‘It’s a pleasure, Justin. You two both deserve it. Maybe we should be doing a team night out as a regular thing?’
Holder looked aghast. Khosa frowned. ‘Us three?’
‘Yes. You know, for a meal or a pub thing.’
‘Uhh, you turned into a zombie after an hour of the bowls night for the super’s birthday, ma’am. It was scary. I don’t think you spoke for like, twenty minutes.’
‘Didn’t I?’ Anna knew she had. ‘My battery gets drained.’
‘You don’t need to do that for us, ma’am,’ Khosa said. ‘That’s for needy bosses, not you.’
Anna thought about protesting, but then simply nodded. Her team knew her well. Perhaps too well. She was about to ask Khosa to elaborate on why she thought knowing the family was important when Holder sat up suddenly.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said, looking beyond Anna and Khosa to the bar entrance.
‘What?’ Khosa said.
Holder’s mouth opened and shut wordlessly before he raised a hand half-heartedly in greeting.
Anna turned to see Dave Woakes standing there, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, drink in hand. ‘Evening.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Anna asked.
‘Having a drink. Like you. Supposed to meet up with a couple of the lads after they finish work.’
‘What lads?’
‘Not here yet. Mind if I join you?’
Anna did, but Woakes was already pulling up a chair.
‘How did you know we’d be here?’ Anna asked.
‘I didn’t. Like I said, I’m meeting up with some lads.’ He turned to Holder. ‘So, Justin, any news on Morton?’
Khosa must have seen Anna’s expression because she turned her eyes down towards her drink in a way that suggested she would happily dive into it.
‘Erm… no… not yet.’
‘You were unlucky there, mate. Still, he’s not on Mars, is he?’ Woakes let out a chortle.
Anna stared. The man was unbelievable. Brazen was not the word. He must have known Rainsford had spoken to her. Even so, this was pushing his luck. Acting like nothing had happened. A flush bloomed on her neck. She wanted to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, but this was neither the time nor the place.
He’s still on the payroll. Find something for him to do.
‘Nice spot,’ said Woakes. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘Late finish,’ Anna said. She wasn’t going to let Woakes back in. He’d lost her trust.
Woakes nodded, unfazed. Khosa and Holder stared into their drinks.
‘Didn’t peg you for a pub-goer,’ Woakes said, leaning back and fixing Anna, his smile as genuine as a cardboard sword.
‘Special occasions only,’ Anna said. She got up. There was half an inch of wine left in her glass and she downed it in one swallow.
Khosa watched and followed suit, Holder taking up the rear, but leaving what was left of his beer in his glass.
‘Another drink?’ Woakes said. ‘My shout.’
‘We’re all driving, Dave,’ Anna said. ‘Things to do.’
‘Yeah, thanks but no thanks, sarge,’ Holder added.
Khosa merely shrugged.
Anna stood. ‘See you all tomorrow.’
The atmosphere felt strained if not hostile. Woakes stayed seated as the rest of the team all left. He was still sitting there, watching them as they turned the corner form the beer garden to the car park. No one said anything and Anna respected both her DCs for that.
They said their goodbyes and Anna left in her own car, Khosa and Holder sharing a lift. There was no easy way back into town; it was either one stop down the motorway or in along the gorge and across the suspension bridge. But something was bothering Anna and she knew she’d have no peace until she scratched the itch.
She got back to HQ ten minutes later and went up to the office, mulling over Khosa’s assessment of the victims. Something in what she said was pulling at her, but despite looking again at the files, it wouldn’t gel. After half an hour, she sat back, frustrated and still nursing a dull anger. Seeing Woakes turn up in the pub disturbed her. Confirmed her feelings that he was not the full shilling. Yes, perhaps he was good at his job, though that was open to debate having seen his approach first-hand, but it didn’t say anything about his personality.
She went back to her office and mentally replayed her suggestion of an early supper. All she’d done was walked out and said it. Spontaneously. She hadn’t emailed or sent messages. Little more than a throwaway remark. She stood in the same position now in her doorway, looking out at the desks, at where Woakes should have been sitting.
She stared, her intuition guiding her towards his desk, the first stirrings of disquiet roiling in her gut. The surface was littered with papers, his computer screen stuck with Post-it notes along the top rim. Telephone numbers, names, to-do lists. She scanned them and found nothing until her eye was caught by a yellow note stuck to the middle of the top edge of his screen. Something about it looked different. The top edge, the one coated with adhesive, was torn, a small section roughly removed. Within that section a green light shone at the centre of the black glass exposed by the tear in the note. She removed the paper and sighed. There, at the top of the screen, a small, green LED light glowed. A mixture of incredulity and anger at her own naivety triggered a mirthless laugh.
He’d been watching them. All this time he’d been absent, Woakes had been watching them. There’d be some software running, a FaceTime or a Skype equivalent, something which allowed him access. That was how he knew about them leaving together. And if she confronted him, he’d plead ignorance, she was sure.
Must have left it on without knowing, ma’am.
Yes, of course, easy mistake.
She grabbed a cardboard folder, emptied its contents and laid its open leaves over the top of the screen, blanking out the camera, fighting the urge she had to throw the screen across the room. More than that, she wished Woakes was there now in front of her. Her mind had already come up with ten different ways of telling him how much of a waste of bloody space he was. Most of them involved words only four letters long.
The guy is a bloody lunatic.
But she knew her anger was merely a smokescreen for the hot embarrassment that was burning her face. Woakes had outsmarted her and that, more than anything else he’d done, irked her immensely.
He was playing games. Watching her, seeing the investigation stall and go nowhere. What else was he laughing at? His conviction that Hawley was somehow involved niggled like a hangnail. Though by now convinced of his innocence, she still felt that Hawley somehow held the key to her understanding.
On impulse, she rang him.
‘Inspector, what can I do for you?’
‘Dr Hawley, Ben, I need a favour. Are you free tomorrow morning?’
Thirty-Two
Anna’s dreams were bad.
A darkened room in a ruined house. A cupboard. Empty except for a pinpoint of light far at the back. A voice, further away than was possible in the confines of that space, called to her, rising and falling.
‘Help me, Anna. Help me.’
A second light, blinking, remained silent. And further away, like faded stars, she saw others, barely visible, pulsing weakly.
But she couldn’t reach into the cupboard. Something, a web, invisible but strong, prevented her from getting so much as a hand across, towards the voice. Above she heard the fluttering of wings. There, a crow sat, settling itself on the edge of a jagged tile that bordered a rent in the building’s roof. Its dark, intelligent eyes watched her as it tilted its head from side to side. Only now she noted the ladder and started to climb, up towards the bird and the blue sky above where the clouds crossed at impossible, rampant speeds.
She heard a voice then. Her father’s, but not his, not quite his, calling to her, and she glimpsed the shadow of someone moving beyond the bird.
‘Come up here, Anna. Come and see what’s out here.’