LOST SOULS. Neil White
handed the phone back to King, who smiled at her. And she knew what it meant, that he had the power.
Pete almost knocked King into the doorframe when he walked out of the room. King glared at him angrily. Laura smiled now. She knew that the best weapon was patience. If Jimmy King’s time was due, then it would come.
I scanned the grounds with my camera, said a silent thanks for zoom lenses, and I saw why the garden looked so good. As I looked through the lens I watched a young man walk across the garden. He went towards some concrete outbuildings at the end of the lawn. When he got there, he had a look back towards the house and then slipped into a garage-type building, rectangular pale concrete, with green double doors at the front. I got some shots and then turned back to the house.
I was starting to feel stiff when I saw movement by the front of the house. I raised the camera and zoomed in. It was Laura again.
I saw Jimmy King walk with them. It seemed like he was making sure they left quickly.
I took pictures until Laura left, and then I checked my pocket for the number I had jotted down. One call to some old contacts at the local paper had got me Jimmy King’s home number.
A woman answered. She sounded terse.
‘Good morning,’ I said. ‘I’m Jack Garrett, and I’m a reporter. Do you have any comment to make on the arrest of your son?’
There was silence. And then the phone went dead.
I jumped down from the tree and started to walk back to my car, feeling pleased with myself. Even no comment is sometimes worth reporting.
As Pete swung the car into the police-station yard, he muttered, ‘Today is turning into a fuck-up.’
‘Two suspects,’ sighed Laura. ‘One we can’t find, and the other is about to walk.’
‘Bad management,’ said Pete, and he started to smile. He brought the car to a halt in front of the station and jumped out. ‘C’mon, bring your rags with you.’
Laura followed Pete towards the back entrance of the station, holding two large clear exhibit bags, one containing old valeting rags, the other filled with the tissues used to wipe clean the car interiors. It had taken a few circuits of town to find the car valeters, but then she had seen the Audi parked on the street. The owners of the firm were more than happy to help, although the way some of the valeters melted into the spray mist made her think that not all of them declared their earnings. She didn’t ask any questions. That was a fight for someone else.
Just before she got to the door, ready to swipe her way in, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. When she checked the display she saw that it was Jack. That made her nervous. She was on the first day of a murder investigation, and he was calling far more than usual.
‘Hello,’ she snapped.
Pete raised his eyebrows as Laura listened, and he saw how she softened during the call. She was smiling when she snapped her phone shut.
‘Good news?’
‘It was Jack,’ she said. ‘He’s bringing Bobby down to meet me after work.’
Pete winked at her. ‘Maybe the day isn’t turning out that badly.’
They walked to the Incident Room together, and they detected a sombre mood.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Laura.
‘The preliminaries have come in from the post mortem,’ someone said, an eager young detective.
‘Go on.’
‘Jess was tortured. She was alive when she lost her eyes and tongue.’
Laura took a deep breath. ‘So more than just trophies.’
‘Seems that way. They were taken out by something sharp, though, almost surgical. There were nicks on the bone around the eye-socket where the blade scraped it.’
Laura winced. And she guessed that her time with Bobby would be briefer than she’d hoped.
‘She hardly cried out.’
The voice woke Sam up quickly. He must have fallen asleep. He looked around, scared for a moment as he wondered where he was. Then, as it came back to him, he rubbed his eyes.
He was in a cell with Luke, as they waited for Egan to decide what he was going to do. Sam could have waited outside, or even back at his office, but he knew how cops like Egan operated. He knew there were too many casual conversations with prisoners, just little asides, hints that their lawyer might be wrong.
It had been a long wait, though. The paint on the walls, grey and grim, matched the toilet in the corner. He hadn’t used it yet, but that moment might come soon. It was the lack of good light that struck him the most, the windows frosted and small, but it was the smell that Sam knew would linger.
The cells in Blackley police station had a smell all of their own. The police station was over a hundred years old, and the cells felt more like cellars, with little natural light and a position below ground level. A century of damp had seeped into every piece of brickwork, the smell broken by disinfectant and whatever had been left by their occupants, all those weekend drunks, drug addicts sweating their way through withdrawal, old feet. Sam knew it would stay in his clothes and in his hair for days.
‘What did you say?’ asked Sam.
‘She hardly cried out,’ Luke repeated.
Sam stood up and stretched. ‘Don’t say any more.’
‘No, I want to tell you,’ Luke continued. He was obviously enjoying himself.
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ Sam replied, although it wasn’t his conscience that made him say it. There was a corridor full of empty cells, and Egan had marched him past all of them to get to the large one at the end, where there was room for a few prisoners. Sam couldn’t see the microphones, but he knew one of the cells was bugged. It had been done a few years ago, when one of the police-station runners was suspected of smuggling drugs into the cells. At first the police had thought he was just providing a good service, when bringing his clients chocolate or sweets. But they’d soon begun to notice that his clients stopped being as eager to get out. So the police bugged a cell. Not to use in court, just for intelligence gathering. They were in the bugged cell, Sam was pretty sure of that.
Luke smiled and sat back, his head against the white tiles.
‘Oh come on, you do. You must have wondered what it would be like to kill someone.’
Sam turned towards him, his anger starting to surface. ‘I’ve never wondered that, because I have never wanted to kill anyone. But stay quiet in here because if you talk, they might listen.’
Luke whistled, his eyes wide. He looked around. ‘Wouldn’t that be fun.’
His smile shut off at the sound of a key in the lock. It was Egan, his jaw set firm and angry. Sam wondered if someone higher up had told him to release them.
Sam had to squeeze past him to get into the tight corridor. He blinked at the bright light, and then felt himself pulled to one side.
‘The dead girl’s mother is in the waiting area,’ Egan hissed. ‘Maybe you’ll want to look her in the eye on the way out.’
Sam jerked his arm away. ‘I’ll tell her how you can’t catch her killer, Egan,’ he said angrily, and then cursed himself for losing his temper.
Sam didn’t wait for permission from Egan. He started to lead Luke away, but he was angry with himself. He was baiting Egan to make himself feel better. Sam had gone into a police station with someone who’d said he had killed and would kill again. Sam had done what he could