Birdman

30

Maddox was on the steps of Greenwich police station when Caffery arrived. He was standing in the sunlight, eating a samosa from a greasy bag and staring vacantly at students drinking bottled beer outside the Funnel and Firkin. The pronged worry lines between his eyebrows were deeper today. When Caffery asked he frowned, jerked his head towards the station and said:

'Just the little shit-for-brains in there. He arrested Gemini. Never even consulted me. That's all.'

You surprised, Steve? Are you honestly surprised?

'I suppose the party's off, then.'

'Oh Jesus.' Maddox pressed his forehead. 'No.' He shook his head, dropped his hand, exasperated. 'Fuck it. There's no overtime left in the pot anyway. No — we'll put Diamond at the incident room, let him make amends. Betts can kick off the interview with someone and I'll look in on them later.'

'You only have to say the word, Steve — I'll drop it. I'm only doing it for—'

'I know. We're all only doing it for them. That's the point. This is the governor's latest initiative: happy home lives makes happy cops. No wife-beaters, no alcoholics, no suicides.'

'Very Nineties.' Jack opened the door. 'Eight o'clock, then?'

Maddox finished the samosa, rolled up the bag and shot it into a council bin at the foot of the steps. 'Eight o'clock it is.'

Caffery avoided the custody room. Instead he went up to the second floor, to the cluster of rooms reserved at this, and every other Met police station, for AMIPs exclusive use. Inside Rebecca was sitting alone, staring out of the window, twirling one elegant foot in a distracted gesture of impatience, sucking the Mexican silver pendant on the chain around her neck. She wore olive-green slacks and a pale poplin shirt. When she saw Caffery she dropped the pendant and smiled tightly. 'Hello.'

'It's nice to see you.'

'Is it?'

He paused. 'You're upset?'

'Yes.'

He sat down opposite her and thoughtfully steepled his fingers. 'Tell me.'

'Am I hassling you? I don't want to appear hassley, but I was deadly serious. I think he's important.'

'Ah. You've got me there. I'm lost.'

'I told your answer service.'

'My answer service?' Caffery tilted his head back. 'And this was—?'

'Yesterday evening.'

'On my mobile?'

'Yes.'

Veronica. Caffery shook his head. 'Rebecca, I didn't get the message. I'm sorry.'

At that her eyes softened. 'I don't mean to push, but I've been awake all night. It's what you said about it being someone very organized, someone they might trust. Someone they might trust to—' She shuddered and he could see goose bumps on her wrists. 'Someone they might trust to inject them with something.'

'I shouldn't have told you that. I hope you—'

'I haven't told anyone.' She leaned forward and her long clean hair swung across her shoulders. 'Last year Joni took me to a party. The host made no secret of the fact that he had heroin in the place and would inject it for anyone who wanted it. He'd been a doctor and he knew how to do it without hurting, exactly how much to give, that sort of stuff.' She leaned back. 'There was no shortage of takers.'

'He was a doctor?'

'Had been, or had trained to be, years ago. Now he's something high powered in a pharmaceutical company and I think he's something to do with St Dunstan's.' She lifted her fringe from her forehead to cool herself. 'A lot of the girls in the area used to end up at his place. All the freebies they wanted, the best, set out in little bowls. Usually at the end of the night he'd turn punter if any of the girls wanted to do a trick. A good one too. It's been going on for years.'

'It hasn't come up in interviews.'

'He's very secretive; if you want to get invited back you don't gab. He's well off, intelligent, sort of good-looking in a weird way. Oh and he's got a Patrick Heron to die for.' She shook her head in mild disbelief. 'Just up there on the wall, and all these hookers standing around next to it snorting coke, giggling — none of them knowing what the hell they were looking at.' She paused for a moment, looking at her hands. When she looked up her face had changed. 'He went for me that night. It was no big deal. He thought I was a hooker, asked me to stay, I said no and — well, we scrapped. Nothing dramatic. I scratched him pretty badly across his neck.'

'He stopped?'

'Eventually. But if you asked me is he capable of cruelty, rape, maybe murder…'

'You'd say?'

'I don't know why, but — I'd say yes. Absolutely yes. There's something desperate about him.'

'Where does he live?'

Rebecca swivelled around on the chair and nodded out of the window. 'Over on the heath. One of those big houses off the Croom's Hill side.'