The Bad Things Read online

  ‘Thank you.’

  Alex hadn’t thought about CCTV cameras at the campsite. Malone had. He said that it was unlikely they were working at this time of year, if at all.

  ‘These places put the cameras up to deter trouble; they don’t necessarily have any film in them. And it would be too expensive for them to have the digital sort,’ he said.

  ‘Digital?’

  Malone smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  She was too scared to feel patronized, and supposed she shouldn’t worry. If anyone knew how to dodge stuff like CCTV cameras, and the whys and the wherefores of them, then Malone would.

  ‘It’s like burglar alarms on houses,’ he carried on, warming to his theme. ‘There’s hardly ever a real alarm in them. Deterrent, that’s all.’

  So here she was, perching on the steps, waiting for the police to arrive. Malone had been in the caravan and picked up the knife. What he did with it she didn’t know and didn’t want to know. There was no sign of any diary.

  ‘Just this,’ he said, handing her a key.

  She took it from him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a key,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘I can see that,’ she snapped.

  Malone held his hands up. ‘Whoa, I’m only trying to help.’

  Alex noticed he was wearing thin latex gloves, the sort that doctors wear, or criminals. She guessed he probably had a stash of them somewhere left over from his undercover days. For some reason the sight of them sent a shiver down her spine. She supposed it brought the reality home to her of what they were doing. She’d found a dead body and Malone was clearing up the mess. If only she’d got there sooner, would Jackie Wood be alive? When was she murdered? And was Sasha involved? It all went round and round in her head like some sort of horrible mantra. She rubbed her forehead. ‘Sorry. Sorry. I …’ Inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears. She composed herself. ‘You think it’s important?’

  Malone shrugged. ‘I thought it might be. It was hidden away at the back of the cutlery drawer and it’s a key to one of the left-luggage lockers at the Forum in Norwich.’

  ‘The Forum?’

  ‘Yes, that place that houses the BBC and the library and some sort of café.’

  ‘I know what the Forum is,’ she said, testily. ‘How do you know the key is from there?’

  ‘Because it says so. On the fob.’

  She peered at it. ‘Right.’

  ‘Worth a look, I reckon. Don’t you? As you’re so anxious to find this diary. You never know, it could be there. I could come with you, if you like.’ His expression was neutral, as though he knew she wasn’t telling him the whole story.

  She closed her fist around the key. ‘Thanks,’ she said, leaning her head on his shoulder, trying to regain some of that feeling of safety she’d had when he’d embraced her on the beach. He put his arm round her, and she snuggled even closer – just as she heard the sirens in the distance. She realized she was shivering. She felt sick. What the fuck was she doing?

  ‘Okay, here we go,’ he said.

  Then it was as if she was looking through a veil, everything was a blur. An ambulance, a police car, a van: all turned up. Why so many? The sirens which had gradually filled the air as the vehicles made their way down the harbour road had brought the few people in the other caravans out to gawp. Then a scene reminiscent of a television show unfolded, with a woman in a long black leather overcoat seeming to be in charge. Police officers scurried around her, following instructions, going back to the van, taking out boxes of equipment, all of them moving towards them.

  ‘Alex Devlin?’

  ‘That’s me.’ Alex stood up and clenched her jaw to stop her teeth chattering.

  The woman in the coat frowned. She had coal-black eyes and black hair cropped close to her head, making her look like a hawk. High cheekbones, pale skin. Slash of red lipstick. As tall as Alex. She reached inside her coat and flashed her warrant card. ‘Detective Inspector Kate Todd.’

  Alex nodded.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘About half an hour. Maybe less. I’m not sure.’

  She turned and looked at Malone, hesitated for a split second, eyes narrowing as if she knew him. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Malone.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No.’ Belligerent. Alex sighed inwardly. ‘Just Malone.’

  Detective Inspector Kate Todd looked impassively at him for a moment before turning back to Alex. ‘I would be grateful if you could both come down the steps, please.’

  They did as she asked.

  ‘You found the body, Alex, did you?’ Her voice switched from brisk professional to professional kindness.

  Alex nodded. Behind her an officer was tying blue and white tape from one bush to another, sealing off the caravan, the body, Jackie Wood, from prying eyes. Men in shapeless white suits and masks ducked under the tape and went into the caravan. She suddenly thought of all the police shows she’d seen, the crime books she’d read, and wondered about clues and fingerprints and contaminating the scene. She started to burble. ‘Yes, I’d come to interview her for the magazine I work for. It’s Jackie Wood in there.’

  ‘We know.’

  Well, they would, wouldn’t they?

  ‘Is it the first time you’ve been here?’

  She shook her head. ‘It was the second part of the interview.’

  ‘Interview?’

  ‘I’m a journalist. I do news features. Sometimes about people who’ve been in the news or who just have something to say. You know.’ She felt stupid.

  ‘And the magazine?’

  ‘It’s called the Saturday Magazine. Part of the Saturday Herald. Here.’ She fished about in her pocket and took out a rather dog-eared business card. ‘My number’s on there.’ She dug into her pocket again and brought out a pen and wrote on the card. ‘And that’s the number of the magazine.’

  The DI took it. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Look, Alex is exhausted and needs to get home.’ Malone had that determined look on his face.

  Kate Todd looked him up and down. ‘I am well aware of how Ms Devlin must be feeling,’ she said.

  Was she? How could she be? How could she know about the way her guts were churning and how she felt as though she was about to throw up?

  ‘I’ll get someone to take a witness statement from you now, Ms Devlin, and perhaps you could come down to the police station later.’

  ‘The one in the town? Why?’ She tried not to look as panicky as she felt.

  Kate Todd gave a small smile. ‘I know it’s not glamorous, but I’ll be setting up an incident room there. And we’ll need to take your fingerprints, please.’

  ‘Fingerprints?’ Now her heart was racing and she began to feel light-headed. Her fear must have shown on her face, because Kate Todd put her hand on her arm. ‘It’s just to eliminate you.’ Her voice was kind. ‘You’ve been in there. Your fingerprints will be in the caravan, we’ll need to cross them off our list, as it were. You too, Mr Malone.’

  ‘I didn’t go in there.’

  ‘Nevertheless.’

  Alex could feel the stand-off building but instinctively knew the DI was not a woman to cross. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Would you like someone to take you home after Steve here has taken your statement?’ She signalled to a stocky man in a uniform who came hurrying over.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Malone. ‘I can do it.’

  Kate Todd inclined her head. ‘Very well. But while Ms Devlin is talking to my DS, perhaps you and I could have a word?’

  ‘Sure.’ They walked away.

  It didn’t take too long. Alex recounted her story to the police officer, as agreed with Malone. It was a version of the truth, much easier, he’d said, to keep the story as near to the truth as possible, then she wouldn’t trip up in the telling. So she did just that. She said nothing about the knife or her fears about Sasha.

  ‘So you didn’t see a
murder weapon then?’ Detective Sergeant Steve asked, licking the tip of his pencil. She wondered what his surname was. Perhaps that was his surname. Perhaps—

  ‘Ms Devlin?’

  She shook herself. ‘No.’

  ‘And Mr Malone?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Did he see the murder weapon?’

  ‘He didn’t go in. I told you he came along after.’

  ‘When you phoned him.’

  ‘Yes.’ Alex was getting irritated. ‘I thought it was my statement you’re supposed to be taking?’

  Stocky Cop Steve shrugged. ‘Just want to get a picture, that’s all.’ But he didn’t ask her any more questions about Malone.

  ‘Okay?’ DI Todd and Malone came back over to where she was standing, Stocky Cop Steve having gone away with her statement.

  ‘Yes, fine thanks,’ Alex said, looking at DI Todd, knowing she was familiar; the name was familiar. Then it struck her. How could she have forgotten? Although now she was older, more severe-looking. Her hair cut short, whereas then it had been long, passed her shoulders, in fact. She had been a young officer when— ‘Excuse me, Detective Inspector, but we know each other don’t we?’

  DI Todd gave a brief smile, her expression softening. ‘Yes, Ms Devlin, I’m afraid we do.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Malone abruptly, taking her elbow. ‘We’re done here.’

  ‘But—’ said Alex, wanting to talk more to the detective.

  ‘Now, Alex. Please.’

  ‘Good to chat with you, Mr Malone. As I said to you before, I’m sure we’ll see one another again.’ Kate Todd stared at him, then looked over Alex’s shoulder, frowning. ‘No Sergeant,’ she shouted, ‘not there.’ She shot Alex a glance. ‘Sorry, I have to go. See you at the station.’ She looked at Malone once more, a slightly quizzical expression on her features. ‘As I said, Mr Malone, I look forward to seeing you again.’ She hurried off.

  ‘Maybe,’ muttered Malone. He began to frogmarch Alex away, just as she saw Nikki come round the corner, laden down with carrier bags. She stopped, mouth agape at the sight of the ambulance and police activity.

  Alex had forgotten about Nikki.

  ‘What’s all this?’ she called out.

  ‘Don’t say anything to her,’ Malone said in her ear.

  Alex pulled her elbow away from him. ‘Malone, I have to say something. She saw me go into the caravan. I answered the door, for God’s sake, when Jackie was lying dead in there. How am I going to explain that away?’

  ‘You didn’t say in your statement?’

  The panic started again and her head began to hurt. ‘No. I…but I told Nikki that Jackie had a migraine. How am I going to get around that? The police are bound to talk to her. She’ll tell them I was there.’ Oh God, what was she going to do?

  ‘Okay.’ Malone took charge again. ‘Tell her you panicked. About the migraine. You’d found Jackie Wood on the floor and didn’t know what to do when she came to the door.’

  ‘She’s not going to buy that, is she?’

  ‘Try it. You never know. She’s probably got something to hide, too. There must be some reason why she’s holed up in a caravan in the middle of winter on the Suffolk coast.’

  ‘And then what? Ask her to lie to the police?’

  ‘All she has to do is not mention knocking on the caravan door and you saying about a migraine. That’s all.’

  That’s all. There was nothing else for it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Nikki called out.

  ‘Nikki, it’s dreadful.’ Alex hurried over to her, trying to ignore the fear gnawing at her.

  Nikki put down her carrier bags. ‘The police and everything. What are they doing?’

  ‘It’s Jackie.’

  ‘Your friend in the other caravan?’

  Alex nodded. ‘She’s dead.’

  She whistled. ‘Dead? What, the migraine see her off, did it? I’ll never get that cup of coffee with her. I always felt she was a bit like me, a loner, you know?’

  Alex did know. ‘It wasn’t the migraine, Nikki.’

  She cocked her head to one side. ‘Oh?’

  ‘When you knocked, she was lying on the floor and I panicked; I didn’t know what to do. I thought – I thought – actually, I don’t know what I thought. As I say, I panicked.’ She tried to give a little smile as if to say ‘wasn’t I silly’, which was a bit inadequate under the circumstances.

  A sly looked flicked across Nikki’s face. ‘Is that right?’

  At that moment Alex could see that Nikki was not all she made herself out to be; that Malone was right. There was a reason why she was in this godforsaken place in the middle of winter. Alex still wished she’d done the sensible thing, though, and asked her for help when she’d come knocking. But perhaps she could get away with it, perhaps Nikki wouldn’t want to get too involved.

  ‘Yes and the thing is, Nikki, I didn’t tell the police about that. I thought it would make me look—’

  ‘Silly?’

  ‘Something like that,’ she said, breathing out carefully. ‘And it was silly. Stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking of. And now if I say something to the cops, well…’

  ‘Look,’ said Nikki, ‘I have no intention of talking to them if I can possibly help it. Me and the police don’t have too good a history, y’know? And if I do have to, it’ll be short and sweet.’ She squeezed Alex’s arm. ‘Don’t you worry any more, I didn’t see or hear anything anyway. I mean, she was dead and that was that. You didn’t kill her, did you?’ She laughed.

  ‘No.’ Alex laughed too, but she could hear a nervous tremor in her voice.

  ‘Well then. Least said soonest mended, eh?’

  ‘Thanks Nikki.’

  ‘’S’okay.’ She picked up her carrier bags. ‘And perhaps we could have that coffee I was talking about? When I’m in my new flat, yeah?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And I don’t even know your name?’

  ‘It’s Alex.’

  She started to walk towards her caravan. ‘Okay Alex, don’t worry. I won’t say a word.’

  Alex watched her go. Nikki had changed from being the lonely woman who just wanted to find a friend to someone who had a small measure of control over her.

  Why did she think that was more of a threat than anything?

  13

  Kate finished her conversation with the sergeant who had been about to dump several thousand pounds worth of expensive equipment on to the damp grass and went to get a forensic suit from the back of her car. She took off her coat and pulled it on over her clothes and tried to find somewhere dry to slip on the bootees.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malone and Alex Devlin talking to a young woman laden down with shopping bags. She would have to make sure someone spoke to shopping-bag woman – from the expressions of the three of them there was something going on. Malone looked particularly fierce. He was a slippery one, that was for sure. When she had taken him to one side it had been to give some space for Alex to be able to talk to Steve without him glowering at them both. Influencing what she might say. A controlled menace had radiated from him that even his good looks couldn’t disguise.

  ‘I know you from somewhere, don’t I?’ she’d asked, getting straight to the point.

  Malone raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you?’

  She studied his face, irritated at the slow smile spreading across his features. ‘What’s your first name please?’

  ‘Mickey.’

  ‘Mickey Malone? Somehow I don’t believe you.’

  ‘No?’ He shrugged. ‘Tough shit.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘If you don’t come in and give a statement in the next couple of days, I’ll bring you in myself. Is that clear?’

  Again that infuriating smile. ‘That should be interesting.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Shall we see how Alex is doing? I’ve got an appointment in half an hour.’

  I’ll bet you have, she muttered under her breath before smiling tightly. ‘Remembe
r Mr Malone, I will come and find you.’

  Mickey Malone my arse, she thought as she went up the caravan steps. She’d soon sort him out when he came in to give his statement. But his face nagged at her. She knew she’d seen him somewhere before.

  The air in the caravan was dank, fetid, and smelt of death and decay. Kate tried hard to breathe through her nose and knew the smell would linger on her skin and clothes until she washed. The police photographer was taking pictures of the scene from every conceivable angle, and other forensic officers were carefully bagging evidence, dusting for fingerprints, and testing for anything out of the ordinary.

  She looked around the living area, seeing an overturned cup on the table and a brown stain underneath. Food was ground into the carpet, too. A couple of chain-store paintings on the wall, thin brown curtains pulled back from the windows. A small pile of books and newspapers on a chair. An open can of baked beans. She tugged at a drawer by the sink. Cheap cutlery. In the cupboards above she found white plates with a green line painted around the rim. Bowls, mugs, all with the same pattern. There was also a jar of mustard, salt and pepper pots, and a jar of pickle. She bent down and opened the fridge. A limp lettuce, three yoghurts, and a piece of cheddar. She stood up, her hands vaguely damp inside the police-issue gloves. Not much to show for a life. Someone had pulled the caravan door shut. She went to open it, to let death out and fresh air in.

  Kate knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer, and looked towards the toilet-cum-shower-room. She saw the splayed legs of Jackie Wood and the broad back and iron-grey head of hair of the pathologist, Jane Blake, crouched between the legs and taking samples from beneath Jackie Wood’s nails.

  ‘Nasty one, this.’ Jane stood, her bulk filling the doorway. ‘Blood everywhere. Quite a frenzied stabbing.’

  ‘Time of death?’

  Jane laughed. ‘Come on, Katie, you don’t expect me to tell you that without lots of uming and ahing do you?’ However grim the situation, Jane never stopped smiling. She enjoyed her work, took great pride in it. She was good too. Experienced.