The Retribution (20 page)

There wasn’t much coverage of Leanne Considine’s murder, mostly because as far as the media was concerned she was still identity unknown. Once they discovered who she was and that she had a secret double life, there would be a feeding frenzy. Her housemates would be under siege till they cracked and revealed – or invented – her lurid life. If they had any sense, they’d screw enough money out of the media to pay their university fees.

The downside of Carol’s refusal to have her own protection was that he was stuck in Bradfield until Vance was either behind bars or deemed not to be a risk. If he went down to the house he’d fallen in love with in Worcester, his protection would come with him. Which would mean leaving Carol exposed and vulnerable here at night. And that was definitely thinking the unthinkable.

The other great unthinkable was what was going to happen between him and Carol. For years, they’d danced a strange quadrille, drawing closer, then being driven apart by events and their own histories. They were like those bar magnets kids used in experiments at school; one moment, the attraction was irresistible, then you switched poles and the force between them made it impossible for them to get close. In the few months since her acceptance of his offer of a home in the house he’d inherited, they’d typically managed to avoid any real discussion of what that might mean beyond the fact. The only thing that was clear was that she would have her own space – a bedroom, a bathroom and a room that would double as a sitting room and home office. Whether this change in geographical circumstance would mean a different kind of change was something neither of them seemed able to broach.

Meanwhile, the best he could do for Carol was to work behind the scenes to help her team ensure that their last hurrah ended in glory. But before he got stuck into that, he needed to find out what was happening in the hunt for Vance.

He didn’t want to put Ambrose in an awkward spot with his boss, so rather than call him, he sent a text. Tony felt quite proud of himself as he hit the ‘send’ button. When it came to passing for human, he knew he still had plenty to learn. But maybe he was finally picking up a few pointers in the tact-and-diplomacy department.

He’d barely begun to download the files Stacey had left in the Cloud for him when Ambrose called back. ‘Hiya, mate,’ Ambrose said in his low rumble. No names; he was always careful not to compromise himself.

‘Thanks for getting back to me.’ That was one he’d learned by heart; apparently, unless you were a teenage boy, you didn’t just grunt when somebody returned a call. ‘Any news on Vance?’

‘I suppose it was too much to hope for.’

‘I’m only just beginning to realise what a clever bastard he is. I never paid much attention to the case at the time, I had too much going on in my own neck of the woods. Have you got any tips?’

‘He’s not on your patch any more. I’d put money on it. Whatever his plans are, I’m pretty sure they don’t involve hanging around Oakworth. And he will have plans,’ Tony said heavily.

‘Obviously. You don’t go to those lengths to get out and not be sorted on the outside. Does the name Terry Gates mean anything to you, by the way?’

‘Oh shit,’ Tony groaned. ‘Sometimes I am too stupid to live.’ Even as he spoke, he hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be a prediction.

A humourless laugh came down the phone. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘Fuck. Ambrose, I’m sorry. I should have remembered Terry Gates.’ As he spoke, Tony could see Gates in his mind’s eye. Arms with cables of muscle under the skin, big brown eyes like a trusting animal, an open face that broke into a grin whenever he looked at Vance. Tony recalled watching Gates work his market stall. He knew when to be technical with the blokes, when to jolly the women along to buy tools they’d never known they needed. He was shrewd with the public and yet he was completely blind where Vance was concerned. ‘Why are you asking?’

Tony closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his hand. ‘Terry had a twin sister, Phyllis, who developed terminal cancer. Back in the day, Vance used to do these hospital visits. It was supposedly his big charity work. At the time, people bought the line that he was giving comfort to the sick. The real reason was a lot creepier. He liked watching the dying. It was as if he fed off the notion that they had no control over anything any more. But like most of the relatives of the patients Vance sat with, Terry never believed there was anything sinister going on. He saw Vance as an angel of mercy who had eased his sister’s passing.’ He straightened up, the flow of his story energising him.

‘He was so locked into that conviction, it was impossible for him to believe Vance was guilty of the crimes he stood accused of. One of the murder charges hinged on a tool-mark. Vance had a bench-mounted vice in his secret hideaway that had a very distinctive defect on one face. And the prosecution had an arm preserved from a murder victim fourteen years before – it had the matching tool-mark in the bone. The obvious inference, taken with all the other circumstantial evidence, was that Vance was the killer. And then along came Terry Gates, who went into the witness box and swore he had sold the vice second-hand to Vance less than five years before. That whoever had owned that vice previously was the killer, not Vance. That undermined the case against Vance on that earlier murder, which made proving he was a serial killer almost impossible, given how little evidence we had.’

‘So Gates actually perjured himself for Vance?’

‘He must have really loved his sister.’

‘Too much, I suspect. And after she died, Vance became a kind of surrogate. If he didn’t keep Vance safe, he was letting his sister down.’

Ambrose made a dark, grumbling sound. ‘I don’t get that. The guy’s a serial killer and you perjure yourself to keep him out of jail because he was nice to your sister? People make my head hurt, doc.’

‘Mine too, Alvin.’ He knocked back his espresso in one, blinking and shuddering as the caffeine hit. ‘So Gates still thinks he owes Vance.’

‘Looks like it.’

‘You need to get a warrant for Gates’s house and go through everything. If he’s been Vance’s eyes and ears and hands and legs on the outside, there must be a trail. Vance is smart, but Gates isn’t. He’ll have left tracks. Vance will have told him to destroy everything, but he won’t have. That’s the only place you’ll find a clue.’

‘Sounds like a plan. Thanks,’ Ambrose said. ‘You don’t think Gates will turn up?’

All of his professional instincts told Tony with absolute certainty that Terry Gates would never walk through his front door again. ‘Gates is dead, Alvin. Or as good as. He knows too much.’

‘But why would Vance turn on him when Gates has always been the one on his side?’ Ambrose’s voice was reasonable, not critical.

‘Have you got a team on you?’

Tony glanced out of the window again. ‘There’s a surveillance van outside the house. I’m not planning on going anywhere complicated today. If I go out at all, it will be to Bradfield Moor, which is a bloody sight more secure than Oakworth turned out to be.’ Right at the back, he found an old packet of cinnamon-flavoured Lifesavers. He hadn’t been across the Atlantic for at least two years, but he didn’t think boiled sweets could go off. One-handed, he ripped the packet open and popped one in his mouth. The outside had gone a bit soft, but the heart of the sweet was hard, resistant to his teeth. Tony crunched down on it, letting sugar and spice fill his mouth, making him feel inexplicably calmer.

‘Are you eating something?’ Ambrose said.

‘Will you keep me posted?’

‘I’ll do what I can. Look after yourself.’

The line went dead and Tony stared at a list of files on his screen, taking nothing in. How could he not have taken Terry Gates into account? The oversight shook his faith in himself, making him wonder what else he might have missed. Had he let his concern for Carol interfere with the process of analysis that he so depended on? Without that clarity, he was no use to an investigation. No, scratch that. Without that clarity, he was a liability.

She looked out into the squad room, where Kevin and Paula were on the phone. There was no sign of Sam, so she scribbled a note. ‘My office when you’re done.’ She left it in front of Kevin, who gave her a look of pained resignation. He was in her visitor’s chair inside two minutes.

‘Thanks,’ Kevin said cautiously.

‘I’ve seen Sam’s report. You seem strangely absent.’

Kevin crossed his legs, propping his left ankle on his right knee. He drummed his fingers on his left knee. He was as relaxed as an exam candidate. ‘It was Sam’s show. The manager tried to blag us into believing Leanne never worked there. When we were leaving, Sam spotted Leanne’s bike. So he went back to confront the manager.’

‘Where were you?’ Still keeping it light, not quite sure what she was looking for.

‘I was in the car.’

‘What? You couldn’t be bothered following up?’

Kevin pursed his lips. His fingers stopped dancing and clutched his knee. ‘That’s not actually how it went.’

‘So how did it go?’

‘Does it matter? Sam got what we needed. It doesn’t bother me that he followed his nose and came up trumps.’ He shifted in his chair, trying for nonchalant and missing spectacularly.

Carol sized him up. Now she had a clearer idea of what had gone on. Sam had left Kevin in the lurch and chased his own gut instinct. Stupid behaviour at any time, but especially when there was a killer on the loose. ‘You know you should always work in pairs when you’re dealing with people who understand the power of screaming “foul” at every opportunity. Sam left himself exposed, and you shouldn’t have let that happen.’ By Carol’s standards, it was the mildest of reprimands, but it was enough to make Kevin’s milky skin flush dark red.

‘I understand,’ Kevin said, his expression mutinous. ‘I didn’t realise he was going to conduct the interview there and then.’

Carol shook her head, a wry smile on her face. ‘And how long have you been working with Sam?’

Kevin stood up. ‘I take your point.’