I stare at him. Mind's gone blank. I'm just standing there thinking that I should probably tell him the truth, because it's pertinent to the investigation, but of course, I don't want to tell him because it's not my place to, it's Sergeant Harrison's place. Except she's not here.
'I can hear your brain working, Sergeant, I just can't hear what you're thinking, so perhaps you could verbalise?'
I feel empty all of a sudden. Brain shutting down, which is what it usually does when faced with a difficult verbal interaction. Has happened to me in court a couple of times, which is all kinds of awkward.
'Sergerant!' he barks, and I do believe I'm just about to come out with some shit about her coming down with some virulent flu strain that must have traveled from Asia, when I notice his eyes divert and the look on his face relax. I slowly turn, expecting to see Miller striding across the office. Instead we are greeted by the blessed sight of Sergeant Harrison, fit and healthy and ready to go.
She stands in the doorway.
'I'm sorry about the last two days, Chief Inspector,' she says. 'I was pretty sick… both ends, if you know what I mean. Tried to come in the first day, and barely got out the front door. Thought I'd be better to sleep it off.'
He nods, looks appreciative to receive a coherent answer.
'Thank you, Sergeant, glad you're feeling better. Speak to Morrow, and there'll be a briefing in about twenty minutes, you can catch up.'
'Thank you, Sir.'
She leaves, doesn't even look at me. I might not have been there. Well deserved.
'Notice how we spoke to each other,' he says to me, once she's gone. 'That was what we call a conversation in this place. Whatever you say, I still presume you shagged her, particularly the way she completely blanked you there.'
I open my mouth to protest, but really, what difference does it make? Turn to go.
'Take someone with you in case Jenkins is still feisty,' he shouts after me. 'Edwards or someone.'
Bloody marvellous. Got a feeling the guy's only got hammer blows for his missus and confident I could take the bastard if I had to. Can't find Edwards anyway, so I head off on my own.
Beginning to think that it might be a good idea to get another job.
*
Back up to the office some hours later. Everyone looking cheesed off. End of term blues, I presume. The domestic was one of those things I wanted to wrap up as quickly as possible, but it wouldn't allow. Had to drag the guy in, spend a couple of hours on it. Booked him. Left him choking quietly with rage in a cell. Find out what the missus wants to do about it. She'll probably want him released so she can kill him.
Morrow still at Herrod's desk, doing that detective constable thing. Checking through masses of paperwork with more enthusiasm than is warranted.
Slump down behind my desk, we acknowledge each other's existence. I'm confronted with a variety of paperwork that needs sorting out. Mounting ever further as the week goes on — none of it being of any concern to the primary investigation. Stare at it for a few seconds. Decide that's all the time I've got to give to it today.
'What have you got?' I ask him.
Answers without looking up.
'Looking through all the paperwork for cases on which Justin Edwards worked. Getting nowhere,' he adds.
'Edwards? Why Edwards?'
'Haven't you heard?' he says, raising his head.
'I've been in with the domestic for the last two hours,' I say. Hairs rise on the back of neck.
'Killed in a hit and run this morning on the way in. Died on his way to hospital.'
Fuck. Stare blankly ahead, don't know what to think. Edwards. Doesn't immediately strike me. Confused. Need more information. Gesture with my hands for him to keep talking. Where's the voice gone?
'Blue, 07 reg Astra. Stolen from outside a shop in Rutherglen late last night. Found abandoned on the Blantyre farm road. Don't know what the car was used for, if it was anything other than to kill Edwards. Might have been a hit, might have been an accident. I'm checking through this stuff, see if I can find anything, anyone that wanted him dead.'
His fiancee after she found out about him getting his kit off at the Christmas night out.
Stupid thought. Then, of course, I think about Crow.
Could it have been Crow? Killed Edwards for the same reason he killed Bathurst. But then, we know Healy killed Bathurst.
'Where's Taylor?' I ask.
'He and Bloonsbury have been in with Miller for about half an hour.'
'Jonah? When did he appear?'
'About an hour ago. Clean shaven, walking in a straight line, change of clothes.'
'Christ, where did that come from?' I ask and he shrugs. We stare at each other for another few seconds, then he goes back to his paperwork.
Got to think and have something sensible to say to Taylor when he emerges from the war council.
Three officers dead and an obvious connection leaps out. The Addison case. Only Bloonsbury and Crow are left. One of them could be the killer — Crow the big favourite; Bloonsbury has had trouble taking a piss the last week — or is there someone else who knows about the five of them and is taking them out one by one?
But it doesn't make sense. We know Healy killed Bathurst and Herrod. So where does he come into it all?
The door to Miller's office opens and out come Taylor and Bloonsbury. And Morrow was right. The guy looks human. Still got the indentations on his lips where the bottle has been attached for the past week, but at least he's not staggering. He veers off to his office, Taylor heads for me. Looks extremely pissed off.
'Lunch, Hutton?' he barks.
'Only half eleven.'
Stops and looks down at me.
'I'm going for some fucking lunch. Are you coming?'
Not one to refuse a warm invitation. Drop what I'm doing — which is nothing — and walk after him as he marches out the door.
39
Sitting in a strange little cafe in the middle of Hamilton. Food ordered, cups of tea in front of us. Taylor didn't open his mouth on the way over here; just drove too fast. Listened to Bob the whole way. When we started Sad Eyed Lady was playing, and it hadn't finished by the time we got here.
Both ordered chicken pie and chips; presume he's as pessimistic as I am about the possibilities of getting a good result on the food front.
'So how come Bloonsbury showed up?' I say eventually. Can't sit here all day holding each other's dicks, not talking about anything.
Taylor drinks his tea, staring at the floor. Thinking.
'Maybe the bastard is Jesus after all,' he says.
Gets a disapproving glance from the waitress who places our pie and chips in front of us.
'Risen from the grave,' he adds. 'That's what fucking Jesus does after all.'
Dig into the pie, delighted to find it's not too offensive. Chips are soggy though; not hot enough. A limp tomato hogs the side of the plate.
'So what's with the anger then?' I ask.
He grimaces as he tastes the chips.
'You hear about Edwards?' he says.
'Aye.'
'Think the same thing I did?'
'Crow.'
'Exactly,' he says. 'Fucking Crow.'
Crams his mouth full of chicken pie and sits chewing morosely. Washes it down eventually with some tea.
Waits until he's got more pie in his mouth before he starts up again.
'I decided I might as well raise the thing with Miller. So I said, 'Heard a rumour about the Addison case.' She looks at me funny. 'I heard that rumour too,' she says. 'Don't believe everything you hear.' So I says, 'Well how do you explain the murder of three of the officers involved inside five days?' 'Coincidence,' she says, 'it does happen.' You know the tone. I mention that Crow has vanished, and that we'd found a connection between him and Healy. She says she knows, which of course she does because you blundered into Montague's office like some sort of fucking cowboy.'