She stood her ground, but uncertainty showed in her eyes.
‘It was all a waste too,’ Haddock told her. ‘We don’t have a search warrant, and we’re not even drugs squad officers. We had no idea that your Patrick was the street dealer till we saw that door.’
‘I dunno, Sauce,’ the DI chipped in. ‘That wee bike downstairs was a clue. Nobody around here would steal your kid’s toy, Vicky, would they?’
‘Well, what do yis want?’ she asked. In the background a child yelled, ‘Mammy!’
‘We told you,’ Haddock replied. ‘We need to talk to Patrick. It’s about your Auntie Bella.’
‘What about Auntie Bella?’
‘Do you not read the papers, or listen to the news?’
‘I don’t care about that. It’s just the same old, same old, every day.’
‘Not this time; this time, you’re right in the middle of it. Your Auntie Bella’s dead. Somebody stabbed her to death in her kitchen then put her body in the river.’
The young woman’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘Does ma granny ken?’
‘Not from us,’ the DI said. ‘Now are you going to let us in, or do we have to suspect that you and wee Susan are in imminent danger and act accordingly?’
She sighed, nodded, and unfastened the chain. The unoiled hinges squealed in protest as the heavy door swung open. The two men stepped into a carpeted hall. Haddock moved from room to room, five in all, opening cupboards and wardrobes, checking that Victoria Riley had told them true and that her partner was out. As he rejoined them in the hall he pocketed the extendible baton that he had been carrying, just in case. His left hand held something else: a jewel box.
He showed it to Pye. ‘This was on a shelf in the fitted wardrobe in the kid’s room. Susan says she wants her pottie,’ he added, for the mother’s benefit, but she ignored him. She was transfixed by the box.
‘Go and see to your child, Vicky,’ the DI instructed. To his slight surprise, she obeyed him.
‘No way these are hers,’ Haddock declared, opening his find and displaying the contents, half a dozen rings, inlaid with diamonds, sapphires and one emerald, several pairs of earrings, a string of pearls and other neckwear, including a gold heart-shaped pendant, on a chain. ‘Our Vicky’s a bling baby. This is an older woman’s jewellery. And look at this.’
He took the pendant from the case, holding it up with only one finger, letting it swing round so that Pye could see the reverse side, and an inscription that read, ‘Happy Birthday, Bella, from Tony’.
‘Indeed,’ the DI murmured. ‘We really do need to have a serious word with the boy Patrick.’
The two detectives walked into the living room, where Vicky was in the act of handing her toddler a handful of Smarties. ‘It’s a reward,’ she explained. ‘She gets them every time she does it where she’s meant to.’
‘Smartie-pants, eh,’ Pye said to the child, then showed her mother the jewel box, angling it so that she could see its contents. ‘How did you come by this?’
She peered at it, and then up at him. ‘It’s no’ mine,’ she insisted. ‘Ah’ve never seen that before.’
‘No? It was in your spare room.’
‘Well, Ah never put it there. What are yis trying to say?’
‘We believe this was your Auntie Bella’s. If you’re telling us the truth, and we accept that, it means that your Patrick took it. That begs a question. Did he kill her to get it, Vicky?’
‘Patrick never took it,’ she protested. The child was alarmed by her raised voice; she started to whimper. Haddock picked the Smartie box from the gateleg table on which it stood and gave it to her. She sniffed and beamed up at him.
‘Are you certain about that?’ he asked her, quietly.
‘Aye, absolutely.’
‘And you didn’t take it?’
‘Absolutely not!’
‘So your story is that someone broke in here, got through your double-locked steel door and planted it, to incriminate you and Patrick in your Auntie Bella’s murder. Is that it?’
‘They must have. I never saw it before.’
‘No,’ Pye said. ‘We don’t buy that. Victoria Riley, we’re arresting you on suspicion of the murder. .’
He got no further. As he spoke he was interrupted by the squeal of metal upon metal coming from the hall.
‘Vicky!’ a rough voice boomed. ‘What the fuck have I told you about no’ lockin’ the fuckin’ door?’
‘Patrick!’ she called out in warning just as he stepped into view. ‘It’s the polis!’
For Pye and Haddock, time seemed to stretch; seconds became minutes as Booth stared at them, then reached behind his back. The DS went to his pocket, but his hand snagged in the lining. The detectives were helpless, exposed, as the newcomer brandished an automatic pistol, pointing it first at the sergeant then at the DI, wildly, with panic in his eyes. ‘Freeze,’ he yelled, theatrically.
Pye raised his hands, protectively, palms out. ‘Easy,’ he exclaimed, just as Haddock freed his baton, extending it as he dropped into a crouch and dived towards the gun, aiming a blow at the man’s wrist as he swung it back towards him.
Booth fired, wildly, a fraction of one elongated second before the steel rod lashed across his hand and sent the pistol flying. The sergeant raised the weapon and made to strike again, but a Timberland boot caught him square in the genitalia before the blow was halfway there.
As Haddock folded, Pye went for the gun, but by the time he had recovered it, Patrick Booth was gone. He headed after him, turning into the hall just in time to see the massive door slam shut and hear it locked from the outside.
‘Bastard!’ he shouted, his heart pounding, thunderously. ‘Vicky, we need a key, now!’ he yelled as he turned. . then stopped in his tracks.
Haddock was on his knees. His face was beetroot and twisted with pain, as he forced himself to his feet, but Pye’s gaze passed him by. Behind him, the young mother lay stretched out on the floor, her left foot twitching slightly. The wall behind her was blood-spattered. Her daughter sat at her feet, her little face, stained with chocolate and something else, smiling up at the detective inspector.
‘Come here, darling,’ he said, gently, and lifted the child from the floor, letting her sit on the crook of his arm. ‘You all right, Sauce?’ he asked over his shoulder as he carried her through a door on his right and into the flat’s narrow kitchen.
‘I’m better than Vicky,’ the DS hissed, through clenched teeth, ‘but only just.’
‘Check her out and then come in here.’
Haddock edged painfully across to where the young woman lay. Her foot had stopped twitching; she stared up at the ceiling with eyes that he knew would never see anything again. The shock of her last moment was written on her face, and a trail of blood came from a round red hole, right on her hairline. In a futile gesture, he placed two fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse he knew that he would not find.
‘She’s gone,’ he called to his colleague. He glanced around the room, and saw a key on the table. He picked it up, then joined Pye in the kitchen. He took his mobile from his pocket and held it up, one eyebrow raised in a question.
The DI nodded. ‘Mary,’ he said.
As a matter of routine, all detective officers of sergeant rank and above had the head of CID’s number among their contacts. He found it and pressed, ‘Call’.
‘Chambers. What is it, Sauce?’
‘DI Pye and I are at fifty-three Beeswaxbank Road. We came here to interview a man named Patrick Booth about the Bella Watson inquiry. We now have another homicide on our hands.’
‘Are you collecting them?’ the DCS asked, drily.
‘I’m just glad I can still call it in, ma’am,’ he said, then started to shudder as the closeness of his escape came home to him for the first time.
Pye read the signs, snapped his fingers and held out his hand for the mobile. ‘This is Sammy, boss,’ he snapped as he put it to his ear. ‘The man Booth surprised us. He tried to shoot Haddock, but hit and killed his girlfriend instead. Then he legged it, locking us in here in the process. I’m assuming he had a car outside so we’re going to need to get his number and put the word out as quick as we can. This all happened only a couple of minutes ago.’