43
Caffery broke all the rules and took alcohol into the unit meeting that evening. He got a can of Coke from on top of the filing cabinet, drank half of it, then uncapped a bottle of Bell ’s and filled the can to the top. The Bell ’s was there because, compared to a good malt, Glenmorangie maybe, he hated the taste. The idea was to stop himself necking the whole bottle. Sometimes the trick worked, sometimes it didn’t.
Every force he’d ever known called the daily meeting with a senior investigating officer ‘prayers’. Some SIOs held prayers once a day to collate what the team had done the previous day. Some held it twice: morning and afternoon prayers. Some held it whenever the wind changed direction. Like Powers. He was a nightmare.
Today’s prayers was mostly about Kitson’s phone records and how well Powers had come across on TV at the press conference. Caffery stood against the wall, drinking the whisky and Coke and thinking not about Kitson but about Susan Hopkins. Susan Hopkins and Lucy Mahoney, he’d worked out, probably hadn’t known each other. There was no mention of Mahoney in Hopkins ’s address book or paperwork and vice versa. Nor had Hopkins’s family and friends heard the name, though the boyfriend from the rigs thought ‘Lucy Mahoney’ sounded like a porn star, if Caffery wanted the honest truth. And yet there was a link between the women. Somewhere, something connected them, he was sure of it. Which left a nasty truth, a truth that felt like a dark and limitless hole opening in the air close to his face: not Amos Chipeta, but someone else. Someone cold and slick, who could disguise a killing as suicide. Who had reasons for wanting to pull the skin off a dog.
‘Quiet in there, weren’t you?’ After the meeting Powers caught up with Caffery in the corridor. ‘Not seen you so quiet before.’
Caffery stopped at the door of his office. He was still holding the Coke can. He didn’t try to hide it, not with what he knew Powers kept in his filing cabinet. ‘There wasn’t much to say.’
‘You weren’t in the office this morning. Like I hoped you’d be.’
‘I was. Early. I divvied up the actions like I said I would. Then I went for lunch.’
Powers looked at him thoughtfully, then at the Coke can. ‘Jack, let me tell you how it is. I drink on duty. That’s just what I do. As long as the job gets done, and one of the traffic guys at Almondsbury doesn’t net me going the wrong way down the M4, it doesn’t make a difference. In twenty years no one has said a thing about it.’ He raised his eyes. ‘And do you know why?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I do my job and I don’t get in people’s faces. I don’t get in people’s faces and I toe the line so they don’t find ways to hurt me. But if I did, if I was the sort of person who made people angry, who didn’t pull with the team…’ he paused ‘… I’d be shit on toast. No time at all, it’d take them. Shit on toast.’
Caffery gave him a long look. He pushed open the door to his office and went inside. Put the can down, sat, unbuttoned his jacket and arranged it loosely around his torso. He beckoned to Powers. As if he was inviting a body blow. ‘Go on, then. Give me it if you have to.’
Powers eyed him carefully, then, with reluctance, came in. He closed the door behind him and sat down. ‘I heard you were out for lunch in Clifton.’
‘News travels.’
‘Turnbull’s very faithful.’
‘That’s nice. And there was I thinking he and I had something special going on.’
‘And then I heard you went to a post-mortem.’
‘Yes.’
Powers put a mild, puzzled look on his face. ‘You see, Jack, I’m having problems figuring out what a senior MCIU detective was doing at a routine PM when he’s supposed to be working on the Kitson case with the rest of us. District brought it in as a suicide.’
‘But the pathologist didn’t agree. She thinks it’s a murder. And I think it’s connected to the other “suicide” I told you about. Lucy Mahoney. I want to bring them both into the unit as linked murders.’
‘You what?’
‘They’re linked. Lucy Mahoney wasn’t a suicide at all, and here the pathologist is starting to agree with me. I want to bring them both in, and the first thing I want is for you to authorize a warrant. I need to open Mahoney’s bank records.’
Powers sighed and ran a hand over his scalp. He didn’t look happy, not happy at all. But he took the time to master himself, did the calming breathing technique again. He got his composure and when he spoke his voice was softer. ‘It’s almost a week into the Kitson case now. Nothing came out of the reconstruction, morale’s at tipping point out there.’ He nodded in the direction of the briefing room. ‘I can just smell it on them. And you, Jack, you mean something to them. They look at you. They might not admit it but they all know what you did in London – you’re poster-boy material to them. One of our CID trainers has got a whole power-point presentation of your Brixton paedophile case. Did you know that?’
‘Great,’ he muttered. ‘Great.’
‘But just because you worked some high-profile cases doesn’t mean you do whatever the hell you want. You go off on that Norway wild-goose chase, giving me the old maverick line, but the moment that gets dropped you’re off chasing another hare. So something, something, is stopping you pulling with us on the Kitson case. Come on – look me in the eye. Tell me what it is.’
Caffery did what he was asked. Looked him in the eye. He concentrated on not blinking, and said the first thing that came into his head. ‘It’s because I can’t be seen working on it publicly.’
‘What?’ Powers’s eyes narrowed. He searched Caffery’s face. ‘Are you saying you’ve got a snout?’
‘Yes.’ It was a lie. But it might get Powers off his back for a day or two. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’
‘You’ve been here five minutes and already you’ve got a snout? On something like this? No. You’re sticking one on me here, aren’t you, Jack? You’re taking the piss.’
‘Look, there’s a whole stack of dealers connected with the clinic. There always is with any of these rehab places. Some local yob gagging to cater to the needs of the inmates. For Farleigh Hall they come from Bath and Trowbridge.’
‘Kitson was going to meet a dealer?’
‘That conversation with the boyfriend? What did you think when she said she wanted “time to think”?’
‘That she wanted time to think?’
‘You don’t think it sounded like whitewash? He said, “Where are you going?” and she said, “I’m just going to wander around a bit.” Does that sound right? In the highest-heeled shoes known to man and – here Jimmy Choo would be impressed – she’s going to have a wander around? Visit the local cowpats? And how come she was so specific about when she’d be back?’
‘She wanted to be back for something? I don’t know. Dinner?’
‘Or she knew that what she had to do would only take that long.’
Powers gave a soft whistle. ‘I knew you were hiding something about this case. I knew you had something up your sleeve.’
‘It’s one thing having intel. It’s another making it stand up in court, as we all know. That’s why I’m waiting. I need another piece of the puzzle. Can’t be seen to push it.’
‘You’re as closed as an arsehole, Caffery. What’m I supposed to do with you?’
‘Let me bring in both these cases as a murder.’ He drained the Coke can, crumpled it and chucked it into the bin. ‘I need to let some time go by with Kitson, let it evolve naturally. Let me just ferret away for a bit on the Hopkins and Mahoney murders. I’ll keep the Kitson thing on the back burner, low level, and the moment I get anything on it, I’ll come back to you. What d’you think? Just give me some rope and let me work on it?’