KATE STARED AT Detective Inspector Roscoe in disbelief. ‘Vanished?’ she echoed, her voice shaking with emotion. ‘He can’t have just vanished.’
Roscoe made a face. ‘Seems like he scarpered out the back door as we come in the front,’ he growled. ‘Bastard could be anywhere by now.’
‘Not with his wound he won’t be – what about the blood trail?’
Roscoe shrugged. ‘Pitch black out there,’ he said, ‘and bloody moon’s deserted us. Dog van’s en route, but it’s likely to be another half-hour before it arrives.’
He scowled, thrusting his head forward aggressively. ‘What the hell happened here, Kate? We get a radio alert from Roz Callow and when we turn up, what do we find?’ He tapped the fingers of one hand with the index finger of the other. ‘A pool of blood in the flat upstairs, what looks like some sort of explosive and a load of detonators and timers in a bedroom cupboard, a flaming knife lying in the hallway – plus the DCI sparko on a stretcher and Hayden Lewis lying on the floor with a busted nose.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And you claim it’s all down to some psycho undertaker now on his toes somewhere after being stabbed by Alf Cross’s missus – who, incidentally, also seems to have gone AWOL.’ He shook his head. ‘Sounds like some soddin’ off-the-wall TV who-dunnit to me.’
Kate shivered in the draught from the open front door. ‘A who-dunnit that happens to be real,’ she said, her tone pure ice. ‘Maybe you should ask Pauline Cross for her take on it – if you can find her.’
Roscoe lit a cigarette and drew in the smoke so deeply that he ended up in a heavy coughing fit. ‘Lads going round to her place as we speak,’ he wheezed. ‘Not that I expect them to find her at home if what you say is true.’
Kate watched as two ambulance men wheeled DCI Callow on a stretcher to the front door. ‘You could always have a chat with Roz in the meantime,’ she said drily. ‘I’m sure she would be only too happy to “help you with your inquiries”.’
He grunted, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘Tried to,’ he said, following her gaze, ‘but she’s away with the fairies right now. From what you’ve already told me, though, you can bet your life the guv’nor will be on her case the moment she gets back from cyber space – and I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes then for anything.’
He studied her critically, pulling on his cigarette. ‘You OK?’ he observed. ‘You look like a corpse.’
She gave him a thin humourless smile and thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat. ‘Well, thanks,’ she replied, ‘I very nearly was.’ Turning her back on him, she walked over to a wheelchair being pushed after the stretcher by an ambulance woman. Lewis looked up at her, his face an even worse mess now than it had been, with mauve patches under both eyes in addition to his bloodied nose. He forced a smile when she touched his hand. ‘You should see the other chap,’ he said, reading her thoughts. ‘He’s a right mess.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘I’ll come to the hospital just as soon as I’ve finished here,’ she replied. ‘Don’t try chatting up any of those nurses while my back’s turned, will you?’
He chuckled. ‘Might be difficult fighting ’em off,’ he replied and waved weakly as the ambulance woman wheeled him out through the front door, ‘especially with my good looks.’
Then it was Roscoe at her elbow again. ‘Guv’nor’s on his way,’ he said, nodding at the radio in his hand. ‘He’ll need to be fully briefed on this.’
She turned to study him sourly. ‘You mean he finally wants to hear what I have to say?’ she queried and, turning up the collar of her coat, she headed for the half-open back door. ‘Well, he knows where to find me, doesn’t he?’
Roscoe gaped, then abruptly recovered and went after her. ‘You can’t just leave,’ he exclaimed, holding the door shut.
She wheeled to face him. ‘And why not?’ she retorted. ‘After all, I’m officially on holiday, aren’t I?’
Hauling the door open and pushing him aside in the process, she drew back her shoulders and marched briskly out into the yard. The rear gates were now wide open and a couple of uniforms gave her an appraising glance as she stepped past them into the lamp-lit street. She smiled grimly. Nothing changed, did it? Still less the one-track mind of the average male – copper or not. But she didn’t care. She was still alive – alive and finally exonerated – which was all that mattered. It was time to look forward to a new beginning. OK, so Wadman was still at large, but, with his wound, he would probably turn up dead in a ditch in a couple of days. As for Pauline Cross and Roz Callow, they were matters for the inquiry team to sort out and were not her concern anymore. She smiled, feeling good about things for the first time since the murder inquiry had begun. It was all over at last, justice had been served in respect of Andy Seldon and Alf Cross and she was free to think about herself for a change. Maybe she and Hayden would get together after all and, with her career back on track for the first time in days, her future was starting to look promising again.
The Jaguar’s sleek body gleamed with frost and she had to exert some pressure on the driver’s door before it swung open with a loud ‘crack’. She didn’t notice the dark smears on the windscreen or the small card trapped under the right-hand wiper blade until she had slipped behind the wheel. Then, frowning, she climbed back out again and pulled the card free.
At first she thought someone had left her a snotty note because she had parked the Jag in their space, but when she studied the card in the light of her torch, she felt a cold clammy hand descend on her shoulder.
The front of the card was just like any other printed business card, but there the similarity ended, for it was neatly inscribed with the name and address of ‘Wadman & Son, Funeral Directors’ and, turning it over, she saw that there was a handwritten message scrawled on the back. ‘Sorry I missed you, Kate,’ it said. ‘See you soon … Twister’.