Im fine, she lied. Nothing a dose of caffeine wont fix.
You find the family? he asked.
Was easy enough, she told him. Dalton had a long and illustrious criminal record, going back to his early childhood. His mum and dad, Jane and Peter, still live in the family home in Lewisham. Neither had seen William in a few months, but they were pretty devastated when they got the news.
Theyve lost a child, Sean reminded her. Doesnt matter to the parents what that child may have become. Hell always be their boy.
I know, Sally agreed. Anyway, they tried repeatedly to help him turn it around, but ultimately he chose drugs over them. If we need them to formally identify the body, they will.
We do, he confirmed.
Apparently, he has an older brother: Sam, she continued. He tracked William down to the West End, found him on the streets begging. When he tried to get William to go with him, stay at his place for a while and get cleaned up, the lad wasnt having it.
Some people dont want to get clean, Sean reminded her. They prefer their own version of reality.
Well, he sure did, Sally said. None of the family knew he was living in a disused garage, she continued. Or at least, they didnt until now.
OK, Sean sighed. Find the brother and talk to him. He probably knows more about the victims life than the parents. Siblings usually do when a brother or a sister go off the rails.
Wont be a problem, she told him. Parents gave me his address.
And see if the parents will give us a decent headshot photograph, Sean continued. Have some of the team hit Oxford Street and show it around. Were going to need the homeless community to talk to us, but I dont want to alienate them by using a mugshot of a victim taken while he was in custody. Lets not create a them-and-us feel when dealing with them.
Got one here, Sally told him and pulled a photograph of a smiling William Dalton from her jacket pocket, taken shortly before the ravages of crack took hold and he ran away from home. Parents let me have it. Had a feeling wed need one.
Good work, he acknowledged. He checked his watch. Its late, Sally. Why dont you go home? You can start fresh in the morning.
Trying to protect me? she accused him. Ever since Gibran almost took her life, Sean had been treating her differently to anyone else on the team; he couldnt seem to help himself.
No, he argued. I know you can handle yourself. But you look tired.
Were all tired, she reminded him, and were going to get a lot more tired before this is over. No, she said, dragging herself to her feet. Nows a good time to hit the West End. Itll be reasonably quiet and the homeless will be settling into doorways. Easier to talk to them when theyre static and not trying to hassle tourists for coins. Ill stir up some unwilling volunteers and see what we can turn up.
OK, he reluctantly agreed. If youre sure.
What about you? she replied. Gonna try for home see Kate and the kids while you have a chance?
Again he glanced at his watch more to make a point than to check the time. Too late for that, he told her. For the kids, anyway.
So what are you going to do instead? she asked. Not sit here all night driving yourself insane reading reports, I hope?
No, he agreed. Thought Id check on Donnelly and the door-to-door team, and then maybe Sallys scrutinizing gaze stopped him finishing.
And then maybe what? she pressed.
I thought as Ill be in the area, he tried to convince her, Id take another look at the scene.
At the scene? she questioned him. At this time of night alone? Despite the fact you were there earlier?
That was the problem, he tried to ease her concerns. Earlier, it wasnt right. There were too many people around, too much traffic, too many lights on in the houses and flats. Too much life. It wasnt how it would have been when Dalton was killed. And the place was crawling with forensics. I couldnt think. Couldnt get a feel for what happened.
Sally sighed deeply. Be careful, Sean, she warned him. Its been a while since we had a case like this. Maybe you should ease yourself into it go through the normal motions of an investigation rather than trying to look into that crystal ball of yours. Dont put yourself under too much pressure to solve this one by yourself. Dont get isolated, Sean.
I dont have a crystal ball, he told her, getting to his feet, and I wont get isolated. Youll know what I know. He grabbed his coat from the stand and began the ritual of filling his pockets with the phones, Maglite and a few other items he thought might be useful. I need some time alone at the scene at the right time of day or night. I need to see it like he saw it.
Feel what he felt? Sally asked accusingly.
I want to analyse the scene as the suspect would have seen it, thats all, he lied.
Fine, she gave in.
Dont worry about me so much, he told her as he brushed past on his way out. Worry about finding whoever were after before he kills again. Ill text you later, he promised, then headed off across the main office and through the exit.
Dave Donnelly sat alone in the Lord Clyde pub in Clenham Street just around the corner from the Mint Street crime scene, sipping a pint not his first and nibbling on a sandwich. Hed long ago abandoned the idea of eating the chunky chips that had accompanied it. The pleasant effects of the alcohol came all the quicker on an empty stomach, but they couldnt stop the images of Jeremy Goldsboro, better known to the public as the Jackdaw, racing through his mind: Goldsboro pointing the shotgun at Sean until a bullet from Donnellys gun smashed him backwards. That should have been enough, but the Jackdaw had raised his shotgun again, leaving Donnelly no choice but to pump two more shots into his chest to end the stand-off. The memories brought bile flooding into his mouth. He swallowed it down with another mouthful of beer just as DCI Ryan Ramsay entered the sparsely populated pub. Spotting Donnelly, he made his way across the room and took the vacant seat across the table.
Drink? Donnelly offered.
No, Ramsay told him. I wont be staying long.
Fair enough, Donnelly shrugged and raised his glass. Mind if I do?
Go ahead, Ramsay replied, uninterested.
So what dyou want to talk about? Donnelly cut to the chase. Why did you ask to meet me?
Thought we should have a chat, Ramsay said, as if it was nothing. Its been quite a while since we last talked.
You mean when you asked me to pass you insider information about SIU cases? Donnelly reminded him. When you asked me to give you information about Sean Corrigan?
Information that you never gave me, Ramsay countered.
Im not in the habit of talking out of school, Donnelly warned him.
You wouldnt be talking out of school. Ramsays voice took on a persuasive tone. Im a DCI, remember? I can get the information I need from the same places you do.
Then what do you need me for? Donnelly asked.
Details, Ramsay told him, leaning in closer. Those little extras Corrigan might be holding back and perhaps a few details about Corrigan himself.
Then what do you need me for? Donnelly asked.
Details, Ramsay told him, leaning in closer. Those little extras Corrigan might be holding back and perhaps a few details about Corrigan himself.
And why would I tell you? Donnelly demanded.
Because were both getting close to retirement, Dave, Ramsay reminded him. You want to try surviving on a sergeants pension? Got any kids at university? Donnelly said nothing. Listen. I can get us both a very nice gig in our retirement. All you have to do is work with me on this, give me what I need.
Oh aye, Donnelly stared at him with deep suspicion. And what would this gig be?
I cant tell you, Ramsay insisted. Not yet. But its not working as an investigator for some shitty company or as a glorified security guard. Itll be good work and not too taxing. You wont do better.
Ill think about it, Donnelly told him.
You do that, Ramsay said quietly. I hear the whispers about you and Corrigan. You owe him nothing.
I said Ill think about it, Donnelly repeated, irritated.
Well, dont take too long, Ramsay warned him. There are other detectives on the SIU.
Whats that supposed to mean? Donnelly asked, though he knew exactly what was meant.
Ramsay ignored the question and got to his feet. Stay in touch, he told him.
Donnelly watched him make his way to the exit. No sooner had he passed through the door than DC Zukov entered. Seeing Donnelly, he made straight for him, sliding next to him on the bench and eyeing his food and drink jealously.
You all right, Dave? he asked unpleasantly.
You want something to eat or drink? Donnelly replied, ignoring Zukovs sarcasm.
No, he answered. Still got work to do, you know. Ill get something later when Im finished.
Suit yourself.
Was that DCI Ramsay? Zukov asked with suspicion.
Aye, Donnelly answered warily. Didnt know you knew him.
Our paths have crossed a couple of times, Zukov shrugged. What was he doing here?
Same as most people in here, Donnelly tried to dismiss it. Having a drink.
Why not use a pub nearer to London Bridge? Zukov pushed.
Too busy, maybe. How the fuck should I know?
Only asking, Sarge. Only asking.
Aye, Donnelly moved on. Never mind. Hows the door-to-door going?
Maybe if you helped knock on a few doors yourself, youd know, Zukov told him.
Donnelly stared at him in contemptuous silence for a while. Im here to supervise, remember? Not wear the soles of my shoes out. Thats your job.
Zukov scowled. Youll be needing a lift back to the Yard then?
Dont worry yourself, Donnelly told him. Ill walk to London Bridge when were done and get the rattler home from there. Anyway, you were about to tell me how the door-to-doors going.
Zukov shrugged. Plenty people have seen Dalton around over the last few weeks. Plenty people know of him, but no one really knew him. Were not getting anything about the night he was killed, other than one of the night staff at Borough Underground says he recognized him from the photo. Says the victim came home most nights between ten and eleven and is pretty sure the night he was killed was no different.
So it looks a sure thing he used the tube and not the bus, Donnelly told him. Thank God for small mercies. CCTV from the stations and the route he used will be easy enough to track. If hed been jumping on and off buses it would be a nightmare.
The Underground staff have been told to preserve the CCTV footage for the last week, Zukov assured him.
Good, Donnelly replied, taking another sip of his beer. Keep at it. Hopefully someone will come up with something useful. His phone chirping and vibrating on the table stole his attention. He read the text. It was from Sean. You better get back to it, he advised Zukov. The boss is on his way.
Corrigan? Zukov asked.
Who else? Donnelly replied. And thats DI Corrigan to you.
Zukov didnt move a troubled expression spreading across his face. Donnelly couldnt tell whether it was real or fake.
Well. What you waiting for?
Theres something Ive been meaning to ask, Zukov explained, about you and the guvnor.
Oh? Donnelly asked and immediately regretted leaving a gap for Zukov to walk through.
Ive heard things, you know.
Aye, Donnelly said, sensing trouble. Like what exactly?
Like you and he arent getting along too well right now, Zukov told him. Since the Goldsboro shooting.
Donnelly couldnt help but tense at the sound of someone else saying that name, but he tried not to show it. Bollocks, he replied. You shouldnt listen to any of that shit.
Some people say, Zukov continued regardless, the shooting didnt have to happen that the guvnor manipulated the situation so youd have no choice but to shoot Goldsboro. He created the circumstances and you pulled the trigger. Zukov let his words hang in the air.
And thats what you think, is it? Donnelly asked after a few seconds.
I dont think anything. Im only telling you what Ive heard. Zukov paused for a second. Im one of the senior DCs on this firm now, he reminded Donnelly. If theres a serious problem between the DI and his DS, then it could impact on the rest of us. Im just trying to look out for the rest of the team. Im sure you understand.
Donnelly swallowed his seething resentment at Zukovs veiled threats, but what hurt more was that it was the truth. He cursed Sean every hour for making him take a life and constantly thought of other ways they could have taken Goldsboro down without killing him. Again and again he kept coming back to the same conclusion: Sean had wanted it that way. Things had happened exactly as Corrigan wanted them to happen. Donnelly may have been the one pointing a gun at Goldsboro, but it felt like it was Sean whod pulled the trigger.
Conscious that Zukov was waiting for an answer, he told him, You worry about doing your own job, he warned him. Im still the senior DS and its my job to look after the team not yours. You clear on that?
Yes, Sarge, Zukov smiled unpleasantly. Enjoy your supper, he said as he got to his feet and headed for the exit, leaving Donnelly alone with his drink and his thoughts.
Sean approached the two young uniformed constables whod drawn the short straw and been left to guard the scene. He held up his warrant card for them. DI Corrigan, he identified himself. Special Investigations Unit. This is my crime scene.
The tall, fit-looking young man who was holding the Crime Scene Log looked down to check the information in his book. Will you be going into the scene, sir? he asked nervously.
Yeah, Sean answered. I need to take a look at something.
No problem, the constable told him, and made an entry in the log book.
Sean nimbly bent under the tape like a boxer entering the ring and immediately began to walk towards the garage that was now lit by a solitary mini-floodlight. Halfway there he suddenly stopped and turned through three hundred and sixty degrees.