Let the Dead Speak (Maeve Kerrigan #7)

It was time to improve the odds.

The rules on the street were simple and I’d learned them the first time I stepped out in uniform: never lose face. Never show weakness. Never back down once you’ve fronted up. And never look as if you don’t know what to do.

‘Assault on a police officer. This just got a lot more serious,’ I said, strolling up to the garden gate. I had jammed my hands in my pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. ‘Ever heard of joint enterprise, boys? When one of you does something, it’s the same as if you all did it. So if this lad dies, you’re all up for murder. And if one of you hits a police officer, you’re all in the dock.’

‘Look, help me get him into the car,’ Norris said to his friends. ‘I need to know what he knows.’

‘You mean you didn’t get him to talk before you beat him to a pulp?’ I clicked my tongue. ‘Schoolboy error, Mr Norris. Always get what you want before you do the damage.’

‘Kerrigan,’ Derwent said, his voice tight, because it was all right for him to risk injury and worse but he didn’t like it when I did the same. I moved my hand, drawing it out of my pocket so he could see the car key fob in my palm.

I cocked my head. ‘Do you hear that? Sirens. Back-up for us.’ I looked around at them. ‘Where’s your back-up, boys?’

Norris’s heavies glanced at one another, an unspoken message passing between them. This is more trouble than it’s worth.

‘Don’t listen to her,’ Norris said, his voice edged with desperation. ‘You have to help me.’

The younger one moved then, vaulting over the garden wall and setting off down the street at a pace that was a bit too fast. He pulled his hood up as he went. I let him go. We’d catch up with him another time.

Anyway, I was more interested in getting out of this in one piece.

Turner groaned. Derwent reached down and hauled him to his feet, drawing one of Turner’s arms around his shoulders. Upright, he looked much, much worse, his head lolling, his nose swollen, his mouth a bloody blur. I pressed the button that unlocked my car. It was parked ten feet from the garden gate and I had to hope Derwent had noticed where it was parked or, at the very least, might have seen the lights flash when I unlocked it.

It played out as smoothly as if we’d discussed it beforehand, planned it out and practised it. Derwent shouldered his way past me to manhandle Turner into the passenger seat of my car. It would be easier to deal with Norris when he was gone, I thought.

But in the meantime, Derwent had left me to face him down alone.

No problem.

‘What are you doing?’ Norris demanded. He stepped up, crowding me, his face in mine. ‘You can’t take him away.’

‘I can’t leave him here. He’s not safe.’

‘You’re damn right he’s not.’

The big older man had lost patience. He jostled Norris out of his way and took hold of my shoulders. I twisted out of his grasp.

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do, miss.’

‘When we run you through the box, what are we going to find? Outstanding warrants? Or are you out on licence? Either way, I hope you’ve got a bag packed.’

‘Kerrigan.’ Derwent, behind me. I backed away from them, going around the car, making for the driver’s seat. Priority one: rescue Turner. Priority two: get every officer to safety. Priority three, in very small print at the bottom of the list: arrest the men. Someone would get around to it sometime.

I looked for Georgia and saw her cringing on the pavement on the other side of the road, holding on to her radio like a talisman, her face paper-white. There was no time to get her into the car too. I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, listening to the wheeze and rattle of Turner’s breath, hoping it was his injuries and not another asthma attack. Eye contact with Derwent and a meaningful look in Georgia’s direction; I saw him start towards her before I began to reverse, cursing the narrow street and Norris’s Volvo blocking the roadway. Something hit the roof of the car with a bang that had me ducking: Norris himself hammering his fist on the metal, his face contorted with rage. I locked the doors in the nick of time and Norris tugged at the handle as if he was going to break it off. The big man was moving to block my way out; it was now or never.

I spun the wheel, careless now, and accelerated away. I checked the rear-view for the other two, seeing the men running after me as Derwent guided Georgia to the other car. I tore out of Valerian Road on to the main road and saw the blue lights closing fast, carving through the traffic. How long had it been since we summoned them? It felt like forever.

‘What …’ Turner shifted in his seat, bleary-eyed. ‘What’s happening?’ He sounded slurred but coherent.

‘I’m taking you to hospital.’

‘My face …’ He put his hand up and I caught it.

‘Don’t touch it.’

He groaned. ‘Fuck, it hurts.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ I turned down a side road and another, trying to remember the maps I’d studied of the local area.

‘Where are we?’ He peered out of the window. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Hospital,’ I said again. He was definitely concussed. ‘You need a doctor.’

He gave a bubbling sniff and stared at me out of his one working eye. The other one had swollen shut already. ‘Is it bad?’

‘They’ll patch you up.’ He had a fractured eye socket, I guessed. His nose was definitely broken. They had targeted his face deliberately. I could imagine Oliver Norris taking pleasure in it, destroying the looks of the man who’d intrigued his daughter. ‘But you need to get it looked at now.’

‘I need to talk to you first.’ His breathing was still laboured.

‘Do you have your inhaler?’

‘Yes. No.’ He patted his pockets and found it. ‘But I don’t need it now.’

‘Just in case.’

‘Yes.’ He put his hand up to his face again, his fingers trembling, and I took hold of it gently but firmly.

‘Trust me, you don’t need to touch your face. It’ll only make things worse.’

‘Can I see what they did?’

‘I don’t recommend it.’ I put his hand down on his knee. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘Chloe. I should have told you before.’ He winced. ‘Can you stop the car for a minute?’

I should have said no, really; he needed to be treated and anything he said to me could be challenged in court. This was far from an official interview. What was more important: the legal side, or finding out where the girls had gone? Toss a coin … I cut down a narrow alley and stopped. It was a dead end, not overlooked, no houses.

‘Where are they, William? Where are Chloe and Bethany?’

‘I don’t know.’

I felt the disappointment in my gut. ‘Oh. I’d hoped—’

‘No, I told you. I don’t know. That’s what I said to the men back there – to Norris and the others. I haven’t heard from them since they disappeared and it’s driving me crazy.’ He clenched his fists. ‘If anyone harms her, I’ll kill them.’

He was probably too weak to punch his way through a wet tissue at that moment, but I didn’t doubt him.

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