Now it was up to him to provide the rest of the copy. With an incident like this you hoped for a witness and prayed that Forensics came up with something useful, however small. The problem was, forensic laboratories all over the world were stretched beyond endurance. The backlog of items to be examined and analysed was now so great that a simple blood or DNA sample took several weeks to come back. If it was urgent it seemed longer. Even then the most you could usually hope for was another person eliminated from your list of suspects.
Austin reappeared by his side with a scrap of paper filled with his swirly handwriting. ‘Good news and not so good news. Uniform went to Colin Keale’s place. According to the upstairs neighbour he’s on holiday in Marmaris. That’s in Turkey.’
‘Yeah, I know where it is. We need it confirmed and we need to know when he left.’
‘He left yesterday, apparently, so that’s him out.’
‘Is it hell. The bomb could have been sitting there for days. I want to know exactly when and where he left the country and when he’s coming back. Do we know that?’
‘Not yet, someone’s checking it out for me.’
‘What else?’
‘The woman who got hurt, an Elizabeth Howe, remains unconscious though they’re not sure why. No fractured skull as they first thought but she has damage to both eardrums, hence the bleeding, and probably won’t be listening to any questions for a bit even if she does wake up. The boy, a Joel Kerswill, had a metal splinter removed from his right eye. They managed to save his eyesight. They’re keeping him in for observation too but we might get a couple of minutes with him.’
McLusky glanced at his watch. The afternoon had drained away. ‘All right, we’ll have a chat with him then.’
‘There’s sandwiches now, by the way, if you want. You’ll have to hurry, though, they’re like animals in there.’
‘No, that’s fine, I don’t eat triangular food.’ Everyone seemed to define themselves by what they didn’t eat these days, no dairy, no wheat, no carbs, no meat, so why should he feel left out?
‘I see. A geometrical diet.’
‘Indeed. I prefer a square meal.’
Austin groaned. A constable approached them. ‘DI McLusky?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Sign this, please.’ He handed over a limp form, A4, folded in half.
‘Got a pen? What am I signing?’
‘I haven’t, sir. It’s your transport.’ He dangled a set of keys.
‘Oh good. Got a pen, Austin?’
‘I have. It’s in your inside pocket.’
‘Genius.’ McLusky signed and returned the pen to his jacket and the form to the constable. ‘What is it, anyway?’
‘VW. There’s also a message from the superintendent.’
‘Well, what is it?’
The constable looked doubtful. ‘He told me to say “space hopper”, sir.’
‘Right, thank you, constable. Oh, hang on, where’s it parked?’
‘Right at the end there, behind the Forensics unit. It’s a white one.’
‘Things are looking up, Austin.’ He jangled the keys. ‘Sod sandwiches, lead me to the nearest fish and chip shop. No, lead me to the best fish and chip shop in the city. Afterwards we’ll visit Joel Kerswill in hospital.’
The street was crowded. Every parked car had to be examined, every owner found and interviewed. Just as the last of the fire engines departed, leaving behind the senior fire officer and one fire investigator, two new cars arrived. The first to park was the superintendent’s large grey Ford. Not bothering to find a parking space at all was the driver of the dark BMW3 series that had followed him here. He stopped in the middle of the road and left it there. Driver and passenger debarked. Sharp suits and cropped hair. Both put on identical grey overcoats. Special Branch or MI5. No matter who they were, McLusky could practically feel himself become invisible. Denkhaus led them straight over. Before the superintendent could make introductions the younger of the two men stretched out his hand. McLusky shook it.
‘My name is Kelper, I’ll be taking over. You can go now.’ He nodded at both of them, then turned his back.
Denkhaus led the new arrivals away, gesturing expansively at the command unit. ‘This way. Allow me.’
McLusky offered Austin one of his cigarettes and lit one for himself. ‘And there we have it, a bloodless coup. Well, it was lonely at the top anyway. Let’s go, Jane.’
‘That was damn quick.’ Austin consulted his watch. ‘Especially if they drove up from London.’
‘Oh, I have a feeling Kelper doesn’t waste time on motorways. I’m sure he took a plane and had the Beemer waiting for him. Tonight he’ll dine with the super and by this time tomorrow he’ll be eating rectangular food on the plane home, having effectively put the investigation back a whole … Fuck me, our super’s got a sense of humour.’ They had arrived behind the Forensics van where the constable had hidden McLusky’s new transport. It was a little dirty-white car that had been in the police force a lot longer than he had. An appreciative member of the public had scratched PIGS in large angular letters across the bonnet. The scratches were old and had had ample time to rust.
‘Looks like you really hit it off with the super then, doesn’t it? I like the livery, by the way. But what’s it supposed to be?’
McLusky gave the roof a friendly pat and tried to look proud. ‘This baby is a 1981 VW Polo. 40 bhp. It does nought to sixty.’ The car was unlocked. The doors opened stiffly with ominous metallic yawns.
Austin sniffed doubtfully at the musty interior. It smelled like it had been stored in a cave since the mid-eighties. ‘We could drive to the station and pick up my car.’
‘Nonsense, man, it’s not that bad.’ He turned the ignition key and listened to the nasal parp of the exhaust as the engine rattled and shook itself awake.
‘On second thoughts, this could be a wind-up … did you see them drive it or did it get here on the back of a flatbed truck?’
Fish and chips from Pellegrino’s. They ate sitting in the car. The heater didn’t work but right now McLusky was quite happy just to sit out of the rain in the vinegary fug rising from their paper parcels. A traffic warden knocked on the steamed-up window. McLusky cranked it down. It took some effort.
She shook her head at them. ‘Sorry to disrupt your meal but you can’t stop here, gentlemen.’
McLusky fished with greasy fingers for his ID and held it aloft for the woman to inspect. ‘We’re under cover, please move along.’
The warden shrugged, then took a last glance at the graffiti’d bonnet before moving on. ‘Of course you are.’
McLusky stuck his head out and called after her. ‘You blew our cover!’
While following Austin’s directions to the Royal Infirmary he wondered how soon he would be able to drive there in his sleep. Every CID officer in every city could sleepwalk to A amp;E and the mortuary, it was part of the job. He cruised around for a parking space. How could the National Health Service have a funding crisis? The parking fees alone should take care of it. He squeezed the little Polo on to the end of a row reserved for staff and abandoned it, two wheels buried in spiky shrubbery. ‘Sorry about that. Get out my side.’
‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’ Austin levered himself across the gear stick and out the driver’s side.
‘Yeah, right, if it gets towed away I’ll cry.’
‘Not that, I mean if whatsisname, Kelper, is in charge shouldn’t we await orders from on high?’
‘Bollocks to that. You don’t think they’ll actually do any investigating, do you? They’ll throw their weight around for a few hours and get waited on hand and foot. When they’re satisfied that Al Qaeda hasn’t taken to blowing up park benches in an effort to undermine British morale they’ll disappear again. No, we’ll carry on as normal. Let’s ask at reception here.’
He hated hospitals. Never mind the smell, never mind the lousy food or MRSA superbugs; never mind his unhappy memories of the weeks spent mending after two suspects had reversed over him. It was more than that: McLusky hated hospitals because he felt depression oozing from the very fabric of the buildings. He knew that the cloying, stifling mood would hang around in his clothes and hair like a miasma of hopelessness for hours afterwards. He simply couldn’t believe that good things ever happened here. Post mortems he avoided for the same reason. He’d yet to learn anything at a post mortem he couldn’t read in a report at his desk or ask over the phone without having to try and shake off the reek of death afterwards. Someone had to attend of course but who said it had to be him? Once a dead body had been removed from the crime scene he was happy to leave it to the scientists and grave diggers.