Time of Death (35 page)

Authors: James Craig

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BOOK: Time of Death

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Eventually, Dominic Silver appeared out of a side door and strolled across the car park. As he approached Carlyle, Silver pointed at a car parked on the other side of the road. It was some kind
of Toyota hatchback. Without saying a word, Dominic walked past him and over to the vehicle. Popping the trunk, he beckoned the policeman over to take a look.

Carlyle stuck his head closer to the bundle inside, and watched the covering blanket move up and down with the child’s breathing. Jake Hagger was asleep. The inspector realised he had been
holding his breath and now let out a long sigh. Reaching into the trunk, he was careful to get a good hold on both boy and blanket before carefully lifting them out into the cold night air. Jake
groaned but he did not wake. He felt light in Carlyle’s arms, somewhat less than the inspector imagined a boy of his age ought to weigh. They would have to check him thoroughly at the
hospital. Dominic opened the door and Carlyle laid Jake gently across the back seat before stepping away and easing the door shut as quietly as he could.

The two men stood in silence for several moments, unwilling to look at each other. The inspector knew better than to ask how the boy was found. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something
emerge from the bushes about twenty yards away. The fox sauntered right into the middle of the road, eyed the pair of them briefly, then trotted off in the opposite direction.

Dominic let out a low whistle. ‘First time I’ve seen that!’ He stuck a hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a car key. ‘Here you go,’ he said, tossing it to
Carlyle. ‘Now get the kid out of here.’

‘What about . . . ?’ Carlyle made the vaguest of gestures towards the doomed men inside the warehouse.

‘That’s my business,’ said Dominic firmly. ‘Just go.’

Carlyle stared at the key as he turned it around in his hand. ‘I can’t drive.’

‘What?’ Dominic said, somewhat dumbfounded.

‘I never learned to drive.’ Carlyle shrugged. ‘In London you don’t really need to.’

Dominic put his hands on his hips and stared into the night. ‘For God’s sake.’

‘Half the people in London don’t have a car,’ Carlyle protested.

‘I’m sure most of them can fucking drive, though.’ Dominic shook his head. ‘You really are a useless tosser.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Get in.’

Carlyle headed for the passenger side.

Dominic grabbed his arm. ‘Get in the driver’s side, before I fucking thump you.’

Over the next few minutes, Dominic showed Carlyle the basics. Fortunately for the inspector, the vehicle was an automatic. Once it was switched on, all he really had to worry about was the
accelerator and the brake.

‘Take him to A and E at UCH,’ Dominic said, once the tutorial was over. Slipping out of the passenger seat, he pointed at a small box on the dashboard. ‘Use the
SatNav.’

‘What?’

‘For fuck’s sake.’ Dom did a little dance on the tarmac, fists clenched, as if he was getting ready to clock the inspector. ‘Just follow the bloody signs for Central
London.’

‘Okay.’ Carlyle thought he could manage that. Probably.

‘Take it slow. Nothing above thirty miles an hour. Even at that pace, it shouldn’t take you much more than an hour. There’s no traffic at this time of night anyway. When you
get there, leave the keys in the ignition. Maybe someone will nick it. If not, it will get towed. It’s clean anyway.’

‘What about a licence?’ Carlyle asked.

‘If anybody stops you, just show them your Warrant Card.’ Dominic grinned widely. ‘Don’t worry, there are no coppers about this late – I should know. As long as you
don’t hit anything, or go so slow that you might be mistaken for a kerb crawler or a cruising car bomber, you’ll be fine.’

Carlyle looked doubtful.

‘Even if you get stopped, so what? You’re a hero,’ Dom went on. ‘Socially inept when it comes to motors, but a hero nonetheless. Just remember your story.’

Carlyle nodded obediently.

‘It was an anonymous tip. You picked the car up half a mile down the road. Don’t bring anyone back here, at least for a while.’ Slamming the passenger door shut, Dom stuck his
hand through the open window and they shook.

‘Thanks,’ said Carlyle.

‘No problem,’ said Dominic, eyeing the inspector carefully. ‘Do we have a deal?’

‘Yes,’ Carlyle said, ‘we have a deal.’ Taking his foot off the brake, he pressed tentatively on the accelerator. The engine squealed and they moved slowly forward.
Looking in the rear-view mirror, he saw Dominic head back towards the warehouse and out of sight.

In the back, the boy was still sleeping peacefully. Carlyle’s heart rose and sank at the same time. They were heading for home, wherever that might be.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

T
his is the second Carlyle novel. After publishing the first (
London Calling
), I started paying more attention to Acknowledgements pages in other books. Having looked
through more than a few now, I have to conclude that I am getting a lot more help than other writers. Either that or they are being rather parsimonious with their thanks.

For my part, I have to say a sincere ‘thank you’ to many people. They include: Polly James, Paul Ridley, Michael Doggart, Luke Speed, Andrea von Schilling, Celso F. Lopez and Peter
Lavery. Thanks as well go to crime fiction guru Richard Jacques and everyone at Brunswick, and to Mary Dubberly and all the staff at Waterstone’s in Covent Garden.

Particular mention has to go to Chris McVeigh and Beth McFarland, digital media experts at 451 for all their help in promoting John Carlyle online. And, of course, nothing would have come of any
of this without the efforts of Krystyna Green, Rob Nichols, Martin Palmer, Eryl Humphrey Jones, Emily Burns and all of the team at Constable.

Above all, however, I thank Catherine and Cate who continue to put up with all of this book stuff when I should have been doing other things. This book, and all the others, is for them.

ALSO BY JAMES CRAIG

London Calling

Buckingham Palace Blues

The Circus

Then We Die

The Enemy Within

What Dies Inside

The Hand of God

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JAMES CRAIG
has worked in London as a journalist and consultant for almost thirty years. He lives in Covent Garden with his family.

www.james-craig.co.uk

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www.AuthorTracker.com
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COPYRIGHT

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book was previously published under the title
Never Apologise, Never Explain
, by Constable & Robinson in 2012.

TIME OF DEATH
. Copyright © 2012 by James Craig. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition OCTOBER 2014 ISBN: 9780062365316

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062365323

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