As Valentine and McCormack walked through the door of the main incident room they were met with spontaneous applause. McCormack raised the blue folder containing the pictures over her head and smiled, but she promptly corrected herself when she noticed the DCI’s expression. For a moment, the group continued to applaud, a few banging on desktops and whistling to add to the air of jubilation. The entire room seemed overwhelmed, elated with the news that Sutherland was in custody and, given the new evidence, more of his associates would be joining him soon.
As the tumult died away, Valentine found himself the focus of every pair of eyes around him. He knew what they were expecting to see, but he would have to disappoint them. The uneasy tension setting up in his gut insisted there was only one way to break the spell: directly.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘now, let’s not get carried away.’ He flagged his palms at the group.
‘Come on, boss, you’ve got a result,’ said one of the cocky uniforms.
‘No, we’re far from over the line, actually.’ His voice had grown hoarse; he didn’t like delivering bad news to such a motivated group.
DI Davis pressed to the front of the gathering. ‘What happened in the interview with Sutherland?’
‘He’s playing coy.’
‘But we’ve got his mug on film!’
‘That’s not a confession to any crime, Ian. And it’s certainly not a confession to how Abbie McGarvie came to be cold on the tarmac outside his estate.’
A palpable fatigue settled into the room; it were as if the earlier enthusiasm had been siphoned off through the valve of a deflating balloon. Valentine waved the group back to their positions and they returned to stare disconsolately at computer screens. Only DI Davis resisted the call, leaning over a desk and shaking his head – he looked close to bawling.
‘Ian, join myself and DI McCormack in my office, when you’re ready.’ The officers traipsed through the unusually silent incident room towards the office. Inside the door, Valentine headed straight to his desk, where he noticed a number of post-it notes had been stuck in his absence.
‘Are you redecorating with those?’ said McCormack.
‘One, two . . . there’s five messages all from Kevin Rickards,’ he said.
‘The cop?’
‘Ex-cop.’
‘What does he want?’
‘I’ve no idea, apart from that I’m to call him back.’
‘You should do that, it might be important.’
Valentine dialled the number but before the call connected he spotted the chief super stomping towards him, eyes ablaze, through the incident room. He put down the receiver and nodded in her direction. ‘What’s up with her?’
McCormack turned and commented, ‘She’s like a scalded cat.’
‘I know that look and you’re not far off.’
DI Davis was outside the door, reaching a hand towards the handle. He jerked backwards as CS Martin entered.
‘Bob, my office right away.’
‘Can I get a clue what it’s about?’
‘No you bloody cannot. Get moving, now.’ She directed a painted thumbnail over her shoulder then turned on her stiletto heels and marched back the way she had just came. Outside the swinging door, Davis was open-mouthed. He followed the super’s definitive movements, and the bobbing heads that accompanied them, and then he turned back to the office and puffed out his cheeks.
‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ said McCormack.
‘Me too,’ said Valentine, turning towards her and noticing she was staring out the window, and appeared to be talking about something else entirely. He walked over to the window. ‘What is it?’
‘Somehow, I don’t think they’re selling double glazing.’ The DI was pointing to a group of men, four in total, dressed in dark suits, who were exiting a black saloon at the front of the station.
‘What the hell?’
‘My thoughts entirely.’
Valentine dashed back to his desk and picked up the phone, he pressed the speed-dial button for the front desk. Jim Prentice answered on the third ring.
‘Jim, what’s the story with the new arrivals?’ said the DCI.
‘Oh, you mean the Men in Black?’
‘Stop messing around.’
The desk sergeant’s voice grew weary. ‘That’s another group just in, there were some more earlier.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Nobody’s told me, which can only mean one thing: I’m not on the ‘‘need to know’’ list.’
Valentine sighed. ‘I get the impression I’m about to be gelded.’
‘That sounds painful, old son.’
‘You don’t know the half of it.’
DI McCormack and DI Davis had gathered around the desk; they stood pensively before Valentine as he drummed his fingers on the top of the telephone.
‘Well?’
‘It looks like Special Branch.’
Davis lashed out at the desk with his foot. ‘No! I’m not letting them do this to me again.’
‘Calm down, Ian.’
‘Bollocks to that.’ He kicked out again, this time a wooden panel split in the desk.
‘Ian!’
DI Davis stood squarely, gripping fists, and then lurched violently for the exit. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door, smacking it off the wall and dislodging the Venetian blinds, which slid into a heap on the floor. In the incident room he snatched up his jacket so roughly that the chair trailed him a few steps, before falling and being abandoned in the middle of the floor.
McCormack and Valentine stared in disbelief, the scene picking up an open-mouthed audience.
‘God, he’s flipped,’ said McCormack.
‘You’re not kidding.’
‘Should I go after him?’
‘And do what? Tell him there’ll be other cases. I don’t think that’s going to fly with Ian.’
‘But we should do something, he’s clearly gone off the deep end.’
The DCI felt too much of his own anger swelling inside him to deal with Davis at this moment. He rubbed the base of his skull and tried to ease out the growing tension there – it wasn’t working. He was close to an explosion all of his own.
‘Ian’s a big boy, he’ll have to figure this out for himself,’ he said.
Valentine made for the door, leaving McCormack alone in the office. By the mid-point of the incident room he already had the feeling of being dragged away from the investigation by undercurrents beyond his control. He saw Abbie McGarvie’s face in his mind, her cold eyes staring right into him again. There was nothing that he could do, and he wanted to tell her so. He felt the vision of the girl again, pressuring him to fight for her, to help.
‘Please, there’s no one else,’ she was calling to him.
He tried to look away but the cold eyes followed.
He scrunched up his own eyes and took a deep breath, but she was still there. Would she never stop? Would she now be trapped on the Bridge of Souls like Hugh Crosbie had said?
Valentine forced his way through the door and marched down the corridor towards the chief super’s office. He was burning up, part anger and part tension swelling inside him – a fight or flight scenario he couldn’t avoid if he wanted to.
He stood beyond the door, trying to find some calm anywhere inside him, and failing. His legs were thick and heavy, the muscles of his calves tensing and constricting. He brushed his shirtfronts with the flat of his hand and straightened his cuffs, but these acts didn’t alter his appearance any more than his mood.
He turned away from the door, took two steps, then spun round and walked straight in.
‘You wanted to see me?’ he said.
‘Sit.’ She pointed to the chair in front of her desk. CS Martin was hunched over her blotter, her shoulders so tense her head seemed ready to snap off. She pinched her mouth into a tight knot, then spoke in a reedy whine. ‘Where have you been today?’
‘Are you asking for a timetable of my movements?’
‘I think you know what I’m referring to.’ She drew in her cheeks, her stare intensified. ‘And to whom.’
‘This is about Sutherland, right?’
‘David Sutherland, you picked him up.’
‘Yes. I had good reason, and evidence.’
‘I don’t give a shit if you had a signed statement from Queen Elizabeth II herself to back up your actions – you took him in without my bloody say-so!’
Valentine felt the hostility rising at him in rays. ‘It’s my investigation.’
Martin wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and spoke slowly and firmly. ‘Not any more.’
‘What are you saying?’
She turned away and crossed her legs behind the desk. ‘Cast your mind back to a conversation we had a few days ago, when a young girl had been found splattered on the road. What did I say to you then, Bob?’
‘You gave me the authority to re-investigate the Abbie McGarvie case that had already been thrown out by the courts.’
‘No!’ She pointed her finger, a red fingernail jabbing the air. ‘I said you have my authority to investigate the original case only if you found a connection to Abbie McGarvie’s death.’
‘I believe I have sufficient evidence to justify that.’
‘But what else did I say?’
‘Look, I can’t remember every detail of every conversation I’ve ever had, it is nearly a week ago.’
‘Well, you should have been paying closer attention.’
‘Is this leading anywhere?’
‘It certainly is, now. Let me repeat for you again. I told you to investigate quietly, very quietly, and that I didn’t want anyone outside the station to get wind of your activities, even if you found anything. Now not only do I have it on good authority that you have been liaising with a disgraced former police officer but you’ve dropped the hammer on David Sutherland.’
Valentine saw where this was leading; there was no point in defending his actions now because the decision had already been made. ‘So, Kevin Rickards is to be smeared now too. It’s not enough he was thrown off the force for getting too close to the corridors of power.’
‘Leave it, Bob.’
‘That’s what this is about, isn’t it?’
‘I said, let it go. You’re off the investigation and the case will be taken up by a specialist unit who have been monitoring the situation for quite some time. I’d like you to prepare a full handover, including all your evidence and case notes.’
‘It’s a joke, right?’
‘Do I look like I’m laughing?’
It was Valentine’s turn to point the finger. ‘You’ve thrown me under the bus. And what about Sutherland?’
‘He’ll be released.’
‘What? I have him on film assaulting a child.’
‘He’s already out the door. And another word, Bob, and you will be too. I don’t think you fancy paying off that big holiday on half-pay, so I’d shut up and march, now.’
Valentine jumped to his feet, the blood racing in his veins. ‘That girl, that poor bloody girl.’
‘Empty the incident room and disband the squad.’
‘Who speaks for Abbie McGarvie now?’
‘I’m warning you, Bob.’
‘I have an officer in the hospital. He was shot, for what? To throw all our work out and let a pack of dark-suited nonces carry on regardless.’
‘Right, that’s it. Turn in your warrant card. I’m suspending you, effective immediately.’
‘You can do what you bloody well like,’ he raged, marching for the door.