Jack Slater - No Way Home

Pete leaned forward. ‘So, f…’ He stopped. He was about to say that forensics would give them the truth, but that was equivocal, to say the least. In fact, some of it specifically suggested that Tommy was guilty, although Rosie Whitlock herself painted him as another victim rather than a willing participant. ‘Burton’s case is coming up in just a few weeks now. What can we do?’

Colin’s eyebrow rose. ‘ We can’t do anything. You can’t be involved. Not with Tommy tied up in it. You know that. You need to pull everything together from the case and bring it to me. Sooner the better. I’ll review it and take it from there.’

Pete had expected as much. It was standard procedure in situations like this. ‘And in the meantime? What happens to Tommy?’

Colin shook his head. ‘He’s proved himself a flight risk. We need his testimony, plus there’s his own possible involvement. He can’t be bailed. He’ll have to go to Archways.’

‘So, he’ll be able to have visitors.’

‘Louise and Annie, yes.’

Pete sighed, eyes closing. It was what he’d expected. He would not be permitted to see his son again until after he’d testified, but at least his wife and daughter could. And, with Colin on the case, he had no doubt that the best outcome possible would result in the end. Except… He opened his eyes. ‘Did you ask him about Lauren Carter?’

Lauren had been held with Rosie Whitlock for a time, then killed. And forensic evidence on the body had suggested that Tommy had been directly involved in her death.

Colin drew a long breath and let it out through his nose. ‘I asked.’

‘And?’

He shrugged. ‘Again: one word against another. No way to prove either scenario now.’

‘So, we need a confession from Burton.’

Colin grunted. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘He’s a narcissist. He’ll do whatever he thinks will give him the best result. He’ll have to be told we’ve got Tommy now.’

‘Yes.’

‘And he’s in the city jail.’

‘He is.’ Colin’s tone was becoming more cautious.

‘So, any interviews will be done there. Where they’re not recorded. Solicitor-client privilege and all that bollocks. I’m sure he’ll have found out by now how his sort are treated in prison. And he’s looking at a long stretch, whether or not murder gets added to the charge sheet. If he survives, that is – doesn’t get shivved in the showers one fine day.’

Colin’s lips were pursed. ‘What I think you’re suggesting is unethical at best.’

‘Not politically correct, I’ll give you that. But unethical?’ Pete shook his head. ‘What would be unethical would be to let him get away with murder.’

‘Either way, you can’t interview him again. Not now we’ve got Tommy. That’ll be down to me.’

Pete nodded, holding his gaze. ‘I know.’

*

Pete stared at the big street map of the city on the squad room wall. ‘Where had you come from, Ranjeet? Whoever killed you had to be in the cab with you, so where did you pick them up?’

He concentrated on the point where the taxi had been found. Its position and the marks in the grass around it suggested it had come along Argyll Road. The meter, if it was correctly calibrated, suggested a distance of nine tenths of a mile or thereabouts from his last pickup, so… He reached up and traced a forefinger back along Argyll, through the woods and out onto the A377. Which way then, though? Into town or out? It looked like a good half-mile remained from there to wherever he’d made the pickup. Going back into town gave him the area around the carvery by the river, as they’d said earlier, the estate on the other side of the main road from there, or down the New North Road into the university or city centre. The other way led towards either Newton St Cyres or Stoke Canon. There were way too many choices. How the hell was he going to narrow them down? He stepped across to the wider map of the area that was pinned up to the left of the city plan.

Both Newton St Cyres and Stoke Canon were too far.

Into the city, then. But, where?

They knew Ranjeet had dropped his previous fare at St Thomas, but that didn’t really preclude either direction.

Then he looked closer at the map. Checked the distances.

‘Hmm.’

Regalvanised, Pete turned back towards his desk, sat down and flipped his notepad over to a new page.

‘You got something, boss?’ Jane asked.

‘Maybe. We said earlier that his meter might take us back to the Old Mill. But, taking the other fork, it could equally take us up to the clock tower.’

‘So…’

‘You might have been right. About the pepper spray. We might be looking for a prostitute. Or someone Ranjeet assumed was one. There’s several bars and hotels round there as well as the railway station just along the road. Maybe he made a mistake and paid for it the hard way.’

Jane nodded. ‘Possible, but it’ll be hard to prove. Not the most reliable set of possible witnesses round there, especially at that time of night.’

Dave glanced up from what he was doing. ‘No CCTV either, apart from Central Station. We did hear from forensics, though, while you were in with the Guv’nor. They found a print that might be significant. Just the one. They said it appeared to be female. And it was on the steering wheel, at what they described as a strange angle. But there were no matches in the system for it.’

‘So, no use until we catch whoever it is we’re looking for, if at all.’ Pete pursed his lips. ‘Looks like another late night, then. Thermals and thermos flasks.’

‘And here I was hoping to get lucky tonight,’ said Dick.

‘You’ll be in the right place, up by the clock tower,’ Dave said with a grin. ‘We won’t tell your missus, will we, guys?’

‘Keep practising, you might get to be a comedian one day.’

Jane laughed and gave Dave a shove. ‘I can just see you in your waistcoat and Chubby Brown flying hat.’

‘Now, that would have to go on YouTube,’ Ben said with a grin.

‘Ah.’ Dave leaned back, spreading his arms. ‘Fame at last.’

‘Remember us on your way up,’ said Jill. ‘You’ll want somebody to catch you on the way back down.’

‘Meantime, let’s concentrate on catching whoever killed Ranjeet Singh, shall we?’ Pete suggested. ‘We need a witness. And his car wasn’t exactly distinctive, so it won’t be easy to find one.’

*

‘Tommy.’

Colin Underhill sat down across the table from him. A big bear of a man in cord trousers and a tweed jacket, he looked like a farmer dressed up to go to town. All it needed was the flat cap and a suntan. Tommy held the smirk back off his face with difficulty.

‘Uncle Colin.’

They were not related, but it was what he’d always called his dad’s boss and his godfather.

‘We’ve got a problem, son. And getting out of it’s not going to be easy, even with me and your dad on your side.’

‘I told you – I never even thought of the knife as a weapon. It was a tool, that’s all. I used it pretty much every day round the fair. You can ask any of them.’

Colin pursed his lips, letting the air noisily out through his nose. ‘I’m talking about the other problem. Mr Burton. Lauren Carter. Rosie Whitlock.’

‘But, you said she supported what I told you.’

‘She does, but Burton won’t. And nor does Lauren.’

‘But, she’s…’ Tommy screwed his face up and dropped his head towards his chest. He swallowed, took a breath. ‘She’s dead.’

Colin grunted. ‘That’s part of the problem. She can’t speak, but her body tells its own story. And the doctor might be a friend of your dad, but he can only describe the facts as he finds them. And there’s a couple of those that put you firmly in the frame unless we can come up with something that throws the blame back onto Mr Burton.’