Tania Carver - Cage of Bones

Then she thought of her ex-lover, DCI Ben Fenwick. She hadn’t found him particularly attractive, but she’d still slept with him. Willingly offered herself up to him. But that was different, she told herself. She had something to gain from that.

She shook the thought from her head. It only made her feel more angry.

Donna was getting a grip on herself. It took longer this time, was more of an effort. But she managed it. Thinking she might not make such a good recovery next time, Rose hurried her questioning along.

‘So do you have any idea who she could have seen last night?’

Donna shook her head.

‘Did she have regulars? Did she say anything about seeing one of them?’

‘No. Nothin’ like that. Just said she was goin’ out. Makin’ a bit of money.’

‘And what did you do last night?’

Donna sat immediately upright. ‘None of your fuckin’ business.’

I’ll bet, thought Rose. ‘What about boyfriends? Pimps? Anyone like that?’

Something passed across Donna’s eyes. Too quick for Rose to read it. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘There was an ex. Used to turn her out sometimes. Make her go out to work. He was the one got her on the pipe, know what I mean?’

Rose felt that familiar burn inside. She was on to something. ‘Got a name?’

‘Daryl. Daryl Kent.’

‘And where can I find him?’

‘What, now? The Shakespeare. He’s always there. Playin’ pool.’

‘Right.’ She stood up. Glad to have a focus for her anger. ‘I’m sorry, Donna. Did Faith have any family?’

Donna shook her head, kept her eyes averted. ‘She had me. I’m all she’s got. An’ Ben.’ Voice small, cracked.

‘Family Liaison’ll be in touch soon.’

Donna shrugged: whatever.

‘I’m… sorry.’ The word dredged reluctantly from her.

Donna said nothing. Crossed to the door, opened it.

Rose left.

Out on the street, she gulped in what passed for clean air off Barrack Street then set off walking to meet Daryl Kent. The big car was still parked opposite. She ignored it.

Just glad to get away from the place.

The man behind the desk was nervous, Mickey thought. But he doubted it was because the police were there to see him. More to do with his firm losing money.

‘Look,’ Colin Byers said, sitting back, ‘it’s awful and all that, but I don’t see what I can do for you. I mean, we were just contracted for the demolition.’

‘But you can tell us who contracted you.’

Mickey Philips sat opposite the desk. George Byers Demolition was the first place on his list. It was a one-storey brick building on Magdalen Street in New Town. Low and open-plan, it sat between a car dealership and a fireplace and door reclaimer. It had a cracked concrete forecourt with lorries and vans on it, and the building itself was just like Mickey had expected. Office-surplus furniture, tabloids lying round, a calendar with a semi-naked girl on it. No finesse. Stripped to the bones.

Colin Byers looked like the product of his environment. The son of the owner of the company, as he had explained, and now running it since his father’s retirement, he was a heavy-set middle-aged man, thinning on top, wearing metalframed glasses and a maroon polo shirt with the company logo on it.

He sighed, scratched his ear. ‘Look, Detective Sergeant, all I can give you is the name of the buildin’ firm. We’re subcontractors. You’d be better off contactin’ the Land Registry.’

‘I have,’ said Mickey, strictly speaking telling a lie. He hadn’t contacted them; Milhouse had done it for him. ‘All they could tell me was that the property is registered to a holding company in London. We’re looking into that now. In the meantime, Mr Byers, I’d just like a little help. I appreciate you’ve got your job to do, but so do I. The sooner you talk to me, the sooner I’ll be off.’

‘Yeah. And I’m out of pocket now because of this.’ Byers sighed. Put his hands behind his head, smoothed down what remained of his hair. Came to a decision. ‘I know this one, as it happens. Took it myself. Lyalls. The builders. Wanted a couple of semi-derelict properties dismantled down East Hill. Area cleared for a new housin’ development. Easy job, really. Might be a bit of asbestos removal, uprooting some trees, landscapin’, nothing worse than that. And now this.’

Mickey made a note of the building company’s name.

‘So now we can’t work there, can we?’

‘It looks that way.’

‘How long you gonna be, then?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Mickey. The area’s going to be thoroughly searched. Could be days. Could be weeks.’

The expression on Byers’ face told Mickey what he thought of that.

‘Thanks for your time,’ Mickey said, and let himself out.

Outside he checked his pad, looking for directions. The day had turned colder, chilly autumn notes carried on the wind.

He turned right, going back to where he had parked the car. Magdalen Street was the main stretch of road linking New Town to the town centre. He walked past tattooists, Afro-Caribbean hair stylists and corner shops. Most of the people on the street paid him no mind, although a few gave him sharp, furtive looks then dodged out of his way. He recognised a few faces. Knew he had dealt with them on a professional basis.

He walked to where Magdalen Street turned into Barrack Street. The area became more run-down, the buildings less well-kept, the shops dirtier. He was standing at the lights, about to cross and head down Brook Street to find his car, when he spotted someone he knew.

Rose Martin, walking along the street opposite.

His first instinct was to turn round, walk as far away from her as possible. He hadn’t known her long, but the impression she had made on him wasn’t a good one. However, he couldn’t. Because she was looking straight at him. He would have to talk to her.

She crossed the road, approached him. Smiled.

‘Hello, Mickey. Long time no see.’

‘Didn’t know you lived round here, Rose.’

She gave a small, stifled laugh. ‘Me? Live round here? You’re joking, aren’t you? No. I’m working.’

‘Oh good,’ he said, relieved that she was no longer with the police. ‘What as?’

She frowned, gave him a quizzical look. ‘As a police officer. What else would I be doing?’

Mickey was lost for words. He knew what she had gone through, how she had been put on long-term sick. Everyone knew it. And most people never expected her to return.

‘That surprised you, didn’t it?’

‘Well, yeah… What happened?’

‘Glass brought me back.’

‘You’re not working on… ’

A dark cloud passed over her features. ‘No. Oh God, no. No, it’s a road accident. Well, we think it’s an accident. Dead woman.’ She gestured back the way she had come. ‘Lived down there. Prossie.’

‘Right.’

They stood there looking at each other. Nothing more to say.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’d better get on. Nice to see you, Mickey. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other soon.’

God, he hoped not. ‘Yeah. Sure, Rose.’

She was turning to go, stopped. ‘Oh, and it’s Detective Inspector now. I’ve been promoted. Bye.’

She smiled, turned and walked away.

Mickey was left standing there, absorbing that last piece of information. The pedestrian crossing sounded. He just stared at it, unmoving.

‘Detective Inspector… Jesus Christ… ’

‘So how is he?’

Marina walked up to the tape at the bottom of East Hill, phone clamped to her ear. She heard Anni’s voice.

‘Asleep again. Didn’t stay awake much after you went. He’s exhausted.’