“And where exactly are all this lot going to go to get out of our way?” Ferris rolled his eyes and flapped a hand towards the line of brake lights visible head. “It’s not like the movies son.”
Jacobson huffed out a breath. “I know that but—”
“When you’ve been on the job as long as I have you’ll know that half these supposed emergency calls are hoaxes anyway. Relax. Cop a load of that little darling in the scarlet mini-dress. I wouldn’t mind doing a stop and search on her.”
“If half the calls are hoaxes that still means half of them are genuine,” Jacobson said stubbornly through his teeth.
“All right, all right. No need to get your knickers in a twist.” Ferris grinned. “If it makes you feel any better . . .” He hit the lights and the siren.
The car in front lurched forwards and to the side maybe two feet before it came to a stop unable to go any further.
“See?” Ferris said. “Now we’ve just pissed everybody off. They think you just want to get back to the station for your tea break.” Which, he thought, was not a bad idea.
In the passenger seat Jacobson fumed silently.
28
The realisation of her own innocence brought Kelly far closer to weeping than the fear of her own guilt.
She fought not to let it out, not to break down and let the shakes take her. Because if she had not killed Tyrone in a rabid attack then somebody else had.
And that somebody had left the murder weapon in her hand.
It did not take a genius to work out that whoever had set this up so carefully to mirror her earlier crime would hardly then leave it to chance for her to be caught.
I don’t have much time.
Kelly pressed the back of her clenched fist to her forehead willing clarity of thought but her mind still seemed to be functioning with a wretched slowness. Otherwise, why did it take her so long to come to another obvious conclusion?
They gave me something to knock me out—to make me forget.
Her defence counsel had insisted on a tox screen last time but it had been carried out with obvious reluctance after a long delay and the testing had been stingily brief. That it came back negative for any illegal substances which might have explained her actions came as no surprise to anyone. By that time not even to Kelly herself.
This time she swore there would be no such delays. Carefully she let go of the wall and tried an unaided step. Then another, and another.
Her legs still did not feel as though they entirely belonged to her but it was getting better.
And if it’s getting better that means whatever’s in your system is disappearing fast.
She turned. Their cleanup kit was still lying where they must have dropped it when they were attacked. She made it across and opened the handles. Inside was a roll of clear plastic ziplock bags which they used for collecting biological debris. Would it be strong enough?
Kelly shrugged. It was all she had. But when she searched through the kit she couldn’t find any kind of a blade. Then she caught sight of the bloodied knife still lying where she’d put it down and made an instant decision.
She picked up the knife and took a sterile wipe out of the kit. It grieved her to do this but she had no choice. With great care and attention to detail she cleaned every scrap of Tyrone’s blood and tissue from the blade.
Then she gripped the handle firmly in her right hand, opened up one of the bags and drew the tip of the knife sharply across the exposed skin of her left forearm before she lost her nerve.
For a moment there was only a thin red line then the blood began to swell out. It ran around her arm and dripped into the bag she quickly held below it. The wound burned and stung but she flexed her fingers to maintain the flow. It felt disturbingly hot against her skin.
By this clumsy and highly unscientific method she managed to fill a corner of the bag with her own blood. More than enough, she thought fiercely, to test for Rohypnol or something similar.
What makes you think they’ll go that far? After last time do you think they’ll bother wasting resources on lab work to tell them what they think they know already?
No, she realised. They won’t.
Kelly had never thought of herself as squeamish—it wasn’t a luxury she’d ever allowed. But even she could not suppress a small shudder when she unpeeled a fresh bag from the roll and forced the clotting wound open for a second time.
29
It took constables Ferris and Jacobson thirty-four minutes to arrive at the location. It was an unpromising-looking warehouse building obviously in the midst of renovation into offices. The only commercial vehicle parked at that end of the estate was a big van belonging to some cleaning company.
Still, they’d had the additional information on the way over that there had been a death at the same place only the day before. That one was all done and dusted and the scene handed back to the building owner.
“This’ll be just another wino most likely,” Ferris said with a dismissive sniff as they pulled up outside. Jacobson, he noticed with a sneer, screwed his peaked cap firmly into place as soon as he stepped out of the car.
You’ll learn.
Despite his casual comments Ferris kept one hand on the baton at his belt as he entered the building. The crunch of his boots on the gritty surface was much too loud.
“Police officers,” Jacobson shouted behind him, a slightly squeaky note in his voice betraying his apprehension. “Show yourself!”
“Oh yeah ’cause that works every time.” Ferris abandoned the quiet approach and stumped up the concrete stairs. On the first floor landing was a fire door. Ferris kicked it open and peered through without immediately going in. It swung shut again on a self-closing mechanism.
Nobody launched any kind of attack but what Ferris saw in that brief closing snapshot made him hesitate before trying the door a second time.
This was no hoax.
“Call for backup,” he told Jacobson in an urgent whisper. “Do it now!”
Behind him he heard the youngster fumbling through the radio message.
Not so bloody keen now are you mate?
Ferris didn’t want to go in there either but at least he’d never pretended any different. He drew the baton, flicked it down and away so it locked out fully extended, then nudged the door open again.
Despite his hopes for an optical illusion the slashed corpse was still lying where he’d glimpsed it. He tore his eyes away and gave the rest of the open space a thorough scan just to be sure they weren’t about to get jumped themselves. Apart from a couple of pigeons scuttering up around the rafters like grubby flying rats the place was deserted.