Trust No One

Chapter 24

Welsby had his head almost permanently stuck out of the window, chain-smoking cigarettes before tossing the butts into the street outside. It wasn’t a good sign, Salter thought. He closed the door noisily behind him, hoping to prompt the older man to turn around.

Instead, Welsby kept his head facing the street, blowing clouds of smoke into the damp air.

‘That can’t be comfortable,’ Salter said.

‘Fucking uncomfortable,’ Welsby agreed. ‘But better than being smokeless, just at the moment. Where the fuck is she, Hugh?’

‘Christ knows. We think she’s somewhere in the city still, but even that’s not certain.’

‘Jesus. We can’t lose one of our own officers.’

‘That’s the trouble, though, isn’t it? She knows what she’s doing. Better than Beat Bobby Blackwell, anyway.’

Welsby laughed and finally brought his head in from the window, flicking the fag end out behind him. ‘Aye, that’s true enough. Met that doughball a few times. Pompous arse. Almost worth losing her to imagine the look on his face when he plucked up the courage to kick in the bathroom door.’

‘Yeah,’ Salter agreed. ‘Almost.’

He lowered himself into the chair opposite Welsby. The older man looked regretfully at the packet of cigarettes on the corner of the desk, then devoted his attention to the issue at hand.

‘So where the fuck is she, then?’ he said again.

‘Like I say, Christ knows. We’re not making much progress.’

‘Local plods not helping, then?’

‘What do you think? We’re not exactly being forthcoming, are we?’

‘Not my shout. Orders from on high. They’re still trying to keep a lid on this. We have to keep schtum about Donovan. Besides, we want to keep a grip on this, you and me. Till we know just what’s out there.’

‘If you say so. But the locals just think we’re being precious. So they’re not exactly busting a gut to help. Which in turn means we don’t have the resources to track Donovan down.’

‘What’ve you got so far?’

‘Bugger all. She used her mobile internet to make that funds transfer. We’ve been able to pin down her location to an area in the city centre, most likely the Arndale car park. She made the call to you from a few hundred yards away. And she withdrew the cash from a branch in the same area. That’s about it. No word since. Her phone seems to be out of use. She’s made no attempt to use her bank cards.’

‘No need with all that cash,’ Welsby said.

‘Exactly. What we don’t know is whether she withdrew the cash to make a getaway, or whether she’s still lying low somewhere. We’re speaking to the staff at the various stations to see if anyone recalls her buying a ticket, but I’m not hopeful. Can’t imagine they take much notice of who they’re selling tickets to.’

‘What’s your feeling?’ Welsby said. ‘You reckon she’s still around?’

‘Who knows? We’ve tried to contact that boyfriend but there’s no answer on the home number. Don’t know whether that’s significant. We’ve put in a request for the local plods to pay a visit, but the Met don’t tend to jump when we ask them to, either. But, yes. I suppose my instinct is that she’s stayed put. It’s what I’d do. She won’t know what resources we’ve got looking out for her. She’ll probably think we’ve got the stations covered, and that we’ll be looking out for her car.’

‘If only she fucking knew,’ Welsby said, leaning back in his chair. ‘She could have been safely away to Marbella by now.’

‘You reckon she did it?’ Salter said after a pause.

‘God knows. But, either way, Boyle’s had her neatly stitched up. I don’t see her as a killer, do you?’

‘Not a stupid one, anyway. Not the kind who leaves fingerprints all over everything including the murder weapon.’ Salter paused. ‘But also not the kind to get involved with a grass, I’d have thought.’

‘Aye, that’s the bugger. Even if Boyle’s behind them, there’s no denying those photographs.’

‘There might be. You can do a lot with Photoshop. I don’t think we should take any of this at face value.’’

Welsby shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But if Morton really did send her the rest of his evidence, we need to find her. Trouble is, like she said, she doesn’t know who to trust.’

‘Including us.’

‘Especially us.’ Welsby was reaching for his cigarettes again, his gaze fixed on Salter. ‘Question is, Hughie boy, is she right?’