the easy bit. We pick up where you blokes leave off. But let me tell you something. This job of ours isn’t easy.’
The prison officer had returned with Coughlin’s file. The governor checked through the photocopy page by page before inserting it carefully into an A4 envelope. The prison officer produced a form. Faraday signed it, then glanced up.
‘So I can strike Davidson off my list, can I?’
‘What list?’
‘My suspect list.’ He tapped the file envelope, spelling it out. ‘Coughlin’s would-be killers.’
‘Christ, yes.’ The governor stood up. ‘In my view, the man was never into serious crime in the first place.’
By late afternoon, Winter and Charlie had fallen in love. The little cairn terrier he’d seized from Darren Geech had accompanied him back to the first-floor CID room at Highland Road, and had now found a home under Winter’s desk. The dog was obviously hungry, probably hadn’t been fed for weeks, but when Winter popped out to the Londis across the road they had no pet food so he returned with a tin of Fray Bentos steak and kidney, spooning half the contents into a saucer and watching while the dog demolished it.
Afterwards, Charlie set out on a little tour of the office, much to the the disgust of the duty DS. A stolid, humourless Scot from Aberdeen, he told Winter to find somewhere else for the wee hairy shite. The Lost Property store was unlocked or he might try the cupboard down the hall where the cleaners kept their mops. Winter ignored him, laying hands on a length of blue and whitePolice No Entry tape and converting it into a makeshift lead. Moored to one leg of Winter’s desk, Charlie settled down for a nap.
The number on the ID disc round Charlie’s neck was local but so far Winter hadn’t managed to get through. Finally, he put a call into the control room at Netley, and had the desk supervisor check the reverse phone directory. Charlie evidently belonged to a household in Old Portsmouth but when Winter tried the name Czinski on the dog it failed to raise a flicker of interest. He was beginning to wonder about taking the animal home for the night when one of the uniforms from downstairs appeared at the office door.
‘Serious assault in Somerstown,’ he called. ‘Anyone interested?’
By the time Winter got to Fraser Road, the ambulance had gone. A small crowd was still gathered in the road, mainly older people and young kids. A WPC met Winter as he got out of his car.
‘Bloke was lying on the pavement, just here. Cabby spotted him and called in.’
Winter was following her pointed finger. There was a lot of blood, still fresh.
‘Anyone see what happened?’
‘No one we’ve found so far.’ She nodded at the houses across the road. ‘We’ve started knocking on doors but no one’s at home.’
‘What about this lot?’ Winter indicated the faces staring down at the pavement.
‘Half of them don’t speak English and the kids think it’s a laugh.’
‘No one saw anything?’
‘What do you think?’
Winter took the point. What you didn’t do in Somerstown was volunteer any kind of help. A formal statementcould land you in court as a witness and who needed that kind of grief?
‘We’ve got a name?’ Winter was looking at the blood again.
‘Yes.’ The WPC produced a creased envelope. ‘We found this in the guy’s back pocket.’
Winter took the envelope. Inside was a demand for payment on an electricity bill. If the recipient didn’t come up with £57.16 in seven days he’d face the risk of disconnection. Winter peered at the name. David John Rooke.
‘Shit,’ he said quietly. ‘How badly was he hurt?’
‘Badly, I’m afraid. The blokes on the ambulance were talking brain damage. He was unconscious when I got here and he was still out when they took him away.’
‘Head? Face?’
‘Total mess. Someone had given him a right battering.’
Winter nodded. He had no idea whether Rooke had been intercepted on the street, or dragged out of
The prison officer had returned with Coughlin’s file. The governor checked through the photocopy page by page before inserting it carefully into an A4 envelope. The prison officer produced a form. Faraday signed it, then glanced up.
‘So I can strike Davidson off my list, can I?’
‘What list?’
‘My suspect list.’ He tapped the file envelope, spelling it out. ‘Coughlin’s would-be killers.’
‘Christ, yes.’ The governor stood up. ‘In my view, the man was never into serious crime in the first place.’
By late afternoon, Winter and Charlie had fallen in love. The little cairn terrier he’d seized from Darren Geech had accompanied him back to the first-floor CID room at Highland Road, and had now found a home under Winter’s desk. The dog was obviously hungry, probably hadn’t been fed for weeks, but when Winter popped out to the Londis across the road they had no pet food so he returned with a tin of Fray Bentos steak and kidney, spooning half the contents into a saucer and watching while the dog demolished it.
Afterwards, Charlie set out on a little tour of the office, much to the the disgust of the duty DS. A stolid, humourless Scot from Aberdeen, he told Winter to find somewhere else for the wee hairy shite. The Lost Property store was unlocked or he might try the cupboard down the hall where the cleaners kept their mops. Winter ignored him, laying hands on a length of blue and whitePolice No Entry tape and converting it into a makeshift lead. Moored to one leg of Winter’s desk, Charlie settled down for a nap.
The number on the ID disc round Charlie’s neck was local but so far Winter hadn’t managed to get through. Finally, he put a call into the control room at Netley, and had the desk supervisor check the reverse phone directory. Charlie evidently belonged to a household in Old Portsmouth but when Winter tried the name Czinski on the dog it failed to raise a flicker of interest. He was beginning to wonder about taking the animal home for the night when one of the uniforms from downstairs appeared at the office door.
‘Serious assault in Somerstown,’ he called. ‘Anyone interested?’
By the time Winter got to Fraser Road, the ambulance had gone. A small crowd was still gathered in the road, mainly older people and young kids. A WPC met Winter as he got out of his car.
‘Bloke was lying on the pavement, just here. Cabby spotted him and called in.’
Winter was following her pointed finger. There was a lot of blood, still fresh.
‘Anyone see what happened?’
‘No one we’ve found so far.’ She nodded at the houses across the road. ‘We’ve started knocking on doors but no one’s at home.’
‘What about this lot?’ Winter indicated the faces staring down at the pavement.
‘Half of them don’t speak English and the kids think it’s a laugh.’
‘No one saw anything?’
‘What do you think?’
Winter took the point. What you didn’t do in Somerstown was volunteer any kind of help. A formal statementcould land you in court as a witness and who needed that kind of grief?
‘We’ve got a name?’ Winter was looking at the blood again.
‘Yes.’ The WPC produced a creased envelope. ‘We found this in the guy’s back pocket.’
Winter took the envelope. Inside was a demand for payment on an electricity bill. If the recipient didn’t come up with £57.16 in seven days he’d face the risk of disconnection. Winter peered at the name. David John Rooke.
‘Shit,’ he said quietly. ‘How badly was he hurt?’
‘Badly, I’m afraid. The blokes on the ambulance were talking brain damage. He was unconscious when I got here and he was still out when they took him away.’
‘Head? Face?’
‘Total mess. Someone had given him a right battering.’
Winter nodded. He had no idea whether Rooke had been intercepted on the street, or dragged out of
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