Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) Read Free Page A

on
    overtime, so the late boys might have to help out.’
    One of the PCs had found a marker and written the victim’s name on the board. In Jessica’s mind,
    this made him prime suspect for the spate of pen thefts.
    ‘Who’s Luke Callaghan?’ Cole asked.
    ‘He’s a councillor for the Old Moat ward – got in at the last election with a narrow majority.
    Thirty-five, married, runs some sort of technology company.’
    PC Pen-Thief wrote ‘Old Maid ward’, ‘techno comp’ and ‘nitro acid’ on the whiteboard in
    appalling handwriting.
    ‘How is he?’
    ‘He’s still in surgery. The acid hit him in the face but we’ve not heard anything else. The media
    haven’t got his name yet but it’s not for the want of trying. We caught some master-of-disguise
    journalist trying to sneak into the ward wearing a white coat. He’d managed to wander through
    reception, past hospital security and was outside the door getting out his camera phone when one of
    our boys nabbed him.’
    ‘Who does he work for?’
    ‘No idea – he’d probably sold his mother to get the coat, you know what journalists are like. Either
    way, his phone was accidentally trodden on by one of the officers as he was being escorted out.
    We’ve been trying to get hold of Callaghan’s wife but with no luck. There’s no answer at the family
    home and we don’t know where she works.’
    Cole turned to the board, new worry lines joining the old ones as he scowled at the spelling. ‘I’m
    judging by the focus on the victim that there’s no news on who actually threw the acid?’
    Jessica had long been worried by how transparent she apparently was to Cole. They had been
    working together for far too long. ‘We’ve got half-a-dozen people going through every CCTV camera
    in the area.’ She pulled a folded-up printout from her pocket and handed it to PC Pen-Thief, who
    attached it to the board with a magnet. ‘We’ve got our guy getting off the tram, mingling through a
    group of students and then joining the back of the crowd who were listening to the Home Secretary.
    As you can see, he kept his hood up.’
    Jessica realised the ‘as you can see’ was an exaggeration given how poor the photograph was.
    Cole turned to look at the photo, tilting his head to the side and creating another worry line.
    ‘That’s a snap taken from the camera on the tram station,’ Jessica said. ‘We’ve been trying to get
    one from the actual tram but some little shite had covered it with duct tape and no one apparently
    noticed. We’ve got a couple of shots from the back but I doubt we have too many people who can ID
    him from that. If they can, I’ve got a stack of CCTV hoody shots they can have a go at first. The only
    other ones we have are from the side but it’s nothing useable – the media will have a field day if we
    stick any of them out.’
    PC Pen-Thief wrote ‘hoddy’ on the board.
    ‘Witnesses?’ Cole asked.
    ‘Our hoody gradually made his way to the front of the crowd. It wasn’t tightly packed so he didn’t
    have any problems. Most of the people there scarpered as soon as the screaming began, so we’re
    trying to identify them too and we’ve got the usual appeals out for help with our inquiries, blah, blah, blah. The only ones who didn’t make a break for it, predictably, were the ones who didn’t see
    anything.’
    Cole dragged a chair towards the board, screeching it along the hard floor like a nail down a
    blackboard. ‘Do we at least know where he or she escaped to?’
    Jessica pointed towards the printout on the board. ‘We’re assuming “he” – roughly five foot nine or
    ten – and it looks like he might have a hint of a beard on that picture. It could just be the dodgy camera though.’
    The word ‘Man’ appeared on the board, spelled correctly but in such dreadful handwriting that it
    looked more like ‘Nom’.
    ‘We’ve got him heading along Oldham Street and then disappearing into the Northern Quarter
    alleys.