Devil in the Detail by A.J. Cross (love novels in english .txt) 📕

else from the handbags and the briefcase.’ He pulled the files together. ‘All six drivers felt safe, secure inside their vehicles. Now, they know different.’ They watched as he headed for the door.

‘Judd will be part of the investigation.’

‘When’s she back, Sarge?’

Watts glanced back at Jones. ‘That a professional or a personal inquiry?’

He shrugged, grinned. ‘A bit of both?’

‘Wednesday. We start these cases tomorrow, nine a.m.’

10.50 p.m.

Alone in his office in a small pool of light, Watts was absorbing the details from the six files. It needed doing and there was nothing and nobody to get home to, except the cat. He made quick, neat notes, seeing the varying gaps between the attacks. The desk phone rang. He reached for it.

‘DI Watts.’

‘Message from emergency services, Sarge. Call received by them at ten thirty-five p.m. An attack on a vehicle in the inner-city area. Two occupants. One of them phoned it in – name, Molly Lawrence. She couldn’t identify their location but they traced it via her mobile phone. Paramedics are on their way.’

Watts’ head came up. ‘Paramedics?’

‘Repeating what I’ve been told. Can you respond?’

Watts wrote down the details. ‘On my way.’

He got out his phone, sent a text, then followed it with a call. ‘Jones, pick up Kumar and get yourself to the location I’ve sent you. It sounds like it might be another carjacking. I’ll see you both there. Move it.’

THREE

Watts’ phone rang as he left headquarters en route to his vehicle. It was Brophy, music in the background. He sounded stressed. Watts held the phone away from his ear. ‘Yes, I heard. I’m on my way there now.’

Ending the call, he got into the BMW X3 SAV and gunned it out of the car park. Reaching Five Ways, he joined a queue of vehicles waiting as others surged towards it without let-up. Activating the blue light, he moved between slowed vehicles and around the island, then checked the dash clock. He was making good time, given the volume of traffic. He followed the on-screen route into the inner city, looking for an alternative route. Within minutes, vehicles immediately ahead of him slowed to a crawl. Way ahead, he saw more tail lights flaring. Road works. Single-file traffic. He swore. Within a minute he was barely moving, hemmed in by continuous cones. He killed the blue light. There was nowhere for anybody to go.

He inched along for a while, stationary traffic ahead as far as he could see. Then it started to move. He picked up speed as the road widened. Without warning, it narrowed again, then almost immediately split into two. He frowned, peering through the rain now hitting the windscreen, seeing vehicles quickly diverge left and right. Getting no help from the satnav, he made an instant decision to pull to the left. The satnav demanded an immediate right turn. He swore again. ‘You’re more lost than I am!’ Flashing lights in his rear-view mirror were followed by a quick blast of siren.

‘You are joking.’

Another blast of siren. Watts inched forward, vehicles ahead pulling over as the road widened. As soon as he could, he did the same. The ambulance screamed past, its rear lights glowing as it slowed at another diversion sign ahead.

After several more minutes, which felt like forever, Watts took a sudden left exit and found himself in a dark, deserted and increasingly rundown area. A native of the city for all of his fifty-one years, he recognized nothing he was seeing. The road he was following led him into another, his headlights sliding over holes in tarmac, chunks of broken brick. Ahead of him the ambulance was now parked, its lights flashing over weeds. Forge Street, according to the broken street sign he’d just passed. A relic of old Birmingham’s industry. Civic pride wasn’t stopping him from seeing the area for what it was. Old. Neglected. Hopeless.

He pulled over and got out into buffeting wind and rain, his eyes narrowing on a car parked a few metres away. A dark-coloured saloon. One rear passenger door open. Two paramedics, each lugging hefty packs, were rushing towards it. He sped to them, got only swift nods at his ID. Whoever was inside that car was the priority.

Frustrated, he looked around at further urban desolation, ambulance lights illuminating oily water inside potholes, an abandoned petrol station beyond and several commercial buildings on the other side. All empty at this time of night. Probably empty, full stop, if the smashed windows were anything to go by. A sign on one wall read: To Let. Prime light industrial property. Some joker had inserted an ‘i’ between ‘To’ and ‘Let’. He looked back to the scene. Both front doors of the saloon were now open, the paramedics leaning inside.

Seeing the squad car approaching at speed, he headed for it. Jones and Kumar got out. Both sound lads if you didn’t let Jones get started on his favourite topics, one being the infiltration of the force by Freemasons. He was still getting to know Kumar. They were coming towards him.

‘What we got, Sarge?’ asked Jones.

‘I haven’t had a chance to establish any detail.’ He pointed to one of the paramedics emerging from inside the car and started towards him. ‘He might tell us.’

Watts halted a small distance away. Holding up his ID, head lowered, he peered inside the car. Male figure in driving seat. Upright. Unmoving. Eyes closed. Watts moved quickly to the car’s passenger side. A female. Slumped to one side. Head towards the passenger door. Dark hair lying across face. He straightened, his eyes lingering on them. Both very still. Too still.

He looked at the two young officers. ‘Gloves and shoe-covers, now. Keep out of the paramedics’ way. Be ready to secure the scene as soon as they leave.’ With a brief nod towards the petrol station, he added, ‘When you do, make it a big area, including that forecourt over there. SOCOs and forensics are on their way.’ The two officers headed back to the squad