Daisy in Chains(30)

‘Having Nigel home still feels like a dream,’ Carly tells us. ‘All we want now is to find out who really killed those teenagers and be left in peace.’

Such a happy ending is unlikely to happen any time soon as Derbyshire police are not looking for anyone else in connection with the crime. A source close to the investigating team told us, ‘Upton is guilty as sin. Maggie Rose doesn’t care about justice, just about proving to the world how clever she is. Thanks to her, a killer is back on the streets and he will kill again.’

At their home in Macclesfield, already subjected to vandalism and acts of graffiti, Carly is obstinate in the face of public threats. I ask her how long she would have carried on supporting Upton, had Rose not come to their aid. ‘As long as it took,’ she tells me. ‘Nigel is my lover, my best friend, my husband. If I’d had to spend the rest of my days as a prison wife, I would have done.’

PROPERTY OF AVON AND SOMERSET POLICE. Ref: 544/45.2 Hamish Wolfe.





Chapter 21


SNOW CLOUDS. THEY’VE been gathering all morning, thundering in from the west. They are above Pete Weston now, pregnant with a thick, cold purpose, layer upon layer of damp air in which ice crystals are forming. With every minute that passes, the textured density of the sky seems to be getting closer. It has to break soon, or the world will drown in the freezing mass that is above him.

‘Pete, the boss wants a word.’

Pete takes a long, slow drag and holds out his fag. Sunday is trying to give up but takes it anyway.

‘Any idea what about? And give me that back. I thought you’d quit.’

Sunday nicks a second puff before handing it back. ‘He’s just heard Maggie Rose has requested a visiting order for Hamish Wolfe.’

‘I saw her last night,’ Pete says. ‘She said nothing about going to see him. In fact she said the opposite.’ He takes another drag, wondering how he feels about the news. The warm, stale air of the station hits him as he goes back inside and he still doesn’t know.

‘You saw her last night?’ Sunday is following close behind.

Pete lets him catch up. ‘Are we sure? How does Latimer know?’

‘Contact at Parkhurst. Lets him know everyone who visits Wolfe. So, you saw her last night?’

‘We had dinner. Followed by a walk around the Bishop’s Palace in the moonlight. Her suggestion.’ He looks down at Sunday’s expectant face. ‘She drove herself home at eleven.’

‘Goodnight kiss?’

‘What are we, twelve-year-old girls?’

Like he’d dare try to kiss Maggie Rose. If she didn’t slap him, his lips would freeze on her face. There had been something there, last night, though, he was sure of it. Not a melting, exactly. More like, a softening. The way snow loses some of its crispness when the sun shines on it.

Latimer is at his desk. When Pete opens the door without knocking he looks up, frowning. ‘Pete. Come in. Shut the door.’

Pete gives Sunday a tight-lipped smile of apology and slips inside the boss’s office.

Latimer sniffs. ‘You been smoking?’

‘You sound like Annabelle.’

Latimer sighs. ‘Save it, Pete, I’m not in the mood right now. Have you read this?’

Pete pulls out a chair and sits down, picking up the press cutting Latimer has just pushed in his direction. He sees the headline, Love’s Labours Losing?

‘Yep,’ he says, shoving it back across the desk.

‘Maggie Rose doesn’t care about justice.’ Latimer stabs his forefinger down on a line of text. ‘Just in proving how f*cking clever she is.’

‘I’m sure the Independent on Sunday didn’t say “f*cking”.’

‘I want to know every single loophole in the Wolfe case,’ Latimer says.

‘Don’t you mean flaw? Shortcoming, perhaps? Chink, maybe?’

‘Don’t get clever, Pete, you’re on thin ice right now.’

‘There are no problems with the case against Wolfe. It’s solid.’

‘So why has Maggie Rose taken it on?’

‘Who says she has?’

‘She’s going to see him. Why else would she do that? She’s been spending time with his mother, with that pack of mad bastards who call themselves the Wool Pack or something. Why would she do that, if she wasn’t taking him on as a client?’

‘Maggie has told me repeatedly that she wants nothing to do with Wolfe. I spent the evening with her last night and she said nothing to make me think she’s changed her mind.’

Latimer’s expression changes, into that of a fox that has just caught the scent of a mouse. ‘You saw her last night?’

‘That’s right. Will that be all?’ He pushes himself up and notices the books piled on Latimer’s desk. Four of them, all written by Maggie. Latimer is watching him.

‘Have you read these, Pete?’

‘No. I get my fill of violent crime coming to this place every day.’

‘Maggie Rose has written seven books.’ Latimer reaches out and picks up the top of the pile. He looks at it curiously. ‘Two of her cases have had the guilty verdict overturned on appeal. Three more are pending review. If she wins those, that’ll make five out of seven.’

‘Thanks, I can do the maths.’