Blood Work

'He's not going to do anything to me.'

'How can you be so sure?'

'I just know.' Delaney drew deep on his cigarette. 'Sally, I need you to drive me.'

Kate sneered. 'Are you mad? You're not going anywhere.'

'I have to.'

'For God's sake, Sally, talk some sense into him.'

'Where do you want to go?' Sally asked.

'I'll tell you in the car.'

Kate stepped between them. 'No, if anybody is driving you it will be me.'

Delaney looked across at Sally, then shrugged with a little smile and kissed Kate full on the lips, who was too startled to back away. 'No, I've got another job for you to do.'

'What?'

'There's a man in intensive care. I saw him on my way out and recognised him. He was shot on Hampstead Heath last night. Near where we found the first victim.'

'I thought the latest theory was it was a Jack the Ripper copycat, killing prostitutes.'

'Maybe we were supposed to think that. He was shot in the same area with a tranquilliser rifle. I don't believe in coincidences, Kate. Check it out, find out if it's the same tranquillising drug.'

'What does it mean if it is?'

Delaney ground his cigarette under his heel. 'I have absolutely no idea.'

He turned to Sally. 'Come on, Constable, you can drive.'

Sally shrugged helplessly at Kate and followed him to the car.

*

George Napier hung up the telephone. He was far from pleased. Serious crimes had just released Ashley Bradley on police bail. On top of that Kevin Norrell had escaped from the police guard at the South Hampstead Hospital. And if that wasn't enough, Delaney had gone walkabout too. Napier opened the bottom drawer of his desk cabinet and pulled out a bottle of milk of magnesia. He had just taken a healthy swig, when Diane Campbell walked into the room. Why couldn't she keep a damn leash on her Irish bloody inspector? he'd like to know. Was it too much to ask?

Diane read his expression and nodded, at the bottle. 'Ulcer?

Napier grimaced. 'Indigestion.'

'It's going to get a lot worse.'

'What are you talking about?'

Diane picked up the TV remote control from Napier's desk, pointed it at the large television in the corner of the room and turned it on. Melanie Jones's picture-perfect face filled the screen.

'Sky News is now exclusively able to reveal a gruesome new development in the murders of two sex workers. One was found on Hampstead Heath three days ago and the second found murdered in a flat in Camden Town. Sky News understands that horrific details concerning the murders lead police to believe they are dealing with a Jack the Ripper copycat killer. Sky News has been given exclusive access to scene-of-the-crime photographs and forensic details that show that there is no coincidence. In a further development, the suspect the police were holding in connection with these killings has now been released.'

Diane Campbell pushed the mute button cutting off the sound as the television now flashed up pictures of the two dead women.

'How the hell did they get hold of this, Diane?'

'The killer told them, sir.'

'Why?'

'Clearly he didn't think he was getting the recognition he deserved.'

'Get that reporter in here. And where the fuck is Delaney?'

It wasn't the first time Chief Inspector Diane Campbell had heard that question, but it was the first time she had ever heard George Napier swear.

Sally pulled the car to a stop outside a betting shop on the Kilburn High Road. It was called Right Bet and was either in danger of going bust or the owners felt it didn't do to advertise wealth.

Delaney struggled to get the seat belt out of its socket and Sally leaned across. 'Let me.'

She pushed the button and his seat belt snapped back. Delaney rubbed his sore shoulder. 'It would be a lot easier if I didn't wear the fricking thing in the first place. I'm in enough pain as it is, you know.'

Sally smiled at him. 'Clunk click, every trip.'

'Just wait here.' Delaney opened the car door.

'You sure you don't want me with you?'

'Quite sure.'

Delaney got out of the car and walked to the shop, kicking aside an empty tin of Special Brew as he entered. It was a small shop. No customers. Sheets of paper posted around the room with the various horse and dog race meets covered on them. In the corner was a small television showing dogs running at Brough Park in Newcastle. Behind the counter was a large, bored-looking, bald man in his forties with a barrel of a beer belly and, in defiance of the regulations, a lit fag dangling from his lips. He looked up from his copy of Sunday Sport.

'Help you?'

'Is Liam in?'

'And who wants him?'

Delaney looked over his shoulder at the empty shop behind him then back at the man again. 'That would be me.' The large man opened his mouth to say something but Delaney didn't have the energy for it. 'Just tell him it's Jack Delaney.'

The man grunted and disappeared through the door to his left.

Delaney looked up at the television screen. A brindled greyhound carrying the number seven won the race. Delaney's lucky number.

'Jack Delaney, you Irish motherfucker!'

Delaney turned round to see his cousin grinning at him. He may have been smaller than Delaney at age seven, now he was four inches taller and good few stones heavier. And all of it muscle. He threw open the hatch and grappled Delaney in a bear hug.

'Oi. Watch my fecking shoulders.'

'Sorry, big man.' Liam released him and gestured. 'Come on back. I'll pull the ring on a cup of tea.'

Delaney followed him through the counter and back into a medium-sized office. A desk, an armchair, a fridge, some filing cabinets. The dusty window at the back showed a yard with a skip, a shopping trolley and a couple of cars. One of them a brand new jag. Liam was doing okay for himself, Delaney reckoned, but then he already knew that.

Liam opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of tins of lager. Foster's, thankfully, not Special Brew, and handed one to his cousin.

Delaney awkwardly pulled the tab and took a couple of grateful swallows. He hadn't realised how thirsty he was.

'So, what can I do for you, big man?'

'I need a piece, Liam.'

'I see.' His cousin nodded seriously and gestured at his bandaged shoulder. 'This got anything to do with the fancy dress outfit?'

'Yup. I want to repay the compliment.'

'I'd advise you make a better job of it if you do.'

'Count on that.'

Liam smiled, not doubting it. 'And what makes you think your law-abiding cousin would have access to unlicensed and unauthorised firearms?'

'Just get me a piece, Liam.'

Liam considered for a moment and then stood up. 'Anything for you, Jack. You know that.'

He stood up and moved the fridge to one side, pulled up a loose floorboard, rummaged beneath and pulled out a cloth-wrapped package, which he handed to Delaney.

'Ammunition in there. You want to tell me what you need it for?'

'Nope.'

'You want any help with it?'

Delaney held up the bundle. 'Just this.'

Liam laughed. 'What are you going to do, stick it down your trousers? Jesus, man, you'll be back in casualty with your cock shot off, and what'll I tell your daughter then? Hang on. I'll get you a holster.'

Delaney nodded gratefully. His cousin had a point.

Kate Walker tapped on Diane Campbell's office, walked in and shut the door behind her. She wasn't surprised to see the superintendent standing by the open window smoking a cigarette. Jack Delaney and Diane Campbell could support a tobacco plantation between them.

'Hi, Kate.'

'Diane.'

'Want to tell me where Jack Delaney is?'

'Believe me, if I knew I'd be more than happy to tell you.'

'Why do we put up with him?'

'God's punishment for a previous life.'

'Now I do believe you have spent too much time with him.' She tossed her cigarette out of the window and walked across the room as Kate opened her shoulder bag. 'What have you got for me?'