No Lovelier Death Read Free Page B

control. We need a grip on the witness statements as they become available. We need to jigsaw all this stuff together, put it alongside the forensic and the intelligence and whatever else, recreate the party, establish a timeline, sort out what exactly happened. We might get lucky. We might even get a cough by lunchtime. But we’d be crazy to plan for that. This thing’s a monster already.’ She looked up from her notepad. ‘So we need to get on top of it, Joe. And that’s not going to be easy. I gather the duty Det-Supt will probably be handing over to me, by the way, if this thing goes into next week. If that happens, you’ll be Deputy SIO. Did I mention that?’
    Faraday studied her a moment. Then, unaccountably, he was back in bed, the warmth of Gabrielle beside him, wondering who’d be phoning at half one in the morning.
    ‘Thanks …’ he said drily. ‘Piece of piss.’

Chapter two
    SUNDAY, 12 AUGUST 2007. 04.23
    Winter resisted the temptation to go back to bed. Instead, he headed for the seafront, curious to know what remained of the evening’s festivities. A riot and two bodies sounded extremely promising. There’d be a call for the full chorus line: Scenes of Crime, uniforms, plus a small army of detectives. A year ago, and he’d already have been totting up the overtime.
    In the cold half-light of dawn the seafront was deserted. A highish tide nibbled at the bank of shingle that passed for a beach and when he slowed on the approach to the pier he could just make out the figure of a lone fisherman at the seaward end, silhouetted against the blush of pink away to the east.
    Craneswater lay inland beyond the Rose Garden and the tennis courts. Winter brought the Lexus to a halt, glad of the chance to stretch his legs. A couple of swans were on patrol amongst the pedalos on Canoe Lake and he paused for a moment or two, poking at a waste-paper bin in a search of bread. His eye was caught by a sandwich container and he extracted the remains of a BLT. Were swans allergic to curls of cold bacon and a smear or two of mayo? He hadn’t a clue.
    The water in the lake was slime green, the colour of a heavy cold, and Winter gazed at it for a moment, waiting for the swans to show some interest. In one sense the news that Bazza had been arrested was no surprise. Winter himself knew that the girl next door was planning to throw some kind of party. Marie had mentioned it only the other day, confiding to Winter that she thought it was a bad idea. Bazza and the judge - a relative newcomer to Sandown Road - had become the best of mates, and Baz had promised to keep an eye on things while Peter and Belle were away. Quite how he’d square this assurance with a riot and a sus double murder was anyone’s guess but Winter knew that Baz would have got stuck in if the situation called for it, especially if he thought the girl was under any kind of threat.
    Was that the way it had been? Had Bazza done his neighbourly best to defend his new mate’s daughter, his new mate’s house? And maybe gone too far in the process?
    Somehow Winter doubted it. A year of working for Bazza Mackenzie had taught him how much the man had calmed down. He’d always been bright, clever even, but now that cleverness was tempered with something close to maturity. His days of seizing life by the throat had gone. He seldom did anything without good cause and a bit of a think.
    Not that Bazza was any stranger to violence. On the contrary, his years of front-line service with the 6.57, Pompey’s marauding army of football hooligans, had given him a city-wide reputation as a top face. On one occasion, totally fearless, he’d taken on half a dozen Millwall fans practically single-handed. The ruck had kicked off in south London, the 6.57 trapped in a clever ambush, but Bazza had hospitalised three of them before being knocked unconscious himself. In certain Pompey pubs the following weekend he’d drunk his body weight in free Stella, and even coppers on