry enough to do some serious damage.

She stood up, walked towards him.

‘Ben? You got a minute?’

She walked outside, knowing he would follow her into the corridor. Knowing he would follow her anywhere. Aware also that Fiona Welch had looked up, was watching them go.

‘That bastard…’ As soon as they were alone, the anger was vented. ‘The Super knows what happened, knows what that bastard did and condones it, bloody condones it… oh, he didn’t say it in so many words but I know what he meant. It was clear whose bloody side he was on…’

‘Ben.’ She placed her hands on his shoulders, looked directly into his eyes. They were flailing around, avoiding her gaze, but she kept at him, waiting for them to settle, like startled crows following a gunshot.

‘D’you want to get back at him? D’you want to get even?’

‘You’re bloody right I do. I want to see the look on his face when-’

She jumped in quickly. ‘D’you want the glory for this one? Want Brennan to come in looking clueless?’

He looked at her. Said nothing.

‘I’ve got something that no one else has. And it’s gold.’