drive in, they came down out of the woods.’
I turned to Emrys. ‘How many were there?’
‘Don’t know yet. We caught this one trying the handle on the surveillance vehicle.’
‘She was a scout,’ Morgan added his wisdom, ‘the rest have scattered. We’re going to have to go into the woods after them.’
‘They’re city kids, they won’t know how to handle it in there, they’ll all be terrified of the dark,’ Emrys raised his voice reassuringly as some of the faces around him began to look distinctly unenthusiastic.
I saw her for the first time then, close to the camper van, hemmed in by a couple of big cops, her back to me, hooded top up. A plan formed. A route out of this debacle.
‘Why don’t I take this one back to Dinas, Sir? Out of your way.’ I shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry about the coat. I’m a bit too bright for a chase. But I can free your hands up.’
He thought about it. ‘Okay,’ he agreed reluctantly, ‘but I want you back here after.’
‘Of course, Sir.’ I moved away from him and towards Jessie.
Only now I knew that I wasn’t going to make it back, and I was about to lead her on her death march.
It took two more days before Jack Galbraith turned up at the hospital. My relief was mixed. On the one hand his presence meant that I was probably in the clear. He wouldn’t have risked the taint by association otherwise. On the other was the still nagging feeling that I might not deserve to be. Jessie Bullock was dead after all.
I had also started to speculate on another more radical scenario.
He strode in with Bryn Jones in tow. I sat up straighter in bed. They had opened the blinds by now, the room was lighter. He took his time scrutinizing me. ‘Jesus, Capaldi, you look like someone stuck your head in a cement mixer.’
I had checked the mirror. The bruising on my face had faded down to shades of apricot and plum. ‘It’s getting better, Sir.’
He sat down and made a big show of staring at the bedside table. ‘Where are the fucking grapes?’
‘I think you’re meant to bring them, Sir.’
He flashed a grin at Bryn Jones. ‘I reckon he’s on the mend.’ He turned back to me, his face serious. ‘Who’s been to see you?’
I nodded towards Bryn. ‘DCI Jones. And my friend Graham Mackay brought my mother up from Cardiff.’
‘They haven’t let the press in?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Good. They’ve been fucking pestering me. Bastards.’ He grunted and returned to his original tack. ‘Has Inspector Morgan been?’
‘No, Sir.’
He scowled. ‘Sanctimonious fucking hypocrite. The least he could have done was come and see how you were getting on. A thank you might also have been appropriate. If it wasn’t for his chicken-shit operation, that poor girl would still be alive.’
‘Did they catch anyone else that night?’
Jack Galbraith batted the question on to Bryn, who shook his head. ‘No, they chased around for hours. Half of his men ended up getting lost.’
‘Inspector Morgan will not be repeating the operation,’ Jack Galbraith pronounced.
‘What more do we know about Jessie Bullock?’ I asked.
He opened a thin file folder he had been holding. ‘She’s local. She lived with her mother at the Home Farm of a big estate called Plas Coch up the hill above the car park. They run it as some kind of religious retreat.’
‘It’s strictly secular, from what I heard,’ Bryn corrected.
‘Whatever.’ Jack Galbraith shrugged loosely. ‘She had finished school and was intending to go to university in the autumn.’
I looked at Bryn. ‘Could they have charged her with anything?’
‘I’ve talked to some of the people who were there that night. They started mouthing off about an attempted B & E, but when I got them calmed down, all it appears she did was touch the door handle on the camper van. She may have been trying to open it, or she may have been totally innocent. We’ll never know now because the stupid bastards over-reacted.’
‘What a fucking waste,’ Jack Galbraith exclaimed. He fluttered the file folder at me. ‘Nothing’s official yet, so don’t celebrate too prematurely, but it’s looking like you’re going to be exonerated. There’s still the coroner’s inquest to get through, and we’re setting up an internal enquiry, but everything I’ve looked at is saying it was an unavoidable accident.’
‘Your offside front tyre blew on the bend, which was the worst possible place for it to happen,’ Bryn took over the story. ‘You lost your steering, it would have been impossible to correct it once it started to go. The car took off, cleared a brook beside the road, hit the ground and turned over a couple of times. It looks like Jessie was thrown clear on the first impact.’
‘Do they know what caused the puncture?’ I needed the answer to this question for my alternative line of enquiry.
He shook his head. ‘The tyre shredded. There was no way of piecing it back together to find out. Whatever it was, it caused it to blow big time. The theories are either a sharp stone on the carriageway, or a latent fault in the tyre.’
Jack Galbraith came back in. ‘You’re fucking lucky, Capaldi, your seat belt saved you.’
‘I know, Sir.’
‘What’s the long face for then?’
‘She was wearing her seat belt, Sir. I saw her put it on. And the rear door was locked.’
He exchanged a look with Bryn. ‘And we believe you, but something must have happened to change that. Something that was out of your hands.’
‘All you can tell the coroner is what you know,’ Bryn said gently.
‘How much longer have you got in here?’ Jack Galbraith changed the subject.
‘A few more days of observation, unless I have some kind of a relapse.’
‘We’re putting you on sick leave,’ Bryn announced.
‘You can come back to the bright lights of Carmarthen and lick your wounds. We’ll find you some sort of accommodation,’ Jack Galbraith offered magnanimously.
I thought about my alternative line of enquiry. ‘Thank you, Sir. Would it be okay to go to Cardiff? I’ve got family there.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Cardiff is still out of bounds.’
‘Even though I’ll be off active duty, Sir?’
‘That makes you even more vulnerable.
