Murder Club (18 page)

‘I know.’

‘So you have been put in a place you shouldn’t have been. Twice.’

She looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

‘But I am going to make that stop now.’

‘Thank you,’ she said and took the card.

Delaney waited until she had closed the door and listened to the bolts being slid home, and then walked back to his car.

DELANEY LOOKED UP
at the sky for the hundredth time that day and frowned. Thick flakes of snow had begun to fall, settling in his long eyelashes. He blinked and locked the door to his Saab. The snow was crusty and slippery underfoot as he walked into the churchyard.

It was starting to get dark now and there was a glow coming from the forensic ‘marquee’ that had been erected over the grave where the body of the unknown man had been discovered.

Diane Campbell was standing outside the tent with a lit cigarette in her hand. Beside her stood a tall thin woman, with silver-grey hair slicked back. She wore a dark woollen overcoat but a dog collar was just about visible.

‘Jack,’ said Diane as he approached. ‘This is the Reverend Leslie Hynd. She’s the vicar here.’

‘Was the vicar here,’ she corrected her. ‘The church is deconsecrated, remember.’

‘Detective Inspector Jack Delaney.’ He shook the vicar’s hand.

‘Are we any further forward in finding out who the unfortunate man might be?’

‘No. Which is why we wanted to talk to you.’

‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’

Delaney nodded and turned to his boss. ‘Could I get one of those, Diane?’

‘Thought you’d given up?’

‘New Year’s resolution. It’s not the New Year yet, is it?’

‘Not unless I missed Christmas.’

Diane tapped out a couple of cigarettes, lit one from the dying embers of her own and handed it to Delaney. Then lit herself a fresh one.

The vicar gestured towards the church. ‘Why don’t we talk inside,’ she said.

‘You go ahead. We’ll finish these and catch up with you.’

‘As you wish.’ The Reverend Hynd headed off towards the church.

Diane looked at Delaney for a moment. ‘Are we any the wiser, Jack?’

‘A day older nearly, no wiser.’

‘I hear you talked to Michael Robinson.’

‘Yes. And Stephanie Hewson.’

The deputy superintendent blew out a long stream of smoke. ‘At the risk of sounding like John Le Mesurier in
Dad’s Army
, “Do you think that wise?”’

‘The man served a civil suit on me.’

‘I know.’

‘So I’m entitled to prepare my side of the case.’

‘That’s what you were doing, was it?’

‘No. I had his balls in my hand and told him that he ever went anywhere near Kate or Siobhan I’d tear them off.’

‘I imagine that got his attention.’

‘The cockroach is guilty, Diane.’

‘Yes.’

‘Stephanie Hewson is absolutely terrified. Someone has got to her.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know yet. But I intend to find out.’

‘She didn’t say?’

‘She’s not saying anything.’

‘But she talked to you.’

‘I promised her I’d take care of things, whatever it took.’

‘You make a lot of promises, cowboy.’

‘Only ones that I can keep.’

‘Good,’ said Diane Campbell, grinding the cigarette butt under the heel of her boot. ‘Make sure that you do.’

Delaney didn’t reply, just flicked his cigarette away, watching the trail of tiny sparks as it wheeled through the air, the light winking out as it hit the snow-covered ground, then followed Diane into the church building.

The Reverend Leslie Hynd was closing her mobile phone as they both walked in.

The church was a shell, stripped of pews, altar, decorations. A vast, empty hall of a room now. The last of the day’s light came weakly through the stained-glass windows, but electric lighting had been set up. And a kettle, mugs and the fixings for cups of tea were on a side-table near the entrance door.

‘Sad to see the place like this,’ said the vicar, gesturing at the dust-covered floor of the church, broken tiles scattered here and there. ‘So many services, wedding, funerals, baptisms, Easters, Christmases. So
many
years, so many people.’ She sighed. ‘So many stories. It seems criminal.’

‘How long were you the vicar here?’ Delaney asked.

‘Not long. About three years.’

‘And before you?’

‘The Reverend Patrick Hennessy.’

‘And how long was he here?’ asked Diane Campbell.

‘About sixteen or seventeen years, I believe.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘He is doing missionary work in the People’s Democratic Republic of the Congo.’

‘And can he be contacted?’

‘Not easily. But I have put a message out for him to get in touch.’

‘And who was in charge here before then?’ asked Delaney.

‘My assistant is looking into it, Detective. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.’

‘Thanks. Do you have any idea who the person might be that we found in your grounds?’

‘Absolutely none, I’m afraid. I understand he has been there for quite some time.’

‘About twenty years, we think.’

‘And the cause of death?’

‘This is a murder investigation, Reverend. He was shot in the head.’

‘Oh, my goodness, that’s terrible. Why would they bury him here?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Sally Cartwright.

‘If we knew that, then maybe we’ll know why he was killed, Reverend,’ said Delaney.

MICHAEL ROBINSON STOOD
on the platform at Baker Street waiting for the east-bound train that had just left Edgware Road and would take him to Piccadilly Circus.

He jiggled some coins in his jacket pocket. Not that he was scared as such, more a nervous excitement. He had a meeting first and then he was free to spend some time in Soho. It had been more than twelve months since he had enjoyed female company and he intended to savour the opportunity now. Ideally, he would have liked to pay that haughty bitch Stephanie Hewson another visit. He felt himself harden as he remembered the look she had given him in the courtroom that morning. Since he had recovered consciousness in hospital, every day, every night he had replayed in his mind what he had done to her in that Scout hut in Harrow-on-the-Hill. Grunting as he entered her, her gasps of pain making him harder still. He could remember the feel of her. His hands on her cool buttocks as he rammed himself into her. He remembered taking his knife and cutting her. Her sudden intake of breath. He remembered walking home over the back of the hill. Her scent in his nostrils, and he hardened again almost immediately.

He’d look for someone just like her. There were plenty of women to choose from in Soho, if you had the cash in your pocket. He hadn’t bought a new knife, though. The old one was hidden somewhere no one would ever find it and he wasn’t going to risk trying to recover it. He was many things, but one thing Michael Robinson wasn’t, was any man’s fool. He wasn’t any man’s bitch, either. And certainly not that arrogant fuck DI Jack Delaney’s. Coming into his house. Threatening him. The fuck didn’t have any idea who he was dealing with. But he was going to find out soon enough just what kind of man Robinson was. Delaney could wait, howevert. Wheels were in motion and the bastard would get what was coming to him.

Stephanie Hewson – she’d get what was coming to her soon too. But for now he was going to concentrate on himself. He jingled the coins in his pocket again, and a slow smile spread across his face as he imagined what lay ahead for him that evening.

He stepped forward as the train came clattering out of the tunnel from Marylebone.

And then he felt a lancing needle of pain in his right thigh. An unbearable pain searing through his neural pathways. His body convulsed and he stepped forward into thin air. He didn’t even have time to scream before the east-bound train hit him.

And then he didn’t think much of anything at all.

He was dead.

DELANEY CAME INTO
the bedroom loosening his tie.

Kate was sitting up in bed reading the latest Shardlake novel. The hunchback of Olde London town solving crimes for Henry the Eighth. Not Delaney’s cup of tea. It seemed to him that the serial killer Shardlake never caught was old Henry himself. Kate’s glasses were perched on the end of her nose and she peered over them at Jack as he tossed his tie on the chair beside the bed.

‘Where’ve you been, Jack?’ she said.

Delaney leaned over and kissed her. ‘My car broke down.’

‘Again? Isn’t it about time you got rid of that old thing?’

‘Probably. But I like my Saab.’

‘It doesn’t like you.’

‘Got the Tube.’

Kate wrinkled her nose suspiciously. ‘After a couple of beers, by the smell of you, I’d say.’

‘I might have had a couple. It’s been a bit of a day.’

‘Funny how your car often breaks down when you’ve had a bit of a day.’

Delaney lay on the bed and rested his head on the pillow. ‘Just a coincidence.’

‘I don’t believe in coincidences.’

Delaney grinned. ‘Me neither.’

‘I heard about the court case.’

‘Hard not to.’

‘Yes. Pretty much over the news continually.’

‘Small-news day.’

‘What’s going to happen?’

‘Nothing, darling. Old cowboy here, he’s pretty much bullet-proof.’

‘Man from Krypton?’

‘Something like that.’

Kate rested her head on his chest and he stroked her hair. ‘How was your day?’ he asked her.

‘Not the best, if I am honest.’

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘Not yet.’

Delaney nodded. ‘Fair play.’

‘What about yours?’

‘Started bad, got worse, ending up nice, though.’ He stroked her hair some more. She looked up and kissed him.

‘Glad to hear it.’

Delaney’s mobile trilled and he fetched it out of his pocket, checked the caller ID, then answered the call. ‘What’s up, Sally … Yeah, yeah, I know. I had it switched off for a couple of hours. Okay, let me grab a piece of paper.’

Delaney fumbled in his pocket for his notebook and grabbed a pen off the bedside table. ‘Shoot.’

‘Reverend Geoffrey Hunt. Okay, got that. How did you get on at Northwick Park Hospital?’ He listened for a while. ‘All right, I’ll meet you seven tomorrow morning. Usual place. And how did Inspector Hamilton behave himself?’

He grimaced and held the phone way from his ear. ‘No, you hang up,’ he said and closed his phone.

‘So you switched your phone off for a couple of hours?’ said Kate.

‘Forgot to turn it back on.’

‘Another coincidence.’

‘Mobile phones in pubs, they shouldn’t be allowed. I am very consistent on that point.’

Kate laughed. ‘Nothing should come between a man and his Guinness.’

‘Only you, sweetheart.’

‘What was that about Reverend Hunt?’

‘You know him?’

‘Sort of. I know his wife. She used to teach at the university, still registered to the practice there.’

‘What did she teach?’

‘She’s a doctor of divinity. Why?’

‘I don’t know. I’m a detective, Kate. I like asking questions. Ask enough, and sometimes things make sense.’

‘And sometimes they don’t.’

‘True.’

‘Is her husband in some kind of trouble?’

‘Not that I know of. St Luke’s is his old church.’

Kate sat up. ‘I didn’t know that. I was called out there this morning. Before they knew it was human remains.’

‘Your friend’s husband was the incumbent vicar at the time the body was put in the ground.’

‘So they’ve got you on that case?’

‘Amongst others. Till I get suspended, that is.’

‘The Devil finds work for idle digits.’

Delaney slipped his hand down the duvet. ‘Best keep them busy then,’ he said.

Kate slapped his hand. ‘You can have a shower first, busy boy.’

‘Good idea.’ Delaney swang his legs round and stood up. He leaned over and kissed the bump of Kate’s belly.

‘Henry the Eighth got one thing right,’ he said.

‘And what would that be?’

‘It’s good to have lots of children.’ He smiled and headed to the bathroom.

Sunday morning

‘
DECK THE HALLS
with boughs of holly! Fa la la la la, la la la la. ’Tis the season to be jolly … Fa la la la la, la la la la!’

‘Do you want to button it, Roy?’ said Jack Delaney as he leaned against the counter and contemplated lighting a cigarette. Roy stopped singing and grinned over his shoulder at him.

‘What’s up with you this morning, Jack? Or do I even need to ask? You being normally such a ray of emerald-green Fenian sunshine.’

‘What does that even mean, Roy? How in the name of St Joseph on a fucking bicycle can you have green sunshine?’

‘I was talking metaphorically, Jack.’

‘You were talking bollocks.’

‘You want an egg with this?’ asked the portly short-order cook as he flipped some slices of bacon.

‘I do.’

‘I see the piece of shit we talked about yesterday walked free.’

‘Yeah, he did.’

‘Anything going to come down on your head?’

‘I should think so.’

‘If you’d handled things a little differently back then, Jack …’

‘You saying this is my fault?’

‘Nothing of the sort. Like I say, I wouldn’t even have let the scum make it to court.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m a changed man nowadays.’

‘Are you?’

‘You see me smoking this cigarette?’ Delaney asked, holding up an unlit Marlboro.

‘Not yet.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Don we now our gay apparel, troll the ancient Yuletide carol!’ sang Roy happily, as he cracked an egg that spattered and sizzled when it landed on the hot griddle plate. ‘Fa la la la la, la la la la.’

‘God give me strength,’ muttered Delaney as Sally Cartwright walked up to the van. She was dressed in black trousers, with higher heels than usual and a smart black parka with faux-fur trim. Her long, blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. She had on more make-up than usual too, and was altogether too bright and perky-looking for seven o’clock on a Sunday morning.