Blood Work

'My gorgeous husband is being a pain in the butt right now.'

'Why?'

'He wants this little one to be born back in his own country.'

'Russia?'

'Yup. Moscow, just where I want to be in the middle of winter.'

'Will you go?'

Caroline smiled, the brilliance of it lighting the room. 'I don't mind really. Quite looking forward to it. Never let him know though. You have to keep your man on his toes, don't you?'

Kate looked away. 'I guess.'

'I'm sorry, Kate.'

Kate put her hand on her arm. 'That's okay. Let's just get on with this.'

Caroline nodded sympathetically. 'We should really do this back at the station.'

'White City?'

'Yes.'

'You can't be serious?'

'Any evidence I collect here won't be admissible in court, you do know that?'

'I know, Caroline. But I can't go there. Not with this.'

'You wouldn't be the first.'

'I just want to know what happened. After that . . .' Kate shrugged. She had absolutely no idea what she would do if her fears were confirmed.

Dr Akunin opened up her medical bag, took out some plastic bags and a pair of latex gloves. She pulled the gloves on, snapping the latex tight to her fingers. 'You'd better get undressed then.'

PC Bob Wilkinson scowled as he looked down at the body that lay barely hidden in the undergrowth. He sighed, unclipped his police radio from its holster and he shared a look with his colleague, a young, black constable called Danny Vine. The boy was ashen, he looked down at what lay on the ground and then dashed off to the bushes to be violently sick.

'Foxtrot Alpha from thirty-two.'

His police radio crackled. 'Go ahead, Bob.'

Wilkinson looked over at his colleague who had stood up and was now wiping the blue serge of his uniformed arm across his mouth. He felt sorry for him, you never got used to it, though, even after nearly thirty years. 'We have an IC1 female. Somewhere in her twenties.' He paused. 'It's not an accidental death.'

Kate stood in the centre of the white cotton sheet that Caroline had spread on the floor. The doctor was on her knees in front of Kate with a comb in her hand. Kate looked away as she worked, carefully placing the combed hairs in a small, clear plastic bag.

'When was the last time you had consensual sex, Kate?'

Her memory flashed back to around three weeks ago. She had no trouble recalling that.

Jack Delaney.

'Tell me, Jack. Talk to me.' Low, breathless, husky.

'Dig your nails in. I want to taste blood.'

'Pleasure and pain, Detective Inspector. Very Catholic.'

Delaney laughed, looking into her eyes, at the mischief sparking within them. 'I want to remember the moment.'

And Kate dug her nails into his buttocks, pulling him deeper into her. 'Oh, you'll remember. I'll make sure of that.'

She remembered the savagery of their lovemaking. Remembered him on top of her, penetrating her almost painfully, his powerful arms clutching her tight to his muscular body like a life raft as he rode the waves of their passion. She remembered his soft eyes wet with emotion as he shuddered to a climax, taking her with him. She remembered the absolute nakedness of his emotions as he held on too long afterwards, kissing her salty shoulder and whispering her name like a prayer.

And she remembered the love she felt for him.

She looked over at the curtained window and felt tears running down her cheeks again.

Caroline Akunin looked up at her. Misunderstanding her tears. 'I'm sorry. I have to ask.'

'That's okay, Caroline. It was three weeks ago.'

Caroline nodded. 'I am going to take some swabs, is that okay?'

Kate nodded. Her body was already feeling like it was something apart from her once more. Distancing herself from her feelings, something she had learned at a young age. Something she had lived with for years until Delaney had made her feel connected with her body again. Now she felt violated and ashamed and wretched. But most of all, she felt angry.

A buzzing sound then a sharp ring. Kate looked across at her mobile phone that was vibrating on Jane Harrington's desk. 'You better pass that to me, Caroline. I told the office to call me only if it was really urgent.'

Delaney looked at the bloodshot eyes of Martin Quigley. Eyes that darted nervously back and forth. Eyes that squirmed under his scrutiny with pain and with fear. His right arm was suspended in a sling and covered with plaster. His fingers, that were visible, flexed nervously. His lower jaw was covered with wire and metal and held immobile. He grunted through the metal but quite clearly couldn't speak. He was a large man, somewhere in his forties. His nose had been broken many times in the past, and the home-made tattoos on his neck would quickly dispel any lingering suspicions that this man was employed in white-collar work.

Delaney didn't know the man, but he knew the type. Bruisers who communicated with their knuckles. Strong-arm men for cleverer criminals. A foot soldier, cannon fodder, a gorilla just like Kevin Norrell. He moved around the side of the bed, closer to him. 'You attacked Kevin Norrell, and I want to know why.' The man grunted again, an animal in pain. Delaney couldn't make out what he was saying.

Sally Cartwright took out a pad and a pen and held it out to Quigley's good hand. He flicked his broken-veined eyeballs to the left, where she stood, then back at Delaney and grunted again, but made no move to take the pen or notebook.

Delaney smiled at him. 'You taking what our American cousins would call the fifth, Quigley?'

Quigley glared at him with defiance in his eyes and didn't move.

Delaney glanced over at Sally. 'Give him the pen, Sally.'

Sally put the pen in his left hand but he made no move to hold it. Delaney reached over, put his own hand over Quigley's broken one and pulled it. Quigley grunted, loudly, his face red with pain and tears starting in his eyes. Delaney released his grip. 'He'll take the pen now.'

This time Quigley held the pen. Sally put her notebook under it so that he could write.

'Why'd you attack him, Quigley?'

Quigley wrote one word. The scrawl was nearly undecipherable but Sally could just make it out. 'He's written "Nonce", sir.'

Delaney looked at Quigley. 'You saying you attacked Norrell because he was a paedophile?'

Quigley grunted an affirmative.

'Who put you up to it?'

Quigley grunted again and wrote some more. Sally read it out again. 'He says no one.'

'Just doing your civic duty, were you?'

Quigley grunted again, trying to keep his head as still as possible. Sally looked over at her boss. 'Do you believe him?'

'I don't know.' Delaney smiled at her then tugged on Quigley's hand again. Quigley's breath hissed through the metal mask of his teeth and he gurgled in pain. Delaney let go of his hand. 'You telling me the truth, Martin?'

Quigley's eyes pleaded with Delaney, his gurgling incoherent but comprehensible as Delaney reached towards his plastered arm once more.

Quigley pleaded with his eyes as Delaney's mobile phone rang. He grabbed it out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open.

'Delaney.'

'Jack, it's Diane.'

'I'm at the South Hampstead, interviewing someone.'

'It'll have to wait. I heard about Norrell and I'm sorry, but something's come up.'

'What?'

'We've got a dead body in the woods, South Hampstead Common. A young female.'

'We know who she is?'

'Not a damn thing. Uniform are securing the site, but given the weather we want it processed as soon as possible. Paddington Green should be handling it but they've got some big anti-terrorist initiative tying up their manpower.'

'Lucky us.'

Delaney looked across at the rain-speckled window and through it at the grey clouds overhead. 'Give me the details.' Delaney listened for a moment or two then closed his phone. He put his mobile back in his pocket and gestured to Sally. 'We're out of here.'