He was going, ground to a halt in her doorway. âGuv?'
âMm?'
âDo I have to use the skipper's office?'
It sounded pathetic but actually Liz understood. She'd felt the same way about moving into Shapiro's
office after he was shot; and worse about seeing his stand-in using it. âIt's only a room with a desk in it. Donovan's not going to need it again.'
âYou'll need to bring someone in. Maybe we should leave it for him.'
Liz frowned. âDick, right now the last thing I need is a new sergeant. You won't get stuck with the job, I promise. But it'll be a weight off my mind if you'll do it till we're out of the woods. And yes, that means using the sergeant's office. Everything you'll need is in there, it's where your calls will be sent. Just â do it. It isn't haunted. You're not going to hear the faint ghostly hum of a motorcycle engine if you're working there late at night.'
He managed a wry grin. âHe won't come back as a bike engine. He'll be a disembodied voice by the coffee machine going, “Who's got me fecking mug?” '
Slowly, slowly, they were coming to terms with it.
Morgan phoned the hospital. But Dr Gordon was unable to offer him anything helpful. The last case of cholera they'd had was over a year ago: it was hard to think that was relevant.
âWhat about the Wingrave sample?' asked Morgan. âAnything helpful there?'
Dr Gordon made embarrassed noises. actually, there's been a bit of confusion at this end. The path lab said they'd rerun the slides and get back to me. They'd done the wrong tests or something.'
To DC Morgan this seemed no more than par for the course. From the start this had been one of those investigations where anything which could go wrong inevitably would. Discouraged, he put down the phone
and sat alone in his office â Donovan's office â and wondered what he could usefully do next.
âCoffee,' he decided. But he went next door to the squad room to fetch his own mug.
Â
Â
Where Donovan was he had no need of a mug. Neither hunger nor thirst troubled him. Time passed without leaving any wake, and the only sensation he knew of was a terrifying lightness, as if he might float away and be lost. Once, just once, he opened his eyes and the fairy was there again. Except of course that he didn't believe in fairies.
A thought struck him. Maybe it wasn't a fairy: maybe it was an angel. He looked again, critically. It didn't look much like an angel, though he wouldn't have claimed to be an expert. Another, and worse, thought struck him. It looked like an imp.
He shut his eyes again, and thought that this was one of those occasions when playing dead made a lot of sense. In fact, it was quite possibly the only game in town.
If there had been any clues to investigate, any suspects to chase, they'd have been out there doing it. It wasn't a good sign that Castlemere's senior detective and his deputy were both at Queen's Street at the same time.
But since they were they took the opportunity for a little brainstorming. It was a technique that they'd refined over the years, that had served them well enough in the past to be worth a try now. Any time they seemed to have exhausted all possibilities, explored all lines of enquiry and hit the buffers at the end, it was worth getting together and just batting ideas between them. Sometimes they found they knew more than they thought.
âBlackmail,' said Shapiro, going back to basics. âAt least we have a motive: he's doing it for one million pounds. So he's ruthless and he's greedy. And he's an arrogant bastard. He thinks he's cleverer than us. He thinks he can pull this off, and go back to whatever it is he does when he isn't blackmailing towns, and we'll never find him.'
âCan't think what'd make him think that,' murmured Liz.
Shapiro twitched her a smile. âHe mustn't know us, Inspector.' The smile died. âExcept that he will do, won't he?'
âHe will?'
âI think he'll have made sure he does. He knew when he started this who the opposition would be. He's done his homework in every other respect, damn sure he's studied us too.'
It was an uncomfortable feeling, like being spied on. This man that they still knew almost nothing about had made a point of knowing about them. What they were capable of; what to expect from them.
Liz sniffed. âWell, we may not have studied him in quite the same way, but we know something about blackmailers in general. They're loners. They may occasionally take a partner, they may employ peripheral players as hired help, but essentially they're loners. It's the safest way.'
Shapiro regarded her. âSafest?'
Liz nodded. âMore than most criminals, the extortionist lays himself open to discovery. He can't hit and run: he has to deal with his victims. Approach them, talk to them, collect his ransom. Protecting his identity is vital to success, and no secret is entirely safe once it's been shared. Two blackmailers might keep a secret, because if it got out both of them would know who was responsible, but more than two and somebody's going to blow it.'
âFair comment,' agreed Shapiro. âSo we'd prefer a single blackmailer but we're willing to consider a partnership of two. Does Tony Woodall know Miranda Hopkins?'
Liz blinked. She hadn't considered the possibility. She considered it now. âTheir kids go to the same school, they're both into sport, there's just a year between them ⦠yes, it's quite likely they hang out together. And if they do the parents probably do know one another. All the same ⦠'
âYou don't like them for it.'
âI quite like Woodall,' said Liz judiciously. âHe could have produced the first two episodes very easily. He has form of a kind. And he was very keen to get the money handed over. I don't much fancy Hopkins.'
âBut Hopkins could get hold of the cholera for him. It's hardly a standard line at the cash and carry.'
But Liz wasn't convinced. âI really don't see Miranda Hopkins being involved. She's ⦠not the type.'
Shapiro elevated an eyebrow. âThe type?'
Liz found herself blushing. âI know, I know: in the right circumstances almost anyone can commit almost any crime. But the relevant word here is Almost. Blackmail is such a cold, calculated offence. I've known otherwise nice people who committed murder, but I've never known any who went in for blackmail. Blackmailers, when you finally track them down, you feel you should have known all along.'
âThat's the ones that you
do
finally track down. What about the ones that you don't?'
Somehow, today it wasn't working. They weren't resolving anything; they weren't even thinking anything fresh. They went to break up.
But Liz hovered in Shapiro's doorway. âEr ⦠'
He shook his head. âNo, still nothing from the mere. It's a lot of water to search.'
She nodded. âI know. I'm not even sure why it feels to matter. It's pretty obvious what happened. I don't know why it feels less real because there's no body.'
âCompletion,' suggested Shapiro. âYou can't draw a line under the thing until you've had a funeral. It's not a religious ritual, it's a human one. You need an X marks the spot somewhere to show what happened and give you a point to move on from. Otherwise you're waiting for something that never comes and it's hard to get on with your life.'
âI hadn't even thought of the funeral.' Liz's eyes widened. âSomebody'd better tell his family.'
âWhat family?' asked Shapiro dourly. âThere's a couple of dotty aunties in Glencurran, they just about exchange Christmas cards.'
Liz found herself smiling. âNo, they send him a postal order for his birthday as well. They'll have to be told, Frank. They mustn't read it in the papers. Speaking of which â¦'
He sighed. âI prepared a press release earlier. I was putting it off, but you're right, we can't wait until the
Courier
asks Lucy Cole why she's walking his dog. I thought we'd stick to the basics for now â boat found drifting, Donovan missing. If we say we think he had cholera this town'll tip over the edge into hysteria.'
âWhat about the boy Tyler rescued? Is he going to be all right?'
Shapiro shrugged. âHe's a drug addict so the term's comparative. Yes, he'll recover. He's got five broken
bones, they really laid into him, but he'll mend. He'll live long enough to die of an overdose.'
âAnd Tyler himself? Have we heard any more from him?'
Shapiro shook his head. âEither he's jollied off for a day's sightseeing, which seems a little unlikely, or he's pursuing his own enquiries.'
âPerhaps he's cornered Woodall again.'
âIf he has I expect we'll hear about it, from Woodall. He seems to think it's our job to protect him from his company's troubleshooter.'
âActually, it is.'
âPerhaps that's why he was so keen to get the ransom paid,' mused Shapiro. âPerhaps he knew that, if this went on long enough, he'd have Mitchell Tyler on his back.'
âBut if Tyler scares him that much, why start a course of action that would inevitably have that result?'
âMaybe it's a double bluff. Maybe he isn't that scared â he just wants us to think he is so we'll rule him out.'
Liz sniffed. âIf we're getting into maybes, maybe Scobie's granny did it all along.'
Â
Â
When Harrison Ford woke up in similar circumstances, Donovan reflected philosophically, it was to the sight of Kelly McGillis who promptly began to disrobe. Why did it not surprise him that when he woke in a strange bed his guardian angel was old enough to be his mother?
This was sophisticated thinking for a man who'd been unconscious for three days.
The woman felt his eyes and turned with a smile. âMr Donovan. Back in the land of the living, I see.'
He took that as a good omen. He doubted it was something dead people said to one another. âLooks like it.' His voice was a croak, a husk of a thing, dry and without strength.
âHow do you feel?' She had silver hair curling over the collar of her checked wool dress, and the rosy cheeks of her youth had paled and shrunk a little, leaving the bones of her face prominent. It gave her a certain nobility which the clear gaze of her blue eyes did nothing to diminish.
Donovan felt like a clumsy stable boy being picked up by the owner of the horse that kicked him. âI've felt better.'
âYou've been ill. Do you know where you are?'
Unable to lift his head, he looked round by swivelling his eyes. Even that hurt. He was in a room of sprigged cottons and substantial furniture. Nothing about it looked familiar. He shut his eyes. âNo.'
She'd been about to explain but he was too weak to listen. âDon't worry about it now. You're safe here. Go back to sleep, you'll feel better tomorrow.'
But he wasn't ready to return to the blackness. Somehow he knew he'd been there too long already, had found it hard to leave. He forced his drooping lids apart by sheer effort of will. âWhat happened? Where's my boat?'
âClose by. Everything's all right. There's nothing that needs your attention right now.'
âWho are you?'
âI'm Mrs Turner â Sarah Turner. This is my house. You've been our guest for a few days, since Elphie found you. You've had pneumonia.'
It took time for him to absorb that. Pneumonia? â and he'd lost whole days to it? âWhat day's today?'
âFriday. If you're not going to sleep, perhaps you should try to get some food inside you. Start with this' â she filled a glass with water, propped up his pillows so he could drink it â âand if you keep that down I'll make you some soup.'
He wasn't aware that he was hungry, but sipping the water made him aware that he was thirsty. He emptied the glass, passed it back for a refill. âElphie?'
âMy granddaughter. Well â my stepson's daughter. She found you. It's as well somebody did.'
âPneumonia?'
âPeople die of pneumonia, Mr Donovan. If they don't get help they do.'
âI think I passed out.'
âYou must have been ill for days. Why on earth didn't you call someone?'
He thought back. But the past wasn't just a foreign country, it was a foggy one. âMy phone's up the left.'
Mrs Turner was obviously an educated woman but that education had not extended to Ulster vernacular. âYou couldn't get through?'
âGuess not, or the cavalry'd have arrived by now.' His eyelids were drooping again, his voice growing slurred. âI saw a fairy ⦠'
Sarah Turner smiled again. âGo to sleep now, Mr Donovan. I'll explain properly when you wake up.'