Sacrifice (9 page)

Claire seemed equally amazed. ‘Looks like it.’

‘Congratulations.’

She nodded her thanks.

‘I thought this’d be a good opportunity for Claire to meet the rest of the team,’ Gemma said, eyeing the raucous crowd gathered around Des Palliser, who was sniffing at an exotic-looking cocktail someone had just bought for him. ‘But I’m not so sure now.’

‘We are what we are, ma’am,’ Heck said, adopting his best blokish air.

‘And she must take you or leave you, eh?’ Gemma said.

‘Something like that.’

She turned back to her new employee. ‘DS Heckenburg is one of our more …
persuasive
officers. He could sell STD ointment in a nunnery, if you’ll pardon the crude terminology. So long as you remember to believe only five per cent of everything he tells you, you’ll get along with him fine.’

‘Ouch!’ Heck said, which Claire seemed to find amusing.

Gemma sighed. ‘Well … might as well try and get everyone’s attention while they’re not totally bladdered. Come on, Claire. I’ll introduce you.’

The two women moved away, Gemma clearing a path through the mob.

‘Cute little thing anyway,’ Hunter remarked. ‘Looks like butter wouldn’t melt.’ He snickered. ‘I give her a month at the most.’

Heck said nothing.

Hunter remained for another half-hour, before downing his drink and sloping away without saying goodbye. Claire Moody, rather to Heck’s surprise, lasted a little longer, which in some ways was admirable given that she didn’t really know anyone here. She stuck fairly close to Gemma, probably because most of the rest of the team had moved in on her in predatory fashion, alternately trying to flirt or wind her up, though he later saw her being led to one side and getting her ear bent by Shawna McCluskey.

‘Heck … hey Heck!’ Shawna shouted. ‘Come over here a sec!’

He drifted over. Everyone was now well-oiled. Deafening laughter boomed; beer was sloshing. Shawna was on her way to getting drunk too.

‘Claire … you met Heck yet?’ she shouted, gesturing with a lager bottle.

Claire smiled awkwardly. ‘Sort of.’

‘Heck’s our ace thief-taker. Me and him were in GMP together when we were whippersnappers.’

Claire frowned. ‘GMP … that’s Greater Manchester Police?’

Shawna laughed. ‘Bang on. The pride of the northwest.’

‘And you both ended up in London?’

‘We didn’t come down together,’ Shawna replied, burping. ‘Sorry. Heck transferred to the Met while he was still in uniform. It was a few years later with me. I joined CID in Manchester, then the Major Crimes Squad. When I heard SCU had a vacancy, I jumped at it. I arrived here and stone me, Heck’s on the next desk … a bloody DS! Mind you, I shouldn’t have been surprised. When he was in uniform he did more locking-up than the rest of the relief put together. If he fell over a wall he’d find two tea-leaves on the other side waiting to do a job.’

‘Yeah, I’m so lucky I passed my inspector’s exam fourteen years ago, and I’ve never had a sniff of an interview,’ Heck replied.

Shawna slapped his shoulder. ‘Too gobby, pal, that’s your trouble. Always too gobby.’ She turned to Claire. ‘He’s not like me – I’m not gobby. I’m just crap. Not be a mo … gotta pee.’

Shawna blundered away, leaving her half-drunk bottle in Claire’s hand.

‘She’s not actually,’ Heck said. ‘She’s a pretty good detective. She wouldn’t be in SCU otherwise.’

‘I was a bit intimidated about that,’ Claire admitted; her accent was refined South Coast, which was rather fetching. ‘I mean, you chaps are not just any old police unit are you? I heard you’ve cracked some really big cases.’

‘Well, things haven’t gone totally swimmingly for us in recent times.’

‘I heard about that too. And … I’m hoping that’s something I can help you with.’

‘Claire!’ someone else shouted. Gary Quinnell, minus jacket and tie, lurched towards her. Beefy red faces grinned behind him. ‘Can we have you over here?’

‘Sure,’ she replied, handing Shawna’s bottle to Heck, giving him a nervous glance.

‘There’s something you need to know about if you’re going to work with us,’ the burly Welshman said, leading her away. ‘But it isn’t covered in any manual.’

‘Okay …?’ She still sounded nervous.

‘It’s called the Ways And Means Act …’

‘I’m going to miss all this,’ Des Palliser said, appearing at Heck’s shoulder.

‘Don’t beat yourself up too much,’ Heck replied. ‘It’s not like we roll out the barrel every week.’

‘We should. Reminds everyone what life’s really about.’

Briefly, Palliser looked pensive. He was a grizzled oldster with a lean frame and a scraggy grey beard. A knowledgeable detective with good political acumen, he knew how to play the game but, with such long service in, he’d had little personal ambition left and thus had become something of a ‘father-figure’ in SCU; a font of wisdom and reliable advice for those junior officers he regarded as his protégés.

‘What I meant was I’m going to miss you lot,’ he said. ‘Bunch of scruffy urchins. Who’s going to knock you into shape if I’m not there?’

‘Enough, thank you!’ Gemma’s voice carried across the pub. In one corner, Detective Constable Charlie Finnegan was standing on a table with his trousers around his ankles. ‘Remember who we are and where we are, please!’ Finnegan got down, abashed.

‘Who do you think?’ Heck said.

Palliser smiled fondly. ‘Taught her everything she knows.’

‘I always knew we had to thank you for something.’

‘I’m glad you could come, pal.’

Heck glanced around at him. ‘No one had to drag us here, Des. You’ll be missed too.’

‘I want you to do something for me.’

‘Name it.’

‘Be careful, okay?’ Palliser regarded him gravely. His face was a nest of wrinkles, his teeth gnarly and yellowed by decades of smoking, yet all of this served to give him character. ‘No more go-it-alone heroics like we saw during the Nice Guys enquiry. No job’s worth putting your life on the line for.’

Heck smiled. ‘It’s not something I plan to make a habit of.’

‘And that M1 Maniac thing was almost as bad. You got some kind of death-wish?’

‘Just the way the cards fell, Des.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Palliser put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Heck, you’ve got a good boss in Gemma. Make use of that. Try and forget you and her once had a thing going. Unless of course, well …’ he almost sounded hopeful, ‘unless you feel like going there again?’

Heck glanced towards Claire, who, though she was besieged by shouting, guffawing coppers, was also laughing. Gary Quinnell made some jibe, but she responded sharply and they fell about again.

‘I don’t think so,’ Heck said slowly.

Palliser followed his gaze. ‘Something more interesting on the horizon?’

‘Who’s to say?’

‘Well … if it gives you a reason to go home at night, all to the good.’

‘Who are we kidding, Des? She’s probably got a boyfriend with a Ferrari.’

‘Just remember what I said, eh? Do what you do, Heck … you’re bloody good at it. But be sensible and be safe.’

Heck nodded, surprised by the depth of feeling in his colleague’s voice.

‘Anyway, what’re you having?’ Palliser lurched away to the bar.

‘Bitter please,’ Heck said to his retreating back. ‘Pint of.’

Gemma strode up. She looked as cool and unruffled as ever, despite the heat and noise. She glanced after Palliser. ‘He sorry to be going?’

‘Thinks SCU will fall apart without him,’ Heck replied.

‘The perceptiveness of old age.’

Heck nodded towards Claire. ‘Our new recruit looks comfy already.’

‘Good.’ Gemma sipped her mineral water. ‘Because there’s no point us handling her with kid gloves. This’ll be a testing job.’

‘Presumably she’s well qualified for it?’

‘Worked for a major financial house in the City and at least two government departments.’

‘When does she start?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘That soon?’

‘She might as well get her feet under the table while things seem to be fairly quiet.’

Heck pondered that, wondering if they were challenging fate. He wasn’t superstitious, but one thing he’d learned during his seventeen years as a police officer was that you didn’t make any decisions based on an assumption that nothing tumultuously crap was about to happen. Because, almost invariably, it was.

‘Look … whatever happened to you in your past, whatever it is that’s making you do this, I beg you to reconsider.’

Kate wasn’t sure how much her abductor could hear. He hadn’t actually gagged her, so, although she was swathed in this dirty old blanket which stank of sweat and stale urine, there was nothing to prevent her trying to project words. No doubt they’d be muffled, while the ongoing rumble of the engine and the vibration of the tyres on the road might blot them out altogether. But given that she was still bound and that no matter how much she wriggled, she remained tightly trussed, she had no option but to keep trying.

‘Please listen to me,’ she begged. It had been two hours at least, and at no stage had she received a single reply. ‘I understand that someone was once cruel to you. Maybe they tortured you – over months, perhaps years. But what you’re doing now is in no way going to make up for that. You won’t be getting even with them, you won’t be punishing them. You’ll just be hurting an ordinary person who bears you no ill will, doing exactly the same thing as was done to you …’

She was more terrified than she’d ever been in her life. The revolting stench inside the blanket would only get worse as her own sweat of fear mingled with it; it was highly possible she’d add her own urine to it, maybe her own vomit, and the temperature didn’t help. The heater in the car had activated some time ago and now was at its stultifying worst, but she couldn’t afford to let it fog her reason – not yet. The only weapon available to her was her intellect – so she had to continue with this, trying to appeal to his better nature, if he had one.

It was appalling to think that anyone could be reduced to such a state that they’d do this sort of thing. She’d heard stories of course: about street people who’d had petrol poured on them and been set alight while they were sleeping rough, about stabbings and clubbings, about their being made to fight each other with chains and bottles while someone filmed it. Yet none of these abhorrent things had seemed real – not even to Kate, who worked with the victims – until now, when it was apparently happening to her.

‘Listen … please!’ It took an immense effort of will to reduce the quake in her voice, to make her sound less like a frightened little girl. ‘Please … this hatred you’re demonstrating. It’s not a natural state for a human being to exist in. Don’t you see that? Animals don’t live that way, not even animals that have been scarred by illness or injury. They just accept it and get on with life. Don’t let the person who abused you win by watching you become a mirror-image of him. Remember what it was like when …’

She’d wanted to talk about the days when he himself was a young child, but no … that could be a horrendous mistake. Some of these poor creatures’ earliest memories comprised nothing but pain.

‘Remember your humanity. Try to think how
you
like to be treated. I know that’s something that was denied to you. But try to picture yourself on a normal morning, setting out with no intention of doing harm to anyone, just hoping to get through the day in a simple, dignified manner. Isn’t that how you feel most of the time? There’s no pleasure to be found in what you’re doing now. You understand that, I know you do.’

She halted, not just to get her breath – which was increasingly difficult in the sweltering confines of the blanket, but to listen in case there was any response from whoever was driving. There wasn’t. But if nothing else he
had
to be listening. He hadn’t put the radio on to drown her out.

‘I’m making one last appeal to you,’ Kate said. ‘Whatever you think you’ll gain from this, you’re wrong. I know that sounds arrogant and presumptuous of me. But I honestly know about this. I work every day with people who have suffered the most dreadful misfortune. Most of them are deeply miserable and deeply angry. But in almost all cases – when you sit down and counsel them, try to get through to the person who was there before – they are ordinary men and women, and they realise that giving in to their baser instincts will achieve nothing …’

Her words petered out as she realised the vehicle was jolting and bouncing, as if traversing rough ground. The terror of this took her breath away. She imagined wasteland somewhere, far from prying eyes.

There was a change of tone from the engine. The Fiesta was slowing down.

With a clunk, the gearstick shifted, then the handbrake was applied. When the engine was switched off, the silence was ear-pummelling. Despite the kiln-like heat, the sweat coating Kate’s body was ice-cold. A seatbelt was unfastened; a car door was flung open. Horrifyingly, there was no sound of night-traffic from beyond. Wherever he’d brought her to, it was far, far from civilisation.

Kate’s whimpers became helpless wails as a door was opened next to her head, and brute hands yanked the straps aside, grabbed her and threw her over a brawny shoulder. The effect of this was to nauseate her, a sensation that grew worse as she was carried through the darkness. Heavy feet crunched what sounded like soil and leaf debris, and then clumped on hollow wood, the impacts of which began to echo – she was inside a building. Different smells assailed her: sawdust, fresh paint. When she was dumped onto the floor, she felt rugged planking, nail-heads. Old hinges squealed and a foul smell arose. Kate felt a new sense of paralysing horror.

A trapdoor had been opened alongside her.

Those hands gripped her again and lifted her. Before they dropped her down into the void, a hoarse voice whispered in her ear: ‘You have a good heart and an eloquent tongue. That makes you more than worthy.’

‘Morning!’ came a bright, cheery voice.

Heck, who wasn’t suffering from a hangover, but who was slightly muzzy-headed, glanced up from his desk. Claire Moody was standing in the doorway to the Detectives’ Office, or DO, as they called it. ‘Oh, erm … hello,’ he said awkwardly.