Shallow Ground (Detective Ford) by Andy Maslen (to read list txt) 📕

as far as Georgina and I were able to calculate, it looks as though he did the same with Paul Eadon.’

‘Right, and you said he couldn’t be drinking it.’

‘Not right there, no. But he could be taking it away and using it some other way.’

‘Such as?’

‘Painting with it. Cooking with it. Using it in a sexual way. For example—’

Jools held up a hand. ‘I get it. For the sake of argument, let’s assume the groceries are the trophies and the blood fits into his MO differently. Then what?’

‘Find the trophies, find the killer,’ Hannah said, with a note of triumph. ‘Unlike items of underwear, jewellery or body parts, you could stash groceries in plain sight and even an experienced investigator might miss them.’

Jools was nodding, making notes. ‘Can you make a list of the missing items and circulate them? I’ll tell everyone to find a way to take a quick look in each TIE subject’s kitchen,’ she said. ‘We’re getting close, Hannah. Really close. I’m taking this to Ford.’

DAY SEVENTEEN, 2.13 P.M.

Ford took Hannah’s deduction, combined it with his gut feeling about Abbott, and went to see Sandy. As she spoke, he monitored her face for a hint – even a ghost of a hint – as to how she would react to his request. She gave him nothing. Lips as straight as a ruler, eyes neither narrowed nor wide. Relaxed facial muscles. Remind me never to play poker with you, Sandy.

‘. . . so I want a search warrant for his house and vehicles,’ he finished.

Sandy paused before answering. She scratched the side of her nose. Was that a tell, guv?

‘It’s all circumstantial,’ she said, finally. ‘Every last bit of it. A professional interest in blood? A sketchy alibi? No magistrate’ll sign a warrant based on that.’

‘Yes, they will!’

Sandy shook her head. ‘I can’t authorise it, Henry. It’s not worth the aggro.’

‘Look! You told me the ACC wants to kick me off the case unless I close it. I bring you credible evidence to arrest Abbott and now you’re stonewalling me. Why?’

‘You heard what Peterson said. Abbott’s got connections.’

Ford reared back in his chair. ‘What? This isn’t some sort of Hollywood mafia movie!’ he said, raising his voice, unable to stop himself. ‘I don’t care if Abbott plays golf with Peterson. Hell, I don’t care if he plays hunt the salami with the mayor’s wife. I like him for it.’

Sandy smiled. ‘I know you do. But are you sure it’s not just because he’s rubbed you up the wrong way somehow? I know what these consultants are like.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he replied, forcing himself to breathe deeply and avoid shouting at his boss a second time. ‘There’s just something off about him. One minute he’s all helpfulness, then he’s cold and haughty, then evasive. He’s lying, I can tell.’

‘Then prove it. Bring me one single piece of evidence linking him to any of the murders and we’ll go to the magistrate together. You can even do the talking! And while we’re on the subject of search warrants, why not Kyte as well?’

‘It’s not him. I know it.’

‘How?’

‘I just do. I’m lead investigator and I set the investigative priorities, and I say, with limited resources, we focus our energies on Abbott.’

‘Are you absolutely sure you want to play it like that, Henry?’

Ford caught the warning tone in her voice and relented. ‘I’ll have a team go and see Matty. Pull the old “Can I use your loo?” trick.’

‘Do that. But no warrant on Abbott for now.’

He knew he wasn’t going to get a better offer. He’d argued with his boss, and his mentor, many times in the past and all that had happened was that she’d wrapped a coil or two around him and started to squeeze.

Ford stopped at Jools’s desk on the way through the incident room. ‘How’s your profile on Matty Kyte going?’

She looked up and smiled, brushed a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘Got the basics and some background. His volunteering, and his day job, we know about. He’s been assigned to Bodenham Ward for the last six months. They have all the cancer patients.’

‘Personal?’

‘Married for eight years to Jennifer Elizabeth Kyte. She works in a care home out on the London Road. No kids.’

‘Record?’

‘Nope.’

‘Crap! Anything else?’

‘I’ve saved the best till last,’ she said.

‘Meaning?’

‘Guess what car his wife drives?’

Ford’s pulse bumped up a few notches. ‘Please tell me it’s a grey VW Polo?’

‘All right then, guv,’ she said, and cleared her throat. ‘It’s a grey VW Polo.’

‘Have you cross-checked with Olly yet?’

Jools shook her head. ‘Nuh-uh.’

‘Do that next. In fact, once you’ve done that, I want you and Olly to go and see him at home. One of you distract him while the other has a quick look round, yes? And if you get the chance to snag something with his DNA on it, take it, OK?’

‘OK. How about you, guv?’

‘I’m going to try to find a way to shake something loose about Abbott.’

He hands Tasha the carrier bag with her groceries in it. Takes in her wide-set eyes and freckle-bridged nose.

‘There you go,’ he says, with a smile.

‘Thanks,’ she says, gaze lowered, not making eye contact.

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘would you like a lift home? I’m finishing my shift here and my car’s parked round the back.’

Now she does look up. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t. I’ll get the bus, it’s no problem.’

‘Oh, I know it’s not a problem, but I’d like to. Really,’ he says, turning up the wattage on his smile. ‘Save you struggling with your bags if you have to go upstairs. Come on,’ he adds, ‘we can go now. Where do you live?’

She’s powerless. He knows it. She’d feel ungrateful if she refused him again. He’s just packed her bloody free food, for God’s sake.

‘Morley Road. Do you know it?’

‘Know it? You won’t believe this, but I grew up on Morley Road,’ he says, hand flat against his chest.

‘No way,’ she says, smiling now.

Well, technically, she’s right.