Jack Slater - No Way Home

They turned left onto the main road, heading south.

‘So, how come you’re using a taxi this morning, then?’

Oh, crap. Why had she chosen a chatty persona for this journey?

*

Pete had made several calls when he got up that morning and, for once, he was the last of his team to arrive in the squad room. As he approached his desk, five pairs of eyes watched him, waiting to see what he was going to say. And about what, he guessed.

Draping his jacket over the back of his chair, he rolled up his sleeves and went straight to the whiteboard where, last night, he had put up the basic information on the new case.

‘Morning, all.’ He picked up a marker pen, not caring what colour it was. ‘Ranjeet Singh, 34, born and raised in Exeter, an independent taxi driver for the last four years, having previously worked for Cathedral Cabs since he got his licence in 2008. He was found, pepper-sprayed and with his throat cut, in the driving seat of his taxi near the junction of Argyll and Pennsylvania Roads at 10.27 last night. He’d been there at least half an hour at that point, though we’ve no other witnesses as yet. It doesn’t appear to have been a robbery, so we need to canvas the area, see if we can find any witnesses, speak to his colleagues and family to try and find a motive and establish a timeline. I informed his wife last night. She was too distressed to give an interview, though, so I said I’d go back this morning. Family liaison’s with her in the meantime.’

‘Pepper spray, boss?’ asked DC Jane Bennett. ‘Does that suggest the same thing to you as it does me?’

‘Probably. The fact that his flies were undone and the condom – still in its wrapper – found on the passenger seat beside him would tend to support it. But the fact that he’s married argues against. And he’s got no previous form.’

‘That only means he hasn’t been charged,’ DC Dave Miles pointed out. ‘It’ll be something to check with his previous employer, if nothing else.’

Pete nodded. ‘That’s your first job, then. Then you can follow the theme. Find out which ranks he used and talk to the other drivers on them. I’ll ask his wife about pre-bookings and let you know what she says. Jane, look for unsolved sex attacks in the city, see if any show signs of a taxi driver being involved. If not, we can eliminate the possibility. If so, you can follow them up. Dick, take Jill with you and interview family and friends. Ben, get a couple of PCs from Uniform and get yourself up Pennsylvania Road, canvas the area for witnesses and so on. The position of the car suggests it had come along Argyll, so concentrate along there initially.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Right, people. Let’s see if we can get this solved in record time, eh? There’s a killer out there. For the sake of public safety and the victim’s family, we need to get them off the streets sooner, rather than later.’

Turning to the whiteboard, he wrote up a quick series of notes of who was doing what, then put the marker pen down and headed for his desk.

Stopped in the middle of his first step.

His whole team were still sitting where they had been, staring at him expectantly.

‘What? I’ve given you all assignments, haven’t I? Or did I dream that?’

‘We’re waiting to see what else you’ve got to say, boss.’ Jane glanced at the rest of the team for support.

There were nods from around the grouped desks.

‘That’s right,’ said Dave. ‘There’s a bloody great elephant in the room here. You going to shoot it or hide from it?’

Pete sighed. It had been inevitable that they’d ask. A function of the team he’d built. Of any good team. They cared. That didn’t make him any more comfortable with the situation, though. This was his son they were talking about. His flesh and blood.

He crossed quickly to his desk and sat down, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘There’s not a lot to tell. You know Tommy’s downstairs, obviously. He was spotted working at the spring fair on Plymouth Hoe, stopped and found to be carrying a knife. So they arrested him. Colin got him transferred here because of the Rosie Whitlock case. I expect he’ll go to Archways in the short-term. Meantime, I don’t get to see him until after Colin’s interviewed him. If then. He’s…’ He stopped himself with a grimace. It was no use whining.

‘Why Colin?’ DC Dick Feeney, the old man of the team, asked.

Pete looked at him. It wasn’t yet nine in the morning and his cheeks were already grey with the suggestion of stubble that was just one of the reasons for his nickname of Grey Man. ‘Well, it’s not going to be me, is it? And what’s the alternative? Simon?’ He huffed dismissively. DS Simon Phillips had been looking for Tommy for months and come up with nothing. ‘Or Fast-track?’

‘God save us all from that,’ PC Jill Evans said, shaking her head.

‘No need,’ said Dave. ‘The only interviews he’ll ever do are the press type.’

‘And annual reviews,’ Jane added.

‘Yeah, and there’s a good reason not to rush into any promotional opportunities,’ Jill replied. ‘At least, not until he’s moved on up the ladder, out of the way.’

‘Well, sitting around here, yakking, isn’t going to bring that any closer, is it?’ Pete said briskly. ‘So, let’s get to it.’

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, glad of the opportunity to get out of the station. With his son in a cell downstairs, if he couldn’t talk to him, he’d sooner be out and about, doing something, keeping himself occupied rather than just a few steps away, dwelling on the fact that he was so close, yet so inaccessible.

He went quickly down the stairs and along the bland concrete corridor towards the back door and the fresh air.

*

Ranjeet Singh had lived just a few streets from the station, in an area of Victorian terraces. Pete walked there, needing the fresh air and the few minutes downtime to clear his head. Even at this time of day, the street was filled along both sides with parked cars. The Singh household was just a few doors up from the end of the street. The front garden was almost non-existent, but it was clean and tidy. He knocked on the door and it was answered by a uniformed police officer.

‘Morning, Sarge.’ She stepped aside to allow him in.

‘Naz. How’s Mrs Singh?’

‘Emotional, as you’d expect, but calmer this morning. We’ve sent the boys off to school. Keep things as normal as possible for them.’

There were two sons, aged five and seven. Pete had met them the night before when both appeared shyly at the top of the stairs, long after they should have been asleep, peering down, big-eyed, at the unusual activity in the hallway, until their mother shooed them away to bed.

It was moments after that that he’d informed her of her husband’s death.

‘She’s in the lounge.’

PC Nazira Mistry was one of three family liaison specialists in the city and the only Indian officer they had. She showed Pete through the door on the left of the hallway. Mrs Singh was on the sofa. The TV was on, the last few minutes of the BBC breakfast programme playing, but she was ignoring it, head bowed as she wrung her hands together.

‘Mrs Singh.’ Pete extended a hand. Her grip was limp and lifeless, but it stopped her hands writhing together, if only for a short time. ‘Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions about your husband this morning?’

She looked up at him, her expression blank as if she didn’t understand who or what he was, never mind what he’d asked.

‘I need to know as much as I can about Ranjeet, to stand the best chance of finding out who did this to him.’

She nodded wordlessly.

‘Are you aware of anyone having made any accusations against Ranjeet of any kind?’