The Sister(52)

Tanner opened his mouth to speak, but the effect of a few drinks delayed the activation of his vocal chords.

Kennedy was in the same boat, only a little quicker. ‘After tonight... no, no don’t interrupt, I’m serious here. After tonight, I’m going to have those files on my desk, tomorrow, no, Monday morning. I’m going to start putting them to bed, starting with them.’ He snapped his fingers several times, prompting his memory. ‘The old one... Yes, that one!?’ The words petered out as he struggled to remember what it was he was talking about; he froze in position at the bar, exhausted of the last of his energy. Deep in a haze, he lost himself in the fug of smoke that hung in the garish yellow light. The sounds of the bar no longer clear, his head felt as if it were underwater.

Tanner had never seen the DCI so drunk before. Frowning concern and measuring his words carefully, he said, ‘Do you want me to get us a cab, sir?’

Kennedy’s bluff face was expressionless as his eyes struggled to focus on the last drop of amber fluid in his glass, debating whether to finish it.

‘Ah, the hell with it!’ He tipped his head right back as he drained the glass, banging it down harder than he intended; he slapped his colleague’s back heavily, jarring Tanner’s head forward. ‘Let’s go, Tanner!’





The following morning he couldn’t remember much, other than talking about solving old crimes. Something concerned him about what he might have told Tanner. He couldn’t hold the drink the way he used to, he hoped it hadn’t loosened his tongue too much. A few times earlier in the evening, he had been tempted to talk. The temptation to regale your friends with tales of derring-do and close encounters of every kind never leaves a man, especially when he is in drink, and in the company of people he thinks he can trust. Even the greatest indiscretions can seem trivial in an alcoholic haze, when the need to bare your soul comes creeping up unexpectedly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to remember, but Tanner, he wasn’t sure about him anymore. A couple of times while he was still sober, he caught a look on that thin face of his, he’d made a few remarks that seemed he might be resentful of his promotion.

Kennedy rose from his chair, grabbed his jacket off the back and called it a day.





When Monday came around, Kennedy did what he said he would; he picked up the phone and spoke to a television reporter contact he had, explaining he wanted to broadcast a cold case appeal on Crimewatch for information on a girl who had disappeared in 1983.



Later in the afternoon, he received a call about the programme.

He outlined the case in detail, sprinkling in for good measure the suspicion that the perpetrator had probably been responsible for other crimes – they usually can’t just do it once and stop – and that by getting further leads, in conjunction with modern technology, there was an even better chance that any leads received, could result in solving this crime. Then he played his trump card. ‘And you know what else? It would be especially good because your program first aired the case during its launch year.’ Kennedy moved the telephone from one shoulder to the other. ‘You didn’t know that? Well, now you do,’ he said, shifting the handset as the conversation concluded. ‘Okay, let me know what they say.’

Five minutes later, his phone rang. The show would run the appeal.





Chapter 39



19 December 2006. Crimewatch.





Kennedy felt that if he could get the missing girl’s sister to appear, there would be a better chance of a positive result. She agreed to do it only if they filmed her blacked out; she didn’t want people pointing at her in the street, or coming up to her. Her mother had told her to be careful about media exposure. When you put yourself on a platform, you open all kinds of doors for people. Most have genuine intentions, but you have to be careful. Her mother had had a couple of unpleasant experiences, unwelcome attention and things like that.

His appearance was just before hers. He’d passed her in the corridor earlier, and she’d smiled and thanked him for all his hard work.

I wonder if you'd have said that to me if you knew I could have saved your sister, and if I'd done that, maybe your parents wouldn’t have killed themselves.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Besides, when it was his turn to face the cameras, she’d find out anyway. At that point, he realised he hadn’t thought it through properly; he should have asked Tanner to lead the appeal. The burgeoning rivalry between them had clouded his judgement. Tanner thought he’d been favoured with the DCI’s job over him because of his father’s influence, and he knew he’d have to field some awkward questions from him once he realised.

Kennedy knew he should have told him about the case years ago, after all; he’d told him about all his successes. But then, you don’t crow about failure.





The presenter finished summarising the last case and then introduced the next one.

‘This next case is about the disappearance of a young girl just over twenty-three years ago. She was last seen walking home after a Dire Straits concert. Described as 5'6’ tall, Kathy had shoulder length black hair and blue eyes. She’d gone out straight from work and was last seen wearing her nurse’s uniform. She was also wearing large silver hoop earrings, a small silver cross on a chain and a St. Christopher medal.’