litter-strewn yards before halting at a wall of sheer bricks. On the right it ran further, eighty yards or more, and then opened into an adjacent road. Even down there, the street lighting was restricted to a narrow gap, where a caul of mist was slowly twisting.
That was spooky for sure, but it wasn’t unusual either – even if Kate did stare at it for several seconds, as though mesmerised. They were very near the river. And it was only April, as she kept reminding herself. The main thing was that there was no one skulking about. She went back into the yard, this time ensuring to close and bolt the gate, then re-entered the building, locking the back door behind her, before turning the lights off and leaving the shop.
Her car was years old, so it would take an age for the radiator to warm up. Kate pulled her mittens on, twisted the key in the ignition and steered the chugging old motor along the street. That sound she’d heard would have been nothing, but it was strange how even though you’d worked in the heart of the city for so many years, its dreary facades and bleak, empty passages could occasionally menace you. Perhaps it was the way the light leached into its stones, the way shadows seemed to clot at its every nook and corner. You were surrounded by people in the inner city, yet it was the easiest place in the world to feel isolated and threatened. How much worse it must be, of course, for those who roamed it endlessly with no place to call their own.
In perfect sync with these thoughts, and before Kate had even reached the next junction, her headlights swept over another pathetic specimen of humanity huddled in a trash-filled doorway. All she saw at first was a dingy quilted blanket, frayed around its edges and odiously stained. The shape curled up beneath was visibly shuddering.
She pulled up at the kerb and applied the handbrake, but left the engine running to try and warm the vehicle’s interior. She climbed out amid clouds of exhaust made thick and pungent by the dampness. The poor sod must have known she was there, but made no effort to look up.
‘Hi,’ Kate said, approaching cautiously. Even someone with experience had to be a little bit careful – some of these cases were so damaged that they were almost animalistic in their reaction when frightened or disturbed. ‘Can I help?’
There was no response. The shrouded form continued to shudder. God alone knew how long the miserable creature had been out here.
‘My name’s Kate. I run the outreach shop at the end of the road there. Look … there’s nothing to be scared of. I’m sure I can assist.’ Kate hunkered down. ‘I’m on my way to one of the shelters in the centre of town right now. Why don’t you hop in and I’ll give you a lift? In half an hour you’ll be drinking hot soup and have a proper bed to sleep in. You can have a wash, a change of clothes …’ Whoever was under there stopped shuddering, as if they were suddenly listening. ‘Here,’ Kate said, encouraged. She reached forward to peel the ragged blanket away. ‘Let me help you …’
The figure sprang.
Kate never saw this – before she knew it, she was the one swathed in filthy material. The pavement hit her in the back. She gasped with shock, but could barely draw a breath as the blanket was wrapped tightly around her – as if she was being quickly and efficiently packaged. Something cinched her waist – a rope or belt – binding her arms tightly to her sides. Effortlessly, she was scooped into someone’s arms.
Kate made muffled screams, even though she knew no one could hear her. She was flung into the back seat of her own vehicle, where what felt like further straps were fixed in place and another blanket was tossed over her. A split second later someone climbed into the driving seat, closed the door and put the car in gear.
She screamed again, futilely. The traitorous vehicle rumbled on along the narrow street as though the brief, terrifying interlude had never occurred.
‘Get stuffed, Heck!’ Shawna McCluskey said. ‘That wasn’t me.’
‘It was,’ Heck assured the bunch of detectives crammed around them in the pub vault. ‘I drive round the back to try and cut these idiots off. I look up, and there’s two uniforms coming down the other side of the pub. One of them’s Shawna. These two lads they’re chasing see me in the panda car, and cut across this patch of grass. Shawna veers over it to intercept. Best rugby tackle you’ve ever seen. She took this big bastard right out, almost killed him.’
There was laughter.
‘That wasn’t me,’ Shawna informed everyone for the umpteenth time.
‘And what had he done again?’ Des Palliser asked.
‘He’d only bitten some bugger’s nose and ear off in a fight in the pub,’ Heck said. ‘The other one had kicked the shit out of the landlord when he objected. Anyway, she takes out Jaws, and then wallops the other one as well. Puts him down with one punch.’
There was more laughter.
‘That wasn’t me either,’ Shawna said tartly. ‘It was Ian Kershaw. “Dreadnought”, we used to call him. He didn’t want the lock-up because it was ten minutes to finishing time and it was his sister’s wedding the next day. I took the prisoners for him.’
‘What did the two scrotes say?’ Gary Quinnell asked.
‘Nothing,’ Heck replied. ‘They were out cold. They didn’t know who’d hit them.’
There were further roars of laughter.
The Chop House was located under the arches on the edge of Borough Market, and was redolent with Victoriana: leaded windows, etched mirrors, elegant hardwood décor, and an open fire. Its various rooms were packed with off-duty police and police civilian staff, the booze was flowing and there was an atmosphere of bonhomie.
Shawna shook her head as though tolerating the boyishness around her, and handed Heck her empty glass. ‘For that, it’s your round.’
Heck nodded and threaded his way through to the bar, taking a rash of orders en route. Bob Hunter was leaning there, a treble scotch in his hand. He looked rumpled and sour-faced; his tie hung in a limp knot.
‘Everyone’s having a good time, I see,’ he said as Heck put the order in.
‘Gotta give Des a send-off, haven’t we?’ Heck replied.
‘No sign of the Lioness yet?’
Heck looked around. ‘Thought she’d be in by now.’
It was possible that Gemma was in one of the other rooms – she always had a lot of flesh to press at police functions – but the bulk of SCU were squashed into this one, so he’d have expected her to come in here first, probably to buy Des Palliser a drink.
‘Second round of interviews this afternoon for the Media Liaison job, wasn’t it?’ Hunter said.
‘Oh yeah, that.’
‘Yeah … that. What a fucking joke, eh? This is the way they repay us for taking nutjobs off the street.’
Heck shrugged. ‘Won’t interfere with our work, will it?’
‘Says who? I’ve been demoted to fucking duty-officer!’
‘It’s
