Val McDermid 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Mermaids Singing, The Wire in the Blood, The Last Temptation

‘Something’s come up you might be interested in,’ the police inspector said cautiously.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Penny said suggestively. Her occasional sexual encounters with the very married Kevin Matthews had provided her with more than an inside track on Bradfield Metropolitan Police. He’d turned out to be one of the best lovers she’d ever had. She just wished he could overcome his Catholic guilt more often.

‘This is serious,’ Kevin protested.

‘So was I, superstud.’

‘Listen, do you want this info or not?’

‘Definitely. Especially if it’s the name of the guy you’ve got in custody for the Queer Killings.’

She heard the sharp intake of breath. ‘You know I can’t tell you that. There are limits.’

Penny sighed. It was the story of their relationship. ‘OK, so what can you tell me?’

‘Popeye’s been suspended.’

‘He’s off the case?’ Penny asked, her mind racing. Tom Cross? Suspended?

‘He’s off the job, Pen. He’s been sent home pending disciplinary action.’

‘Who by?’ Jesus, this was a story and a half. Just what had Popeye Cross been up to this time? She felt a momentary panic. What if he’d been caught out giving the suspect’s name to one of her rivals? She almost missed Kevin’s reply.

‘John Brandon.’

‘What the hell for?’

‘Nobody’s saying,’ Kevin said. ‘But the last thing he did before he saw Brandon was to carry out a search of our suspect’s house.’

‘A legal search?’ Penny probed.

‘Far as I know he had grounds under PACE,’ Kevin said cautiously.

‘So what’s going on, Kevin? Has Popeye been planting evidence, or what?’

‘I don’t know, Pen,’ Kevin said plaintively. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. If I hear anything else, I’ll call you, OK?’

‘OK. Thanks, Kev. You’re a star, you know.’

‘Yeah, well. I’ll speak to you soon.’

The line went dead. Penny dumped the phone back on the base unit and jumped to her feet. She hurried through to her bedroom, pulling off her dressing gown on the way. Five minutes later, she was running down the two flights of stairs from her flat to the underground garage. In the car, she checked the address in her A–Z, then set off, mentally rehearsing what she was going to say on the doorstep.

It was Tony who had pulled away from the clinch first. His body withdrew from hers in a gesture that rendered four inches forty.

Trying to keep it light, to cover the awkwardness that had sprung up between them, Carol said, ‘Sorry, you just looked like you needed a hug.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Tony said stiffly. ‘We use it all the time in group therapy.’

They stood for a moment, eyes not quite meeting. Then Carol moved to Tony’s side, slipped a hand through his unyielding arm and steered him forwards across the university courtyard. ‘So when do I get to look at this profile?’

The conversation was on safe ground again, but Carol was still too close for comfort. Tony could feel the tension inside him, like a cold hand squeezing his chest. He forced himself to speak in a calm, normal voice. ‘I want to do another couple of hours’ work now, and I’ll get stuck into it again first thing in the morning. I should have a draft ready for you by early afternoon. How does three o’clock sound to you?’

‘Fine. Look, do you mind if I stick around now while you’re working? I could do with rereading some of those statements, and I’ll get no peace if I go back to Scargill Street.’

Tony looked doubtful. ‘I suppose.’

‘I promise not to molest you, Dr Hill,’ Carol teased.

‘Damn,’ Tony said, snapping his fingers in mock-disappointment. Look at you, he thought cynically. Passing for human, sure of all the moves. ‘Actually, it’s not that. I’m only hesitating because I’m not used to working with someone else in the room.’

‘You won’t know I’m there.’

‘I doubt that very much,’ Tony said. She might read that as a compliment, but he knew the truth.

Penny pressed the doorbell of the mock-Tudor detached house in one of south Bradfield’s more select streets. Even on a superintendent’s salary, it should have been beyond Tom Cross’s reach. But Popeye’s reputation for being lucky had been enhanced a few years back when he’d won a high five-figure sum on the pools. The subsequent party had passed into police mythology. Now, it looked like he’d dropped his lucky pixie somewhere along the road.

A light snapped on in the hallway and someone lumbered towards the door, turned into an amorphous lump by the stained glass. ‘Friday the Thirteenth meets Hallowe’en,’ Penny muttered under her breath as she heard the lock turn. The door cracked open a suspicious few inches. Penny angled her head round to smile at the shape behind the door.

‘Superintendent Cross,’ she said, the white cloud of her breath meeting the swirl of smoke issuing from the door. ‘Penny Burgess, Sentinel Times.’

‘I know who you are,’ Cross snarled, the slur of drink evident in those few words. ‘What the hell do you want, coming round here this time of night?’

‘I hear you’ve had a bit of a problem at work,’ Penny tried.

‘You hear wrong then, madam. Now, bugger off.’

‘Look, it’ll be all over the media tomorrow. You’re going to be under siege. The Sentinel Times has always supported you, Mr Cross. We’ve been on your side all through this investigation. I’m not some visiting fireman from London, up here to put the boot in. If you’ve been sidelined, our readers have got a right to hear your side of the story.’ The door was still open. If she’d managed to say that much without him slamming it shut in her face, the chances were that she was going to get something usable out of him.

‘What makes you think I’m off the case?’ Cross asked defiantly.

‘I heard you’ve been suspended. I don’t know why, and that’s the reason I wanted to hear your side of it, before we get fed the official line.’

Cross scowled, his gooseberry eyes seeming to pop even further out. ‘I’ve got nothing to say,’ he told her, grudging every syllable.

‘Not even off the record? You’re willing to stand by and let them trash your reputation after all you’ve done for the force?’

Cross opened the door wider and looked down his drive towards the street. ‘You on your own?’ he asked.

‘Not even my newsdesk know I’m here. I only just heard.’

‘You’d better come in a minute.’

Penny stepped across the threshold into a hall that looked like a Laura Ashley sample book. At the far end of the hall, a door was half open, the television voices distinct even at that distance. Cross steered her in the opposite direction, into a long sitting room. When he switched the lights on, Penny’s eyes were assaulted by more patterns than a knitting shop. The only thing the curtains, carpets, rugs, wallpaper, frieze and scatter cushions had in common was that they were all shades of green and cream. ‘What a lovely room,’ she stammered.

‘You think so? I reckon it’s bloody hideous. The wife says it’s the best money can buy, which is the only argument I’ve heard for staying potless,’ Cross grumbled, heading for a cocktail cabinet. He poured himself a stiff drink from a decanter, then, as an afterthought, said, ‘You’ll not be wanting one, with you having the car.’

‘That’s right,’ Penny said, forcing the warmth into her voice. ‘Can’t take chances with your lads out on the roads.’