Val McDermid - Common Murder

“Yes,” she answered. An edginess in his manner urged her to caution.

“I have a message for you.” He handed her a note.

Cordelia recognized her lover’s familiar handwriting, and her stomach contracted with relief. She forced herself to focus on the words and read, “Give the copy of the computer tape to the man who delivers this if you’ve got it. It’s all right. L.” She looked up at the man’s impassive face. “What’s going on? Am I going to see her soon?” she pleaded.

“Looks like it,” he said. His voice was without warmth. “The tape?”

She fumbled in her bag and handed him the unlabelled cassette.

“The note as well, please.”

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

“I need the note back.” Reluctantly, she handed him the scrap of paper.

Cordelia watched him walk towards the gate and gain admission. Unnerved by the brevity of the encounter she lit another cigarette and searched the radio wavebands again.

The digital clock on the dashboard showed 2:01 when the barrier at the gate rose. Cordelia stared so hard into the pool of light by the gate that she feared the sight of Rigano’s car followed by Lindsay’s MG was a mirage. She sat bolt upright in her seat, then hurriedly got out of the BMW. When the other two cars reached her, they stopped, and their drivers emerged. Lindsay and Cordelia fell into each other’s arms. For once, no words came between them as they clung desperately to each other. Rigano cleared his throat noisily and said, “You promised them I’d have the print-out by ten. We’d better get a move on, hadn’t we?”

Lindsay disengaged herself from Cordelia’s arms and rubbed her brimming eyes. “Okay, okay,” she said. “And we have to work out the details of how you keep your end of the bargain. We’d better go back to London in convoy. I hope you’re going to give us the benefit of the blue flashing light.”

“Is someone going to explain what’s been going on?” Cordelia demanded. “I’ve been sitting here like a lemon half the night going out of my mind with worry.”

“Later,” said Lindsay.

“No,” said Rigano. “No explanations. That’s the deal, remember.”

Dawn was fading the streetlights into insignificance by the time they reached Highbury. Cordelia drove off to garage her car while Lindsay went indoors to collect the printout. When she returned, Rigano took the papers, saying, “What arrangements do you want me to make?”

Lindsay spoke abruptly. “I need to make some phone calls. If the hospital says it’s okay, then I’ll act tonight. Unless you hear from me to the contrary, I’ll expect your men to be gone by seven. And I don’t want anyone following us.”

He smiled grimly. “There won’t be.” Rigano raised his hand in mock salute then turned and walked back to his car as Cordelia arrived at the door. After watching him accelerate out of sight, Lindsay buried her head in Cordelia’s shoulder and burst into tears. “I’ve been so bloody scared,” she sobbed. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Cordelia led her indoors and helped her upstairs. Lindsay’s muscles felt like jelly, and she was shivering. “Tell me about it later,” Cordelia said as she undressed her and got her into bed. “Sleep now and we’ll talk later.” Lindsay fell back on the pillows and fell asleep almost immediately, sprawled across the bed like a starfish. Cordelia looked down at her exhausted face with pity and decided to sleep in the spare room to avoid disturbing her.

Lindsay woke at noon to the sound of the phone ringing. She grabbed the receiver and was immediately deafened by a raging Duncan. She lay back and let him rant till he finally ran out of steam. “So what’ve you got to say for yourself?” he yelled for the third time.

“I was in police custody till six this morning, Duncan,” she explained. “I wasn’t allowed to make a phone call. They had got it into their heads that I was withholding information concerning the Rupert Crabtree murder, and they were giving me the third degree.”

The phone crackled into life again as Duncan ’s rage transferred itself to Fordham police. Again, Lindsay let the storm blow itself out. As he threatened for the fourth time to sue the police and have questions raised in Parliament, Lindsay butted in. “Look, it’s all over now, Duncan. It won’t serve any purpose to jump up and down about it. Anyway, I’m on the trail of a cracking good exclusive connected to the murder. But I’m going to have to drop out of sight for a couple of days while I get some info undercover and look up a few dodgy contacts. Is that okay?”

“No, it’s not bloody okay. What is this exclusive? You don’t decide to fuck off chasing whatever rainbows you fancy just because you’ve had a lucky run with a few stories. Tell me what you’re following up, and I’ll let you know if it’s worthwhile.”

Lindsay could feel a headache starting somewhere behind her eyes. “I don’t exactly know where it’s going to lead me, Duncan, but I’ve discovered that there’s an MI5 man involved somehow in the fringes of the murder. I want to dig around a bit and see if I can find out what the intelligence angle is, see what it’s all about. I think it could be a belter, Duncan. I’ve got that feeling about it. One of the coppers has hinted to me that there could be a security angle. But I’ll have to keep a low profile. I might be out of touch for a day or two.” She kept her fingers crossed that the gamble would pay off. There was a pause.

“Till Monday, then,” he said grudgingly. “I want a progress report by morning conference. This is your last chance, though, Lindsay. Piss me about like yesterday again and no excuses will do.” The phone crashing down at the other end nearly deafened Lindsay, but she didn’t mind. She had got her own way, and Duncan was only indulging in office bravado in order to terrorize her colleagues.

Sighing, she got out of bed and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a thick sweater. She pushed her head round the spare room door to see Cordelia apparently sound asleep. It was good to be home again. The events of the last twenty-four hours had convinced her that in spite of her frequent absorption in her own concerns, Cordelia was still totally committed to her. Grabbing a pocketful of change on her way out, Lindsay headed across Highbury Fields. She was going to have to be careful. It was at times like this she could use Cordelia’s help, but it was so risky to involve anyone else unnecessarily. Lindsay couldn’t justify to herself the act of confiding in Cordelia for her own selfish reasons. She put these thoughts to the back of her mind as she reached the phone box. She wanted to be sure these calls weren’t going to end up on one of Harriet Barber’s phone taps. She called Fordham General Hospital where, under the guise of a close relative, she eventually found a doctor who was prepared to admit that it would now be possible to move Deborah without untoward risk, though he personally would accept no responsibility for this.

There followed a series of phone calls including one to her parents in Argyllshire. She made the necessary arrangements with the minimum of fuss, then headed back home.

She put some coffee on, then stripped off, and dived under the shower. She spent a long time luxuriating in the hot water, putting off the moment when she would have to waken Cordelia and tell her she was about to go missing without a trace again. It wasn’t something she relished, particularly since the business of Deborah still lay unresolved between them.

She emerged from the shower and wrapped the towel around herself. In the kitchen, Cordelia was staring moodily into a mug of coffee. Lindsay squeezed past and poured out her own. She reached across the table for a discarded packet of cigarettes and nervously lit up.