Sympathy for the Devil Read Free Page A

American this time, young and reedy.
    ‘We’re not hiding anything, sir.’ Della cast a disdainful glance in the direction of the voice. She ran her long nails briefly along the top of the panel. ‘These cordons are purely an issue of crowd safety.’
    The Sky reporter still had his mike in her face. ‘Any other possible explanations for Face’s car being found abandoned at the suicide bridge?’
    ‘Nothing has been ruled out at this stage.’ For a moment Della lightly stroked the shaft of the mike before pushing it away. ‘And I’d remind you that the bridge is still open to traffic and can be popular with visitors taking in the views.’
    ‘But Face wasn’t a visitor, and since the new bridge was built, no one drives that way. His car was found after dark, so he was hardly going down there for the view. Are you saying the police are pursuing a line of inquiry other than suicide?’
    ‘No further comments.’ Della abruptly ducked away among the uniforms. As Catrin turned she noticed Rhys was staring at the spot where Della had disappeared.
    ‘Della’s certainly enjoying her fifteen minutes,’ he said.
    ‘Knowing Della, she’ll make it last longer than that.’ Catrin kept her eyes straight ahead as Rhys edged the car up to the cordon. He held up his card, the panel was lifted by a young WPC and they passed through. As they drove on into empty streets the hum of the crowd soon died away behind them. The only sounds were the lapping of the waves against the front, and out in the channel the chug of a motorboat, its dim form ghostly behind the banks of fog.
    Rhys’s surveillance point was down the other end of the waterfront, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to reach it. He was slowly doubling back around the block into the street behind the cordon. All the time Catrin could hear the smooth whirr of a large car behind them. They were moving slowly, but it didn’t pass, just kept a steady distance behind.
    In the rearview Catrin saw the car pulling up about twenty yards back on the deserted street. ‘Looks like someone wants you to stop,’ Catrin said quietly. Rhys’s shoulders tensed. He had slowed to a crawl, not looking round.
    They waited, but no one got out from the car behind. She noticed Rhys checking the rearview for a moment before he opened the door. He said nothing. He was walking back into the headlights. Catrin turned and watched him disappear behind the glare.
    Catrin saw only a single figure in the car. It was difficult to make out much, but she could see long straight hair, a jacket with a sheen to it. Whoever it was had left the headlights full on so they couldn’t be seen clearly.
    Rhys was leaning through the window now. She thought she saw him putting something in his pocket. Then he was half running back through the glare as the other car revved, swerved off at speed towards the cordon.
    Catrin caught the faint scent of a woman’s perfume as Rhys closed the door.
    ‘Who was that? Della?’
    He shook his head as he settled back in his seat. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ He started the car, his eyes straight ahead as he moved towards the surveillance point.
    Thirty yards further along he turned next to the pavement along the dock. To the right a small pontoon provided berths for four small boats, all of which looked in need of repair and a coat of paint. On the other side was a clear sightline up to the door of what had once been a late-night drinking club.
    The place had been closed for months. Most of the local landlords had sold their leases to the seafront development companies. This whole area was a ghost town now, every building around them marked out for demolition.
    Catrin watched as Rhys lifted the night-sight Bushnells and camera into place on the console, focused on the front of the empty club. The lights were off above the doorway. Usually there’d be a couple of Somali lads just out of range of the CCTV above. Occasionally cars would pass or lads with heads down under