DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 5-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network and The Toy Taker

She passed the bus stop and kept heading west. She turned left into Rockley Road. The noise of Shepherd’s Bush Green seemed to die away instantly. Immediately she felt more relaxed. Her pace slowed, almost as if she were enjoying an evening stroll. The pain of the bag strap cutting into her shoulder reminded her she wasn’t. She considered stopping to light a cigarette, but decided to wait until she got home. Maybe she would have a glass of wine too. She was pretty sure she had an unspoilt bottle in the fridge.

The street was empty. Quiet. She could see and hear people in their homes, but the road itself was lifeless. It made it easier to sense a disturbance. She did. She was being followed, she was certain of it. Was it one of the men from outside the betting shop? If it came to it, they could have her briefcase and her handbag. Just so long as they left her alone.

She started walking faster. She was aware she was breathing heavily under the strain. She tried to listen for footsteps, but she could hear only her own. The street lamps flickered into life. They cast faint shadows across the pavement. The noise of the leaves rustling in the trees all around her suddenly became deafening.

She felt someone coming closer. She wanted to stop, turn and confront them, be brave, but fear was taking a hold. It licked at her skin like a fire surrounding its victim. Every hair on her back stood erect, reverberating. She felt so cold. Panic was close now.

Too late, she heard the footsteps. He had been right behind her. At the last second she spun around, ready to scream. It was him. The man from the underground. He looked as scared as she felt. He jumped back a step.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said. He had a nice voice. Well spoken.

‘Christ,’ she managed to say. She held a hand dramatically over her chest. ‘You almost scared me to death.’ They both laughed.

She moved away a little from him. Her expression became serious. ‘Are you following me?’

He put his hand in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small black leather wallet. He flicked it open and showed it to her. She could see the Metropolitan Police logo on the metal badge. She sighed in relief. Her entire body seemed to relax.

‘I couldn’t help but notice a couple of lads having a good look at that briefcase back there.’ He pointed over his shoulder.

‘The ones outside the betting office?’

‘Yeah. I hate to stereotype people, but thought I’d watch them for a bit. Keep an eye on them.’

‘Is that why you stopped at the bus stop?’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You noticed? Surveillance never was my thing.’ They both laughed again. ‘Two of them looked as if they could be following you, so I thought I’d better do the same, just in case. But I seem to have lost them back at that junction somehow.

‘Do you have far to go?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she answered. ‘I live down here. A few houses along.’

‘Nice,’ he said. She couldn’t tell if he meant it. ‘You’ll be okay from here,’ he said. ‘I think you got away with it today.’ He winked at her. She could tell he was about to leave. She didn’t want him to.

‘You don’t sound like a policeman.’ It was all she could think of.

‘Really,’ he replied, smiling. ‘Well, we don’t all sound like they do on the television. Some of us can even read and write.’

She liked him.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get on. Somewhere there’s a crime being committed and all that.’

She felt her embarrassment rising, but it was worth it to flirt a little. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t get your name.’

‘Sean,’ he replied. ‘It’s Sean Corrigan.’ He was already walking away though.

‘If he turns around he’s interested,’ Linda whispered to herself. ‘Any time now.’ He turned and gave her a casual wave and slight smile. ‘Yes,’ she said to herself. ‘Yes.’

Donnelly arrived home via his favourite local watering hole in time to catch the start of Crimewatch. He felt sorry for Sally being stitched up by Sean like that, but at least it meant he didn’t have to do it. Although there were always ways to get out of unpleasant tasks like telly work, especially for those with a little imagination and a lot of experience. He walked up the driveway of the family home, a large semi-detached in Swanley, Kent. The five kids were all growing up fast. He had to live out here to be able to put a roof over their heads. London prices were out of the question. Still, the train ride was just about bearable and there was no need to worry about getting caught driving half-pissed. He gave the decaying Range Rover, the only family car, a pat of appreciation as he passed it. It hadn’t cost him a penny in years.

His wife, Karen, confronted him as soon as he opened the front door. ‘You’re late again,’ she accused in her East End accent. They’d been married for more than twenty years.

‘Overtime, my sweetness,’ he answered. ‘May I remind you we need every penny I can lay my hands on?’ His wife answered with a roll of her eyes. ‘Speaking of financial burdens, where are the kids?’

Karen thrust her hands on her hips. ‘Jenny is out with her boyfriend, Adrian is out with his girlfriend, Nikki and Raymond are upstairs on the PlayStation and Josh is in his bed.’

‘Jenny lives at home?’ Donnelly asked with mock surprise.

‘She’s only seventeen, remember? Still at school, doing her A-levels?’

‘Bloody further education,’ he moaned. ‘We’ll be broke before any of our lot get themselves a job and leave home. By the time I was seventeen I was working in the shipyards in Dumbarton, earning a decent wage and learning a proper trade.’

‘Until you decided it was too bloody hard and ran off to join the police in London.’

‘Aye, well,’ he stalled. ‘All the same, I was paying my own way in the world.’

‘Spare me.’

‘Give us a kiss and I’ll think about it,’ he teased.

‘I don’t bloody think so. When it comes to you, my mother was right: kissing does lead to children. And seeing how we’ve got four more than we can afford, you’re going to have to park your lips somewhere else. Besides, I hate it when your moustache tastes of beer.’

‘I’ve not touched a drop,’ he lied.

‘A likely story.’

‘Very well, I shall retire to the lounge,’ he sulked in a put-on accent. ‘I need to watch Crimewatch tonight anyway.’

‘Jesus. Haven’t you had enough of the job for one day?’

‘Our case is on tonight. It would be bad form to miss it. It’ll be the talk of the canteen tomorrow.’

‘I wanted to watch that programme about Princess Diana tonight.’

‘You can watch the repeat,’ he told her unsympathetically.

The television was already on in the living room. Some cheap production with a shaky set and worse acting. He pointed the remote at the offending programme and surfed the channels until he found what he was looking for.

‘When is your case on?’ Karen asked.

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to watch the whole bloody thing, no doubt. Bloody Crimewatch. Waste of bloody space, if you ask me.’

‘Oi. Stop your swearing, the kids might hear.’

‘Saying “bloody” isn’t swearing.’ He flopped his heavy frame into the old armchair reserved for his sole use. ‘Media appeals, waste of time. Expecting the public to solve crimes for us. It’s not how we used to get the job done.’

‘We all know how you used to get the job done,’ Karen said.

‘Bloody right. We did what we had to do to keep the baddies off the streets. We may have sent the wrong man down for the wrong crime, but they were all criminals anyway. It’s our job to put them away. Didn’t matter how we did it, so long as we got the job done. The people we put away never complained either. They knew the score. For them it was just an occupational hazard. It’s my job to keep the scum off the streets. How I do it is my business. Everyone else can stay in their nice, fluffy little worlds.’