Blood Work (20 page)

Sally looked over to where Delaney's gaze was
focused and her mouth twisted in disapproval. 'Do
you think that's a wise idea, sir?'

'Just do it, Constable.'

Sally walked on to the exit and Delaney crossed
over to the lifts just as they opened. The man turned
round as Delaney approached. 'Do you want to step
away from me or do you want me to call security?' he
said, a little nervous catch in his voice.

Delaney pushed him into the lift.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

He tried to force himself past Delaney and back
out of the lift, but Delaney blocked his way, pushing
the button for the fifth floor. The doors closed and
Delaney turned to face him.

'You and I need to have a little talk.'

Paul Archer crossed his arms across his chest. 'The
only person you need to talk to is a lawyer. Because
you better believe I am calling the police.'

Delaney pulled out his warrant card. 'Can you hear
my knees knocking?'

Archer leaned forward to read it and laughed
humourlessly. 'Even better. You'll be out of a job as
well.'

'Kate Walker was upset yesterday, I want to know
why.'

'What business is it of yours?'

Delaney leaned in. 'Just answer the fucking
question.'

Paul Archer smiled, which Delaney figured was a
big mistake. He was moments away from smashing
the smug look off his face and spoiling his looks for
good.

'Whatever is between Kate and me is our concern
and certainly none of yours.'

'You want to tell me now or do you want to be
eating your meals through a straw for a couple of
weeks?'

'Is that a threat, Inspector?'

Delaney stepped in closer. 'Does it sound like a
threat?'

Archer moved back into the corner of the lift.
'Don't touch me.' His hand involuntarily went up to
touch his nose. 'She tell you she was fucking me the
night before?'

Delaney was taken aback. 'Last night?'

Archer's eyes flickered as he corrected himself.
'Not last night. The night before. She picked me up in
the Holly Bush and took me back to hers. I told her
it was just a one-night stand, but she wanted more.'

Delaney didn't say anything, taking it in.

Archer could see his words had hit home. 'Your
problems with her are nothing to do with me,' he said
as the lift door opened and he hurried past Delaney
out of the lift.

Delaney watched him go then stabbed his finger on
the ground-floor button. He couldn't blame Kate, it
was exactly the sort of thing he would have done. He
remembered that night, he remembered the hot
breath of Stella Trant whispering in his ear. He had
no moral high horse to ride on. He had no justification
for being angry with Kate. But rationalisation
was one thing, emotion another. The truth was he
was fucking furious. He slammed his open hand hard
against the side of the lift as the doors opened. A
couple of nurses stepped back as he stormed past, but
if he felt at all apologetic for startling them it
certainly didn't show on his face.

Out in the car park Delaney opened the passenger
door to his car, and got in, banging it behind him.
Sally tried to fire up the engine as Delaney pulled out
his mobile phone and punched in some numbers. The
Saab coughed ineffectually a few times but turned
over eventually after Sally gave the accelerator a
couple of prods with her foot.

'When did you last have this serviced, sir?'

Delaney didn't answer. Instead he looked out of
the passenger window as his call was answered.

'Jimmy, it's Jack. Have you got anything for us?'

'Nothing new,' Skinner answered.

'I'm just leaving South Hampstead Hospital, we've
got a lead on the flasher.'

'Right.'

'Norrell hasn't regained consciousness and the
other guy is holding to his story.'

'You believe him?'

'I believe they went after Norrell because they
thought he was a nonce. But I don't believe that was
why they were sicced on to him in the first place.'

'You being careful, Jack?'

'I'm doing what has to be done.'

'Keep me posted.'

Jack closed his phone and gestured at Sally. 'Come
on, move it.'

'Chalk Farm, sir?'

'Not just yet.'

'Sir?'

Delaney looked at his watch. 'Pinner Green.'

Sally nodded and pulled the car away as Delaney's
phone rang. He looked at who was calling and
answered it. 'Hi, Diane.'

'Where are you, Jack?'

'Just following up a lead.'

'The boss wants you in for a press conference.'

'I'll get there when I can.'

'This lead, is it in connection with the South
Hampstead Common case, or something else?'

'You wanted me back on the job, didn't you, guv?'

'Just don't let it get in the way. This turns out to be
a serial killer and you fuck up on us, Jack, there's no
way I can keep your nuts out of the vice.'

'Nice image.'

'Just don't let me down . . .'

'You got it.'

'And don't call me guv!'

Delaney closed his phone. Trouble was, he was
good at that. Letting people down.

Jack Delaney and his wife had been eating dinner that
Saturday night four years ago in a restaurant at the
top of Pinner High Street. Just down from the church
they had been married in, a Norman-style edifice that
stood on top of the hill like a small, suburban castle.
The restaurant served a pan-Asian menu, or Pacificrim
fusion as the owner liked to call it. Whatever it
was called, though, it wasn't to Jack's taste, he'd
never really liked Chinese food. But it was his wife's
favourite restaurant. It was their anniversary that
evening and the truth was that Jack had a lot of
making up to do to her. They had been arguing too
much of late. Mainly about his job and the hours he
worked. The risks he took. The danger on the streets,
the growing proliferation of guns and knives in the
hands of teenagers who, with no future ahead of
them, valued others' lives as cheaply as their own
were valued in turn. It was the same arguments that
policemen and policewomen had with their spouses
up and down the country and all around the world.
But that wasn't all there was to it. Behind it all Jack
knew the real reason for the growing tensions
between them.

Sinead wanted to go back home. To leave England
behind and return to her native Dublin, or move even
further out into the country. Even as far as to the
heathen, blighted, wind-blown and rain-soaked fields
of Cork, whence Delaney had dragged his own sorry
Irish arse. Jack had pointed out to her many times
that he was ten years old when his parents had
moved to England. Although he would hate to admit
it to his colleagues, Jack felt that England was more
of a home to him now than Ireland. His memories of
it were fond enough, but mainly he remembered the
lack of work, the lack of money, the struggles his
parents had to put food on the table and leather on
their feet. The opportunities London offered in the
seventies for a man such as his father and a woman
like his mother, God rest her soul, who were prepared
to put in a long day's work were too good to
refuse. And so the family had moved, like many
before, across the waters to the mainland. His mother
had died when he was eleven years old, run over in
the early hours on her way to work by a hit-and-run
driver whom the police never found and whose soul,
Jack still hoped, was rotting in hell. And so it was his
father who had pushed Jack into joining the police. A
man needed a profession or a trade, Jack's dad
reckoned, and as the boy had maybe the brains but
not the inclination for a university degree he should
look at the army, the navy or the police force. The
idea of serving in Northern Ireland put any notions of
joining the armed forces out of Jack's head. He
couldn't see himself pointing a rifle at his Northern
brothers, Catholic or Protestant, and he certainly
couldn't envisage pulling the trigger. But the thought
of joining the police had some appeal to him. Maybe
it was the spectre of his mother's death, maybe it was
just the knowledge that if he didn't join the police
he'd go the way of his cousins who lived in Kilburn
and made their money on the other side of the legal
fence. And so he worked hard enough at school to get
the right kind of grades to apply to the Met. Which
he did when he was eighteen and hadn't regretted it
since.

But lately Sinead had been, subtly at first, and then
not so subtly, pushing him to take early retirement.
Plenty of people left early, took up another profession.
Something safer, something with regular
hours. A job that meant she wouldn't be looking at
the clock with dread, but with pleasure at the
certainty of his arrival home at the given hour. The
sound of a phone ringing wouldn't set her heart
racing and her mouth dry every time she answered it,
terrified that this call would be the one bringing the
news she lived her life in fear of. And, moreover, their
young girl, Siobhan, was three years old now. A
walking, talking miniature human being with her
future all before her. And she reminded him, time
after time, although the bulge in her belly made it
plain, that she was pregnant again and she wanted a
secure future for all of them.

The trouble was that Jack Delaney didn't know
what he would do back in Ireland. He was too young
to retire. Too old to start a new career. And in truth
he didn't want to. Jack loved his job. He loved the
freedom of it, and although he might work long
hours, they weren't hours spent behind a desk or in a
neon-lit office, not for most of the time anyway. He
got results and at the end of the day that was what
really mattered. It's what mattered if you had a
decent boss, that is. Someone who was more
interested in banging up criminals than brown-nosing
their way into senior management. And Jack's boss,
Diane Campbell, was diamond.

So Jack didn't know what he was supposed to do.
He loved his wife, really loved her. But the tensions
over the last few months had put a strain on them
both. And Jack had made a mistake. He'd had an
affair. Not even an affair really, just a one-night
stand, but the guilt of it ate away at him on a daily
basis like a virus. Like a flesh-eating disease. And,
because he felt guilty, he got angry, and covered it up
by arguing with his wife. It was a vicious circle and
Jack wasn't at all sure how to get out of it. But he had
made an effort tonight and was grateful that he had
had. They had had a lovely meal and a lovely
evening. For the first time in ages they hadn't argued.
They'd enjoyed each other's company, they'd made
each other laugh and Jack couldn't for the life of him
understand why he had strayed. And especially with
whom.

As they had left the restaurant and started up the
car engine, Sinead had insisted they get more petrol.
Jack would have argued, he was well aware that they
had enough in the tank to get home three times over,
but it was one of his wife's pet foibles, she never let
the petrol gauge drop below a quarter of a tank. And
so they had turned right at the bottom of the hill and
drove out of Pinner up to Pinner Green, where there
was a petrol station that would be open at that time
of day. It was a hot summer night, the heat still
cooking the air and only the faintest breaths of wind.
Venus was bright in the night sky and Delaney took
it to be an omen. He pointed at the star. 'If men are
from Mars and women are from Venus. And if men
like bars, what do women like?'

Sinead laughed and slapped him on the arm. It was
a musical laugh, like the sound of trickling mountain
water over cool slate.

Delaney spun the wheel, turning into the forecourt
of the petrol station. The adverts finished and the
Cowboy Junkies started to play. 'Blue Moon'. One of
Delaney's favourites. 'Now you can't tell me that
isn't proper music.'

His wife laughed again. 'I can't tell you anything,
Jack. I've learned that much by now.'

Delaney had got out of the car and popped open
the petrol tank; he was reaching for the fuel nozzle
when the plate-glass window of the shop exploded.
Delaney instinctively raised his arm to protect his
eyes from the storm of flying glass. His wife's scream
carried over the sound of the shotgun blast and two
men came out of the shop. Thickset men dressed in
black with balaclavas covering their heads, shotguns
held waist level, sweeping the forecourt in front of
them.

They shouted at Delaney, but he couldn't hear
them; their shotguns trained on him and he watched
them frozen for a moment, until his wife screamed at
him and her words finally registered.

'For Christ's sake, Jack, get in the car.'

And he did, watching as a Transit van drove
through the forecourt with its back doors open. One
of the men jumped in and the other ran to catch up.
Delaney turned the key in the ignition and gunned the
engine, not listening as his wife shouted at him,
putting the car in gear and screeching after them,
swerving to avoid an incoming car.

The second man jumped into the van, half falling
back with the motion and landed with a bone-jarring
crash on his knees, but a hand to the inside wall of
the van steadied him and he brought his shotgun
round to bear on the pursuing car. Delaney's wife
screamed and the sound ripped into Delaney's
consciousness like ice-cold water as he realised what
he was doing. Too late. The shotgun fired again and
Delaney's windscreen exploded, the car spinning out
of control as the screaming blended with the
screeching of brakes and the crumpling of metal . . .

Delaney shook his head to clear the thought and
frowned as he pulled the car to a stop outside a block
of upscale apartment buildings on the left-hand side
of Pinner Green heading towards Northwood Hills.

'What's up, boss?'