Mark Pearson - Hard Evidence

Bonner leaned across the table and picked up the photo, studying it with a troubled expression in his eyes. But the eyes that looked back at him from the photo weren't troubled at all. The eyes of Jack Delaney almost seemed to be smiling.

Kate Walker sat at the bar of the Holly Bush in Hampstead, sipping on a Bloody Mary and letting the noisy chat of the other customers wash over her. She swirled the drink in her hand. The Holly Bush had their own secret recipe for Bloody Marys and always put a splash of red wine in to finish it off, lending sinister authenticity to the drink. She took another sip and steadied her breathing, trying to order the wild thoughts that were dancing in her brain. It made no sense to her. The preliminary examination of Moffett had been fairly straightforward. As she had told Diane Campbell, there was no way of telling whether it was a genuine suicide. There had certainly been no indications of a struggle or resistance, and she couldn't see the autopsy throwing up any contradictory information. That was straightforward. What wasn't straightforward was how Jack Delaney fitted into it all. Although Campbell had told Kate very little, she had spoken to the other officers there and was shocked at what she heard. They were accusing him not only of murder, but also of blackmail, stealing evidence, selling drugs and profiting from paedophile pornography. There was very little in this world that was certain, she knew that, but she was certain that Delaney was innocent of the charges. She absolutely knew it. What she didn't know was what to do about it. She understood it wasn't safe to talk to his colleagues from what he said on the phone. So who was she supposed to talk about it to? Maybe it was time to swallow her pride and talk to her uncle, as Bob Wilkinson had hinted she should. He would know what to do. There must be protocols. She finished her drink and stood up. She'd speak to him tomorrow.

Wendy sat on the sofa, her knees together, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. The television played the theme tune for Casualty and Wendy snatched the remote control up to switch it off. She'd had enough misery for one day. It had been some time since the police had left and she still felt a bag of nerves. She worried a fingernail between her teeth and sighed. Siobhan hadn't understood why the policemen had been there; she hadn't understood why her daddy wasn't with them, where he had gone after her First Holy Communion, and Wendy didn't have the words to explain. She couldn't believe Jack had been arrested for murder. She couldn't believe he was on the run.

The phone rang and Wendy jumped. She took a moment or two to settle her breathing and answered it.

'Hello.'

'It's Jack.'

'Jack, for God's sake, where are you?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'Of course it matters. I've had a house full of detectives questioning me, questioning Siobhan.'

'Is she all right?'

'She's upstairs sleeping.'

'I want to talk to her.'

'And what are you going to say to her?'

She could hear his frustration on the other end of the line. 'For Christ's sake… I don't know, Wendy.'

'Exactly. So let her sleep.'

'Everything is going to be okay. Tell her that.' 'How?'

'I don't know how. But tell her it will.'

'Should you be talking on your phone? Can't they trace it?'

'It's a personal mobile, they don't know anything about it.'

Wendy nodded, taking a deep breath. 'Did you do it?'

'You think me capable of murder?'

Wendy sighed again, blinking the tears out of her eyes. 'Yes, Jack, I do.'

It was light outside as the sun sank slowly in the west, and although it had been far hotter during the heart of the day, the heat still hung heavy in the air. Inside Kate's hallway, however, it was cool and dark. The doors leading to the kitchen and the dining room and the lounge were all closed, and the stained-glass window on the front door was darkly coloured. The floor was laid with original Victorian tiles, a geometric mosaic in red, green and cream. A spilling of light through the stained glass spattered ruby colours on the hall floor like a splash of old blood. But in the corners and the depths it was dark.

Kate walked up to the front door, jangling her keys through to the right one, and slipped it into the keyhole. With a practised flick of her wrist she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She was about to step inside when she felt a cold trickle run up her spine. She turned back to the road behind her and checked the approach to the house. She had had a feeling she was being watched ever since she left the pub, and even though the road was deserted she couldn't shake the feeling off. She was a medical doctor not a clinical psychologist, but given the circumstances, she knew that a certain amount of paranoia was justified.

She shivered slightly and turned back, bending over to pick up the mail that was scattered on the doormat. She straightened up and closed the door, distracted as she flicked through the envelopes, then a movement caught her eye and she looked up, her heart hammering in her chest as she saw a large man step out from behind the coat stand. Her knees buckled and she screamed in genuine terror.

'For God's sake, Jack, what are you doing here?'

'Waiting for you.'

'You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.'

'Sorry.'

Kate blinked at him, astonished. 'Is that it? Sorry!'

'I didn't mean to scare you, but I had to make sure you were alone.'

'What the hell are you doing here anyway? How did you get in?'

'You keep your back door key hidden under a pot in your garden. Not wise.'

'You were arrested. Shouldn't you be in jail?'

'I didn't like the idea.'

Kate shook her head. 'You better come in, make yourself at home.' The words seemed ridiculous given the circumstances.

She led him down the hallway, opening the door at the end to the kitchen. Delaney followed her in and looked around. 'Nice.'

A stone-flagged floor, high ceiling and a conservatory that had been added to make a dining area. The late evening sunlight spilled in through French doors leading to a well-designed and very well-maintained garden. Kate picked up a large kettle from the hotplate of her Aga and filled it with water at her original butler's sink.

Delaney called out to her, 'Have you not got something a little stronger?'

Kate put the kettle down and opened a cupboard, taking out a bottle of single-malt whisky. 'No Irish, I'm afraid.'

'That's okay. Maybe I'm starting to appreciate what the mainland has to offer.'

Kate picked up two glasses and carried them across to the farmhouse table that Delaney was sitting at. She poured out a couple of hefty measures and clunked her glass quickly against his. ' Slainte .'

'Yeah.' Delaney took a quick swallow and smiled gratefully at Kate.

'What did you do, Jack?'

'I escaped.'

'How?'

'I throttled Eddie Bonner. Made him crash the car.'

Kate took a swallow of her whisky, winced a little, and then took another.

'Do you think that was a good idea, all things considered?'

'I had to do something. I didn't murder Jackie Malone.'

Kate looked at him for a beat. 'Did you sleep with her?'

Delaney looked back at her, surprised by the question, then shook his head. 'No. I didn't sleep with her.'

'Just good friends?'

'Not even that. I just looked out for her now and again. I could talk to her.'

Kate nodded sympathetically. 'She's certainly landed you in a whole world of trouble.'

Delaney shook his head again. 'Not Jackie. Whoever killed her has put me in the frame for it, and that is something they are going to live to regret.'

'I know you didn't kill her, Jack.'