Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(64)

Valentine avoided the usual pleasantries at the desk with Jim Prentice, who tried to beckon him over but was flagged down as the DI marched for the stairs. His heart rate ramped up and his collar started to tighten. He yanked off the tie that had caused him so much trouble earlier and spooled the cloth into a ball.

The DI was breathing heavily by the top of the stairs but carried on, past the door to the incident room and onwards to the chief super’s office. He ignored the protocol of a knock, opting instead to drop the handle and walk inside.

CS Martin and the chief constable were standing over a desk spread with the morning papers. The predominant image Valentine gleaned from the press was that of Gerald Fallon being led down the station steps by a uniformed officer who was reaching a splayed hand towards the camera lens.

‘Bob, do come in,’ said Martin.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘We were hoping you could tell us that.’





41

It was perhaps the most placatory Valentine had ever seen the chief super, and he couldn’t get used to the new persona. If she was playing down her usual bile to keep him in the job, then her actions were going to prove futile, thought Valentine. With all he’d seen in the last few days, he’d gladly walk away and never return. Transfer or not.

Greaves seemed less concerned with the DI’s opinion, heaving himself into Martin’s chair and looking over laced fingers at Valentine. ‘We seem to have arrived at exactly the point I had hoped to avoid,’ said Greaves, waving a hand over the collected press material.

Valentine avoided the remark. ‘Why did you release my suspect?’

‘Because he wasn’t a suspect.’

‘I’m the investigating officer. I decide who the suspects are on my investigations.’

‘And I’m the chief constable, Bob. Though I’m sure you don’t need reminding of that.’

CS Martin stopped fiddling with the coffee machine and headed for the door with the jug in her hand. ‘I think I’ll get this filled,’ she said, holding up the jug on her way out the door.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ said Valentine.

‘What on earth do you mean?’

The DI moved closer to the desk. He felt overwhelmed by the piles of bad publicity in front of him. ‘Fallon knows something.’

‘He wasn’t a suspect. We couldn’t hold him.’

‘He might not have been our murder suspect, but I’m pretty sure he knows who should be top of our list.’

‘You can’t prove that.’

‘And how do you know?’

‘Well, can you?’

Valentine smirked as he lowered himself into the vacant seat beyond the desk. ‘If you’re even asking me that, sir, then you can’t be as sure of your position as you think you are.’

‘This isn’t a game, Bob. It’s not about brinkmanship.’

‘I know. It’s about the deaths of two boys, murdered and sealed in an oil drum for thirty-two years. It’s about them, and quite a few more boys like them, and the men who put them there.’

Greaves exhaled slowly and placed his folded hands on the blotter in front of him. His features were still as he spoke again. ‘Bob, it’s over now. Your suspect killed himself this morning.’

‘I was wondering when you were going to mention Garry Keirns,’ said Valentine. ‘Now that suicide might just turn out to be the most interesting case I’ve ever worked. You see, sir, I’ve never known a suicide victim to hoover down his hallway after he’s hanged himself.’

‘What are you saying to me, Bob? You don’t think Keirns killed himself?’

Valentine crossed his legs and brought a firm index finger down on the wooden arm of the chair. ‘I think it’ll take a few more like Keirns and Trevor Healey being sacrificed before this blows over.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yes, sir. The tide has turned.’

CS Martin returned with brisk steps. The jug in her hand was still empty. She thumped it down on the desk and addressed the officers. ‘We have a big problem.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Valentine.

‘No, Bob, things have taken a serious shift since the word got out linking Fallon to Columba House. Protestors are rounding on his home.’

‘It’s bloody irresponsible reporting,’ yelled Greaves. He picked up a newspaper and shook it at Valentine. ‘This is insane.’

‘I’ll get down there right away, before it starts to turn nasty,’ said Valentine. The DI left Greaves scrunching the paper into a heap on the desk and headed for the door. When he clasped the handle, there was a knock on the other side.

‘Sylvia?’ he said.

‘Ah, hello, sir.’

‘What is it?’

She looked over his shoulder. ‘The chief super asked to see me.’

‘DS McCormack,’ called out Martin. ‘If you can just give us five minutes.’

Valentine left the DS standing in the doorway and sprinted to the incident room, calling out for McAlister and Donnelly.

‘Yes, sir,’ said McAlister. ‘What is it this time?’

‘If Dino’s to be believed it’s a march on Racecourse Road by cudgel-carrying protestors,’ said Valentine.