The Fourth Friend (DI Jackman & DS Evans #3)(50)
‘Okay, accepted. But I think the straight and narrow would be the sensible way to go, at least for a while, don’t you?’
‘It has been pointed out to me, thank you.’ He sat back and exhaled. ‘You have no idea how relieved I am to be helping at last.’
Marie knew only too well. ‘Your last task.’
He nodded. ‘My last task.’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘He’s with me all the time now, Marie.’
Her heart sank. Oh no, please. Not more tales from the bloody crypt! She turned and looked at him.
‘Tom was at the morning meeting, leaning against the back wall, all the time I was speaking. I’m surprised the stink of burning didn’t set the alarm off.’
‘There was no smell in that room, Carter, other than the usual coppers’ sweaty armpits and a few farts.’ Her attempt to make light of it failed, and she added, ‘Tom Holland wasn’t there either.’
‘I do know that. But I still see him.’ His grip on her arm tightened. ‘He’ll go, Marie, he will move on, I know it! Just like the others have. Let’s get this case sorted, then maybe I can get my life back. Or some of it.’
She looked into his eyes. Carter was pleading with her.
At least he had admitted that the manifestations were all in his head. All he wanted was to rid himself of the last ghost from the past. Marie knew that somehow she had to find the strength to see him through it.
She made her decision. She would be his rock. Together they would find out what the hell happened to Tom’s wife, and then he could move on without her. ‘What does he say to you now?’
‘“Suzanne.” Just that one word — Suzanne.’
‘Then we need to stop wasting time sitting in this sodding car, and find out what happened, don’t we?’
Carter lit up as if he’d been plugged into a socket. ‘Yes, Sergeant Evans, we bloody well do!’ His smile widened. ‘Let’s go!’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Danny Hurley had complained of feeling unwell. He wasn’t supposed to be interviewed until the FMO had okayed it, but Jackman wasn’t wasting time. While his officers were out on the Suzanne Holland case, he was going through every word of the original reports.
When he was on his third coffee, he picked up the phone. ‘Professor Wilkinson?’
‘The same. I think I hear the dulcet tone of a detective inspector in trouble. How can I help, DI Jackman?’ Rory Wilkinson replied.
‘I’d really value your opinion on a case I have inherited.’
‘Then I’m all yours. Is it a macabre and gruesome murder? Lots of blood?’
Jackman smiled. He could just imagine the tall, hook-nosed man rubbing his hands in glee. ‘I have no idea. I don’t even know if it is a murder.’
‘No body? No blood? Oh dear.’
‘Body, no. Blood? Gallons of the stuff.’
‘How old?’
‘Eighteen months plus.’
‘Intriguing.’
‘If I sent you the CSI photographs, would you take a look for me? Oh, and the scene is still pretty well intact.’
‘After all that time? Did the attack occur in some kind of time warp?’
‘It’s a strange case, Rory. The cottage was owned by a husband and wife. The wife, whose blood is spread all over the lounge, is missing. The husband was killed in a light aircraft crash three days later, so no one can do anything with the property. It’s in limbo.’
‘As are you, by the sound of it.’
‘Totally.’
‘Then I’d be happy to take a look. Who did the original forensic examination?’
Jackman squinted at the scrawled signature. ‘Looks like . . . Squires?’
‘Ah, the Squirrel! Good man, if a trifle odd.’
Jackman stifled a chuckle. They didn’t come much odder than Rory himself.
‘Did I ever tell you why we call him the Squirrel? Other than the obvious play on his surname.’
‘If it has anything to do with nuts, I don’t want to know.’
‘Spoilsport! You are getting as bad as DI Nikki Galena. She’s always ruining my fun.’
‘Sorry. So can I send you the reports?’
‘I can do better. Have them ready and I’ll call in. About an hour?’
‘If you’re sure? I could take you to the crime scene, if it helps?’
‘A trip out with the delectable DI Jackman? Is the Pope a Catholic?’
Jackman hung up, still grinning. Despite his camp patter, the Home Office pathologist was one of the sharpest professionals that Jackman had ever met. The thought of getting his opinion on what might have happened to Suzanne Holland cheered him up enormously.
*
The beautiful town of Sanxenxo was awash in glorious sunshine, but Harvey Cash was struggling just to wake up.
The hangovers were part of life now, like breathing. Except even that hurt. Drawing in a breath made his head thunder like a steam hammer.
He felt his way slowly and carefully to the fridge, and downed half a bottle of cold water. The shock made him gasp.
He stood for a moment, holding onto the heavy door, trying to regain his balance and control his heaving stomach.
After a few moments he was able to sit on a kitchen chair and think about eating. He couldn’t face it. He shouldn’t consider another drink either, but he couldn’t face being sober.