Jack Slater - No Place to Hide

‘No, sir. But all the others were fully occupied on other cases and there wasn’t time for one of them to start again from scratch.’

‘That was not your call to make, Sergeant. It was mine or DI Underhill’s. And I distinctly remember telling you at the outset to keep DS Phillips up to speed so that he could take over if necessary.’

‘My understanding at the time was that he’d got to a critical stage in one of his own cases, sir. With all due respect to Simon, he couldn’t deal with that and take on Rosie Whitlock’s case at the same time, as urgent as it was. And any delay in our investigation would have meant the suspect getting away. To attack another victim. He’s already killed at least twice, sir.’

‘Which he blames on your son, Sergeant. With, at least in one case, the support of the pathologist’s report. And where’s he now, eh?’

‘I think that’s a question you should ask Simon Phillips, sir. He’s been trying to answer it for six months now.’

‘Enough!’ Silverstone’s hands slapped his desk as he came up out of his chair, face reddening. His dark eyes locked on Pete’s, jaw clenched as he pulled a deep breath in through his nose. He held it a beat, then slowly let it out. ‘I have been reminded by HR at Middlemoor that, before going back on active duty, you should have had a psych eval. Circumstances prevented it at the time, obviously, but that is no longer the case.’

‘Sir, I don’t . . .’

‘Do not presume on my patience, Peter,’ Silverstone snapped, overriding him. ‘You’ll find it severely lacking. This is not my decision and certainly not yours. You will attend Middlemoor HQ and report to the police psychologist at 0900 hours on Wednesday.’ He slapped a piece of paper down on his desk in front of Pete. ‘There are your orders. See that they’re obeyed.’

*

Silence descended as Pete walked back into the squad room. He ignored it, marching back to his desk, jaw clamped tight with the anger still seething inside him.

Bloody jumped-up clueless twat. How the hell did the brass ever imagine he was going to be any use to the force? Talk about piss-ups and breweries, as a manager he was as much use a chocolate teapot and there was no way he’d ever survive in a political environment. They’d wipe the floor with the arrogant, preening dick.

He sat down heavily, yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk and took out the file that he kept there. He slapped it open and stared at the page without focusing.

‘You all right, boss?’ DC Jane Bennett asked from the desk opposite.

Pete looked up and sighed. ‘I’m still here. For now.’

DC Dave Miles straightened up in his chair, next to Jane’s. ‘Even he’s not stupid enough to sack you while the press is still singing your praises.’

‘No, but you know what the press is like, Dave. News is only news for a day or three. Then they get bored and move on.’

‘Be back for the trial, though, and that won’t be for a few months at least. Bit of luck, FTP’ll have been promoted out of here by then.’

One of these days, Silverstone was going to catch somebody calling him that, Pete thought. It was just a question of whether he would realise it was him they were talking about. Which would probably depend on whether they used the initials, as Dave had, or the full version, Fast-track Phil. If the latter, what he’d just endured would be nothing in comparison . . .

He shook his head. ‘If we get a conviction then he might get his promotion. Not until then.’

‘What do you mean, if ?’

‘Nothing’s certain in this life, Dave. Anyway, now’s not the time to be taking the piss out of the chief.’

‘Feeling sensitive, is he?’ Dick Feeney, the oldest member of the team, asked with a grin.

‘Distinctly tetchy would be closer to the mark. So, what have you lot been up to while I was getting my balls chewed off?’

Pete had explained the situation to his crew before he’d reported the email and text links between his still-missing son, Tommy, and Rosie Whitlock, the victim of the abduction they had been investigating. The team had understood and supported him but they’d all known that DCI Silverstone would not.

It was now just over a week since the girl was rescued and Dave arrested the suspect after a brief car chase through the streets of Exeter. When the tech team at Headquarters had found the link between Rosie and Tommy on her computer, Pete had kept it to himself. He knew it was against the rules, but, as he’d said to the DCI, it was a judgment call. There was no way that Tommy could have snatched her and there wasn’t time to waste on following protocol when the girl’s life was at stake. Or, at least, that was what he’d told himself.

Thinking it through afterwards, he’d accepted that DI Colin Underhill could have taken over. He was a bloody good copper – had taught Pete everything he knew – but, having only just stepped back into the fold after five months’ compassionate leave following Tommy’s disappearance, the last thing Pete had wanted was to be pushed straight back out to the sidelines.

And, in the end, he’d been right. They’d nailed the guy. He’d been arrested before he could harm anyone else, including Rosie.

‘You know how it is, boss.’ Dave leaned back in his chair, fingers linking behind his head. ‘While the cat’s away . . .’

‘Well, I’m back now, so let’s get to it, eh? We need every i dotted and every t crossed on this one. No chance of him wriggling out of it for any reason at all.’

Including some smart-arse DS hiding the fact that his son was connected to the victim.

Pete pushed the thought aside as soon as it popped into his mind. As lead investigator, it was up to him what was relevant and therefore what would go to the CPS lawyers. As long as the defence team didn’t get hold of it and, more importantly, of the fact that Pete knew of it . . .

‘There’s no way he’s wriggling out of this, boss,’ Dave said, sitting forward again and tugging his black waistcoat back into place. ‘His van. His barn. The stuff at his house. The girl’s testimony. We’re safe as houses.’

‘Even so. Every i and every t.’ Pete wasn’t going to allow Malcolm Burton to get away with anything, if he could possibly help it – especially laying the blame off on Tommy, as he’d been trying to do since he was arrested. The boy had had his problems. Pete had been aware of some of them, of course, but had found out a lot more since he disappeared, back in May – and more especially since he’d come back to work the week before last. He couldn’t accept that he was a rapist and a killer as Burton and his solicitor were trying to suggest, though. He was only thirteen years old, for God’s sake.

Pete’s phone rang. He blinked, returning to the here and now, and picked it up. ‘DS Gayle.’

‘Peter. It’s Tony Chambers. I’ve got something here that I think you ought to see.’

‘What’s that, Doc?’

‘Fatality in a house fire last night, out to the east of the city. Dental records have just confirmed the identity of the victim as the house owner, Jeremy Tyler, aged forty-two. It looked like an accident during an auto-erotic pursuit, but a couple of things don’t ring true.’

Pete pictured Chambers, small and lean in his green scrubs, his greying hair little more than stubble, sitting at his office desk, his free hand clicking through crime scene photos on his computer while he talked.

‘Such as?’

‘For one, there’s a needle mark in the right trapezoid – which is a strange place to find one – and the fire chaps tell me there was definitely no syringe at the scene. And for another, there was a half-finished plate of food on the side table in the lounge, as if he’d been eating his dinner and got interrupted. Yet, he was found upstairs, seated in front of his computer. I mean, even a sex maniac would finish his dinner first, surely?’