Innocent Blood (41 page)

Coincidence? Hardly. By the time Cooper pushed open the study door he was sure of two things. Number one, Edwards was guilty as sin of something and, two he was in deep doo-doo. He was alone in the home of a man who might well be a killer, hell-bent on fleeing the country and nobody at the station knew where he was. Nervously, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and fumbled for his mobile phone, cursing the fact that he didn’t automatically keep the wretched thing on because he hated its intrusion.

‘Why don’t you take a seat over there, Sergeant?’ Edwards pointed to a chair on the far side of an elegant fireplace. He was walking towards it when pain lashed across his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Another blow struck his skull and the lights went out.

Edwards studied the man at his feet and noted the trickle of blood running from his nose onto the rug.

‘Blast, I’ve always liked this rug,’ he said, as he used luggage straps and string to tie Cooper’s legs at the knees and ankles, and then to truss his arms tightly behind his back.

The wretched man might already be dead but he doubted it. Just to make sure, he pulled back an eyelid and watched as the pupil reacted to the light. Good. He had never intentionally killed someone and he didn’t want to start now. His plan, constructed in the time it had taken Cooper to study the luggage labels, was to take him, trussed up, out into the woods after Maidment’s visit and then tell William to deal with him sometime after he’d left the country. He’d have to find another method as the poker was part of an antique set of which he was rather fond. He took his weapon to the kitchen and washed it carefully before returning it to the fire rack. Then he found some duct tape left over from sealing his trunk and placed a strip over Cooper’s mouth, pressing down firmly. He used the rug to drag him behind the sofa next to the window so that he would be out of sight for Maidment’s visit. He would have to use this room as he wouldn’t have time to move the luggage from the sitting room and he didn’t want his next visitor to realise how quickly he intended to leave the country.

It really was rather vexing the way people kept interfering with his arrangements. At least he could rely on William. He would be on his way already with the boy. The thought made Edwards shiver. One more time, he promised himself, here in the house and maybe even in the pool, which he’d been heating ever since he’d returned home that morning. And then, well, he’d leave Sam to William – literally.

His instructions for delivering the boy had been clear and the arrangements, to put him in a secure location in his woods, left his address uncompromised as even William didn’t know where he lived. William was to leave Sam in the ice house and lock him in, making sure both doors were secure using keys he’d left in the lock. The boy should be drugged, not senseless because where was the fun in that, but enough to make him compliant. For safe measure he’d told William to tie his hands as well to make him easier to deal with. Edwards planned to collect Sam as soon as he’d got rid of Maidment, bring him back here for the rest of the night and then put him back in the ice house again for William to collect. He hadn’t been precise on this point but he thought William would have the sense to realise that whatever he found would have to be dealt with so that there could be no risk of the boy ever revealing what had happened to him.

He knew that he was running a risk but it was a slight one given William’s cooperation, and he felt he deserved one final session of unconstrained pleasure. It was so difficult now that what were ludicrously called ‘sex holidays’ were classified as a crime. Ridiculous; sex was all right for the wretched Club 18–30 yobs who boozed and screwed their way through cheap Mediterranean resorts in orgies he thought far more disgusting than his refined behaviour.

He only ever gratified himself in private and he chose beautiful boys, ideally in that delightful prepubescent stage when their flesh was as smooth as rabbit skin, the necks narrow, holding their heads above them like flowers just opening to the sun of experience. Paul and Sam were perfect specimens. What he engaged in with the boys was quite the opposite of the sweaty, grunting, alcohol-fuelled couplings that were ridiculously considered ‘normal’ sex.

He shuddered, feeling chilled. Moving the lumpy sergeant had made him perspire. It wouldn’t do to greet Maidment in disarray as it was his intention to get rid of him as quickly as possible and to do that would require rock-hard composure and confidence. If he could continue to count on the man’s guilty past and elephantine sense of honour to bind him to silence then the major would live. If not, well, it would be sad but inevitable that he did not. Another little job for William.

He used the downstairs cloakroom to freshen up, splashing his face with cool water and combing the long strands of fine hair back carefully over his scalp.

At seven o’clock exactly the doorbell rang and he led Maidment to his study, their habitual meeting ground.

‘Whisky?’ He waved the lead crystal decanter towards him.

‘No, thank you.’

‘You don’t mind if I have one? It’s been a bugger of a day.’ He noticed Maidment wince at his choice of words, or maybe it was in response to pain from his battered body. ‘You look terrible, old man. Is that the result of the beating you took from those girls? Bloody hell. Mind you, I’ve never believed them to be the weaker sex. Just shows I was right all along. Come on, a snifter won’t do you any harm.’

‘No, thank you. I’m not here for a chat, Edwards.’

He was surprised at the abrupt use of his surname from someone of lower rank.

‘You know why I’ve come.’

‘I really don’t think I do. Why don’t you enlighten me?’

Edwards took his drink to the other side of the fireplace nearest the door, from where he could see both Maidment’s chair and the sofa behind which he had concealed the policeman’s unconscious body. It was completely hidden in the gap between the wall and the back of the sofa, with the curtains that framed the window cutting off any chance of a side view. He relaxed a little.

‘Paul Hill,’ Maidment said.

‘Go on.’

‘You killed Paul Hill.’

Edwards threw back his head and roared with laughter.

‘My God, Maidment, you are so stupid. I swore that I hadn’t twenty-five years ago and I swear it to you again now. I promise you absolutely that I did not kill Paul Hill.’

‘You what?’

Nightingale leapt up from the table in fury, knocking over her wine glass in the process. Clive calmly picked it up and mopped at the spreading stain with some kitchen roll.

‘…Then get on to every taxi firm in the book and find out which one picked him up from the golf club and where they took him.’

She slammed the phone down and ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation.

‘They lost him. I can’t believe it…they lost him.’

‘How?’ Clive knew her well enough not to try and sympathise.

‘He took a taxi to the golf club, paid it off and went inside. To be fair to Stock he decided to go in to check where he was and that’s when he realised that Maidment had gone. Otherwise he’d still be sitting there in blissful ignorance; what a cock-up.’

She went to pick up her glass of wine, noticed that it was empty and drank from his instead.

‘I’d better let Fenwick and Cooper know, then I’m going to have to go in. I know there’s little I can do but…’

‘Of course, I’d do the same.’

She bent down and kissed him quickly.

‘Sometimes it helps that you’re a copper too.’

He just nodded and rose to go.

‘I’ll leave you to it. Call me when you can. If things are going to get lively it might be a good idea for me to go and help Alison tonight after all.’

Nightingale nodded absently, acknowledging his departure without hearing the words and was on the phone before the door closed behind him. Cooper wasn’t at the station and there was no answer from his home so she was forced to leave a message on his mobile. She had no better luck with Fenwick, despite having told everyone to contact him the moment anything happened. She was forced to leave him a message as well. In a foul mood, feeling very alone, she scraped the remains of her supper into the cat’s bowl, picked up her car keys and slammed the flat door behind her.

Nightingale tried Cooper’s radio on her short drive to the station without success. When she rang his home number a second time a familiar male voice answered and she breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Bob, thank goodness!’

‘No, it’s his son. Dad’s out, so’s Mum. Can I take a message?’

‘Just ask him to call me as soon as he gets in, can you? It’s Louise Nightingale. Tell him it’s urgent.’

‘Is everything all right?’

She could hear the edge of concern in his voice and forced her own to be calm.

‘Just the usual but it’s important I speak to him.’

Nightingale waited impatiently for the security gates to the police car park to draw back then skidded into the space reserved for the superintendent and ran up the steps two at a time. She really wanted to find Cooper. She needed him as a sounding board as she made decisions on what to do to minimise the damage of Maidment’s disappearance and find him as quickly as possible. She might be the senior officer but Cooper’s experience was worth as much if not more than her rank and she was honest enough to acknowledge it.

She stopped by Fenwick’s office but it was deserted, so was the incident room. DS Robin was in the CID room when she entered at a run.

‘What’s up? A problem?’

She noticed the gleam in his eye and realised that he’d love her discomfort. She didn’t care.

‘I’m looking for Bob Cooper, have you seen him?’

‘He was in the canteen when I came back at six but that was an hour ago. Haven’t seen him since, come to think of it. Probably at home.’

‘No, he’s not and I need to reach him urgently. Do you know the pubs he might visit between here and home?’

‘Some, yeah.’

‘Good, then start calling them to see if he’s there.’

Robin picked up a well-thumbed telephone directory without another word. He was a fan of Cooper’s though he thought the sergeant’s support of the trumped-up bitch who’d been promoted over them both an error of judgement. But if Bob was in a spot of bother and she was out for his blood he’d do whatever he could to find and warn him.

While Robin started phoning Cooper’s usual haunts Nightingale scanned his desk in the hope of picking up a clue as to where he might be. He was probably somewhere enjoying a pint, she told herself, but that didn’t explain why he was out of touch with his surveillance team. He’d told her he was going to work late. Supposing he’d found something while working alone and had decided to follow up without her.

A memory of his botched arrest of Chalfont came back to her. They’d meant to be working that case together but he’d decided to handle the arrest himself. She’d never challenged him about it, believing that he’d learnt his lesson the hard way, but now she wished she’d made it more of an issue at the time. A worm of worry wriggled its way into her stomach and refused to go away.

Some half-finished reports sat on his desk. She scanned them quickly and as rapidly discarded them. Beside them lay some notes in his handwriting:

Adrian Bush (Bushy)

Alex Cotton

Richard Edwards – called again still no
answer

Vernon Jones (Jonesy)

Ernest Knight (Milky)

Patrick Murray (Minty)

Ben Thompson – away for another week?

Zach Smart – called in seen him – not him

Cooper had become obsessed with these names, if this is what he’d been working on before he went out it might help to find him.

In the privacy of her tiny screened office away from Stock’s curious ears she rang Zach Smart. A few minutes later she replaced the receiver certain that Bob had been worrying at the list while he waited for Stock to report in. She was about to dial Edwards’ number when her own mobile buzzed on her desk.

‘Nightingale.’

‘It’s Fenwick. Have you found him yet?’

‘No, Robin’s checking the local pubs right now but—’

‘Why? The major’s hardly likely to be meeting the man he suspects is a killer in a bar.’

‘Sorry, I meant he’s looking for Bob. As far as the major’s concerned we’re working our way through the taxi firms. No joy yet. He was last seen at six-thirty going into the golf club; that was thirty-five minutes ago. Apparently he walked straight through and into another taxi out the back.’

‘What’s this about Cooper?’

‘I can’t find him. He’s not here or at home and he’s not answering his mobile…’

‘Surprise, surprise. He’s probably in the pub somewhere.’

‘Maybe, which is why Robin is checking them but he said he was going to work late. What if he’s stumbled into something?’

‘Bob’s too experienced to do that. He may look a bit of a lumbering old sod but he’s street smart.’

‘I know, it’s just that…’

She couldn’t bring herself to admit the feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.

‘Woman’s intuition?’

‘Don’t mock, Andrew.’

‘I’m not.’ His voice was immediately serious. ‘If you think something might have happened to him then you should do everything you can to put your mind at ease but don’t slacken the search for the major.’

‘Of course not. By the way, where are you?’

‘Still in London so I’m unlikely to be back for at least an hour and a half even if I set off now – unless I order a helicopter. Should I?’

‘There’s no need, really; I’ve got it all under control. Operations have sent out a message to all patrols to look for the major and we’ll be through checking the taxis within half an hour.’

‘Have you spoken to Quinlan?’

She hesitated.

‘Not yet.’

‘You should call him and agree how you’ll work together until I’m back in Harlden.’

‘But I’m on top of things; I really don’t need him to get involved.’

‘With all of this and Bob out of the picture you need him. I know you’ll do a good job but this could become too big for you to handle alone. Remember Maidment had a service revolver. If he’s protecting an army buddy he might have one as well. You were thinking of asking for firearms to be on standby, weren’t you?’

‘Well, I…yes, eventually, when we found the major. Look, Andrew, I can manage.’

‘Nightingale, I’m SIO and I’m telling you to call the superintendent. This is not a negotiation.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right, I’m about five minutes away from cornering the man I think is the Well-Wisher and I’m certain that he knows who Maidment is protecting. As soon as I’ve got what I can from him I’ll call you and assess whether I need to hitch a ’copter ride back. Also, you should have received a photograph from the Met of a man they think owns the house in London that Ball visited. It might be The Purse; check it out and remember, call me any time you need to. Good luck.’

He broke the connection, leaving Nightingale to stare at her phone. She took a deep breath then called Superintendent Quinlan. His home number was engaged. That would be Fenwick who’d obviously decided not to trust her. What was he saying? For once, Nightingale didn’t waste time speculating. Finding Cooper was more important. She dialled the number next to Edwards’ name, waited while it rang unanswered and replaced the receiver. Quinlan’s line was still busy so her next call was to Operations. She spoke to the officer in charge.

‘I need you to put out a bulletin, a search for Bob Cooper’s green Volvo estate, registration number RCC 157. Yes, it’s personalised. A present from his wife, I think. And there are some addresses that patrol should concentrate on first; ready?’

Quinlan had been in the middle of a rare supper at home when Fenwick interrupted him to explain what was happening with the Maidment investigation.

‘It’s all very well delegating operational responsibility to Nightingale, Andrew, but it’s your neck on the line as SIO.’

‘I realise that.’

‘If I were you, I’d call the ACC. At least you’ll be able to say you consulted with your boss if this goes pear-shaped.’

‘But that’s just flannel. He can’t help me and anyway, what’s happening is down to me. If something goes wrong, and I don’t see why it should, I’ll be the one to carry the can; that’s only fair.’

Quinlan sighed and Fenwick imagined him shaking his head in exasperation.

‘It’s your career.’

‘Yes it is. And with that in mind I have a favour to ask you. Would you mind supervising Nightingale for me while I’m…?’

‘Aren’t you at the station?’

‘Not exactly. I’m in London.’

‘What the bloody hell are you doing there?’

Fenwick told him, his words falling into an increasingly incredulous silence.

‘I intend to leave here as soon as I can and make my way back to Harlden. I’ll see if I can borrow a helicopter.’

‘No! For God’s sake, don’t do that. It will only draw attention to your damn fool errand. Good grief, Fenwick, will you never learn? Of all the times to go off on one of your tomfool escapades…’

‘Things were quiet when I left and I’ve had plenty to do here.’

‘That might just turn out to be your epitaph.’

‘But I—’

‘Quiet, let me think.’

Fenwick held his tongue.

‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do.’

His use of the word ‘we’ and his automatic instinct to help reminded Fenwick of how lucky he was to have an ally like Quinlan.

‘Your only possible saving grace is that the ACC insisted on you taking personal responsibility for tracking down the Well-Wisher. That’s what you’re doing. If you can find him, make him talk and turn him into a first-class witness for the prosecution, you might just escape from this mess with your career intact. Stay up in London. Don’t rush back. If needs be, you can say that I insisted on stepping in here. After all, this was my case once and I have an interest in seeing Paul Hill’s killer in jail.’

‘Thank you. And Nightingale?’

‘I’ll call her now and say I’m on my way in. You just concentrate on getting a good result in London.’

The pain in Cooper’s skull was intolerable when he opened his eyes. It was so bad that he thought he was going to be sick so he shut his eyes against the fear of choking. He must have passed out because the next time he opened them the sky outside was growing dark. Any movement, even blinking, was agony, so he lay there, trussed up like a Sunday chicken, and tried to think. It was difficult. As well as the nail-like stabbing in his head, his shoulders, arms and hips were burning with pain as his body protested its restraints.

I’m too old for this.
The thought filled his mind. It angered him that he should have put himself in such a position, walking in on a suspect without back-up. He wouldn’t be missed for hours yet and even when he was no one at the station would know where to find him.
What a plonker
. The pain in his head wouldn’t ease up, not like on the movies when the hero was up and fighting within seconds. He lay there feeling as sick as a dog and bloody stupid.

In all probability he was going to die.
And serve you right,
he told himself
.
He was terrified. The realisation that he might very well be a coward at the hour of his death made him livid. Not that it was a subject he’d previously dwelt on as he wasn’t that sort of bloke but when he had thought about it he’d imagined himself noble and calm, not shit scared.
What would the Zebra do?
he asked himself, to no avail because there was no way Fenwick would have got himself into such a predicament in the first place.

But thinking of his boss helped. They’d been good mates, he decided. What he felt for Andrew went beyond respect; there was deep affection and a determination not to let him down. Well, he’d done that right and proper, hadn’t he? Cooper shook his head in self-disgust and the wave of pain pushed him back into unconsciousness.

The sound of two men having an argument roused him. He recognised the voices at once.

‘…don’t want palming off with one of your whiskies, dammit; I want to know the truth.’

‘Oh, Jeremy, Jeremy, what a fool you are. The truth! As if truth is an absolute that I can pluck out of the past and present as solid fact. Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I will not be fobbed off, Edwards. I’ll ask you again, did you or did you not kill Paul Hill?’

‘No, I damned well did not.’

Cooper was shocked into full consciousness by the force of truth he heard in Edwards’ words. He shut his eyes against the pain of the electric light and tried to concentrate.

‘If you didn’t, then who did? I demand an answer.’

‘Sit down, for God’s sake, Jeremy.’

Cooper felt the weight of someone on the sofa behind which he was concealed. It nudged him into the wall a fraction and he tried to roll his knees over so that he could hit the back. It was impossible and the effort made his gorge rise but in moving he felt something slide from his pocket to the carpet behind his back. It was his mobile phone. If he stretched out, the tips of his fingers just brushed it but not enough to push any of the buttons. As Edwards and Maidment continued to argue he strained towards the slippery metal object, swallowing down the vomit at the back of his throat, until he was able to get his thumb around the bottom corner and flick it closer to his palm. His hands were virtually numb but he clenched and unclenched his fists, forcing the blood to flow, glad that his gag prevented him from screaming in pain as it did so. Finally, he had the phone in his hand. He proceeded to fumble with his useless fingers in the hope of switching the damn thing on.

‘You want to know about the day Paul Hill disappeared?’

‘I do.’

‘And if I tell you, what will you do with the information?’

‘That depends on what you say.’

‘But you can’t go to the police. You gave your word.’

‘I gave my word based on what you told me. If that was a pack of lies then I have every right to break my silence.’

‘It wasn’t a pack of lies. I think you’ll find that you will have to hold your word. And if you don’t, with your past, who do you think the police will believe?’

There was a brief silence and Cooper imagined Edwards sipping his drink while Maidment tried to decide what to do. He must have nodded his acceptance of Edwards’ terms because he carried on, sounding satisfied.