Mark Pearson - Hard Evidence

Delaney groaned as he swung his feet off the sofa. He figured one of these days maybe he'd wake up without a hangover. A quick couple of drinks with Sally Cartwright had turned into a few more, and when Sally left for a relatively early night, Delaney carried steadily on. He finished up at about four o'clock in the morning and was poured into the back of a taxi by a large Irishman called Liam, who bounced at a pub in Queen's Park called the Greyhound, famous for its regular late opening hours and just as regular fights.

Tipping some cereal into a bowl, Delaney opened the door of his fridge and winced as he stepped back. He didn't have to take the bottle out to realise the milk had gone sour. He snapped up his jacket from the sofa and the DVD he had taken from Morgan's boat fell out and clattered to the floor. He picked it up, glanced at the cover briefly then put it in a sideboard drawer. He closed the drawer and took a step away, but then turned back and opened it again. He took out a small packet of white powder, licked his finger and dipped it in, then ran the powdered finger round his gums. It would numb the feeling there but it would spark his brain up a little at least, and Delaney figured he'd need his senses about him today. He dipped his finger again, just enough to keep him sharp, and put the cocaine back in the drawer.

He switched his mobile phone on, and some few seconds later, as he was locking his front door, it rang. He answered it and immediately held it away from his ear, wincing as Campbell's voice barked out at him.

An hour and a half later, Delaney was drumming his fingers impatiently, looking at the bland face of Detective Inspector Richard Hadden and not particularly caring for what he saw. He'd been sitting in Hadden's stark and windowless office being interviewed by the man about Jenny and Howard Morgan for over half an hour now, and was sick of the sight of him. Hadden was five nine, with fair, thinning hair, trendy glasses and the kind of smug expression that made Delaney want to pick up his coffee mug and smash it straight into his face. Only trouble was, assaults against fellow officers were just the sort of thing Hadden investigated.

Instead Delaney fought down his urge for violence and summoned a weary smile. 'Like I said, Richard, I acted as I did to save the life of a young girl.'

'It could well be that you put that girl's life in danger. For goodness' sake, Inspector Delaney. I know you call yourself Cowboy, but this isn't the wild west. You can't go taking the law into your own hands.'

'I don't call myself anything of the sort. I did what I did because I had to make a decision. And I made the right decision.'

'The review will see about that. We have protocols for a reason, Detective Inspector.'

Hadden wrote calmly in his notebook, ignoring Delaney for a moment or two, and then looked up at him with a cold smile.

'It's little more than a week since we had to interview you about other irregularities with police procedure, isn't it?'

'That was bullshit too, and you know it.'

Hadden smiled again, and again Delaney wanted to give him a serious dental bill. Hadden looked down at his notes and shrugged. 'A kilogram. That's a lot of nose candy still missing from evidence.'

Delaney laughed out loud, despite himself. 'Nose candy? What's up, Richard, they send you off to jargon school? You actually thinking of doing some proper police work? Getting the lingo right so you can rap with the gangstas?'

'Your attitude isn't helping your cause.'

'What are you going to do? Charge me with saving the girl's life?'

Hadden closed his notebook and stared at Delaney for a long, condescending moment. 'We'll let you know what we are going to charge you with when we decide.'

'Whatever tickles your pickle, Richard.'

Delaney stood up and walked out of Hadden's office as fast as he could, before he could say or do anything he might regret.

As Delaney walked back into his own office, he was surprised to see Kate Walker sitting at his desk, and a little annoyed.

'Can I help you with anything?'

Kate picked up on the shortness of his tone and stood up. 'You could start by losing a bit of the attitude. I've come with some information I thought you might find useful.'

Delaney nodded a little guiltily. 'Sorry. Bit of a bad morning.'

'I heard you were in with DI Hadden.'

'That's right.'

'I always thought the man was an insufferable prig myself.'

Delaney smiled. 'Close enough. What have you got for me?'

Kate pointed at the murder scene photographs that she had left on Jack's desk. 'Jackie Malone. The way her body was mutilated. The positioning of her body.'

'What about it?'

'I've seen it before, Jack.'

'Where?'

Kate handed him a DVD. The House of Knives . 'It's a classic sixties French film. A black-and-white art-house slash and gore. There is a woman mutilated and murdered in it in exactly the same way as Jackie Malone.'

'You think it's a copycat killing?'

Kate looked at him. 'No. As you know, Jackie Malone's injuries were post-mortem.'

'So…?'

'So I think what you have here, Jack, is a seriously sick film buff.'

Diane Campbell was at her window lighting up a cigarette when Delaney knocked and entered her office. She glared at him. 'What the fuck happened out there yesterday, Jack?'

'Yeah, good morning to you too, boss.'

'Save it, Delaney. I'm not in the mood.'

'We got the girl back, didn't we?'

'You should have waited.'

'If I'd waited he could have got away.'

'You don't know that.'

'You're right, I don't know that. In fact, he probably wouldn't, in which case he was quite prepared to kill his own daughter, set light to the boat and blow them both halfway across Essex.'

'We have people trained in hostage negotiation for a reason, Jack.'

'Yeah, because we're too damn scared just to take them down first chance we get. And don't tell me that what happened at Stockwell station has got nothing to do with that.'

Campbell glared out of the window. Finding no answers in the car park below, she looked back at Delaney and sighed. 'And what's happening with Jackie Malone?'

Delaney shrugged and gestured noncommittally. 'We think we're looking for at least two of them. Nothing concrete as yet.'

Campbell took a long last pull to finish her cigarette and flicked it out of the window. 'Your connection with her? Anything you want to get off your chest?'

Delaney helped himself to a cigarette from Campbell's packet on her desk and joined her by the window. 'Like what?'

'Come off it, Cowboy. She calls here looking for you. Repeatedly. Next thing she's lying in our deep freeze with more holes in her than a Swiss cheese on fondue night.'

'I didn't see her.'

'Why was she trying to get hold of you?'

Delaney blew a stream of smoke out of the window. 'Seems like she was worried about something.'

Campbell snorted drily. 'Seems like she had good cause.'

'That's what Dr Walker said.'

'Kate Walker meets a lot of people who clearly had good cause to be worried.'

'I know.'

'So why did Jackie phone you? If it was a police matter, why not speak to Eddie, or anyone else on the shift?'

Delaney shrugged.

'There's nothing in your relationship with this woman I should know about?'

'If there was, I would be telling you.'

She looked at him for a moment or two and then shrugged. 'I've got a meeting. Why don't you walk me to my car?'

Delaney nodded and fell into step beside her as they walked out of her office and then headed downstairs toward the front office and the car park.

'What exactly was your relationship with her then?'

Delaney scowled. Not at the question, but at the memories it brought. 'For Christ's sake, Diane, I've told you, there was no relationship.'