Extract 8 from Chapter 15
As Valentine bounded up the steps, his pulse quickened. His thoughts were eddying; he had started the morning with a shock in the paper, but if his worst fears about Jim’s announcement were realised then the newspaper issue would be overtaken. On the top landing, the DI felt his temperature rising beneath his dog-tooth sports coat and loosened his tie. He was removing his sleeve and switching his briefcase to the other hand as the chief super’s door opened and she stood in the frame. He wondered if she’d been listening for his footsteps.
“Bob – in here now.” Her voice was immediate, certain.
“Yes, boss.”
He watched her turn away from him and return to the office. She had a look that unsettled him. Martin was usually so full of her own self-importance, so assured, but she seemed to be on edge in a way that indicated panic.
She spoke again as he entered. “Close the door.”
Valentine took a few steps towards her desk and lowered his briefcase on to the ground. He was laying his sports coat on the back of the chair when she caught his attention by slapping her palm off the desk.
“What’s the worst possible nightmare you can imagine?”
Her voice bled anxiety, edging into a shriek.
Valentine held himself together; it was a trait he was adopting more and more at the sight of rising tensions.
“Are you looking for a list?”
The chief super turned away from him and dropped into her chair. She sat deflated and slumped for a moment and then leaned forward. Valentine removed the chair in front of him and sat down. Martin was grimacing as she spoke.
“We had a call from the racecourse about half an hour ago.”
She brought her hands together and looked as if she was about to start praying. “It was from one of the maintenance blokes. . . He reckons there’s a white male impaled on a stake in the middle of the track.”
Valentine sensed cold pustules of sweat standing out on his forehead. His eyes studied the chief super’s face for more information, but it was clear she had none. He knew what this latest turn of events meant and didn’t want to believe it: he had a strange compunction to object.
“Are you sure?”
“No, Bob, I’m making it up for a laugh . . .” She slumped back in her seat and a truculent gleam entered her eye. “I’ve got uniform out there taking a look now, but it sounds genuine, so you’d better get yourself prepared for a day and a half.”
It seemed like a good time to bury bad news. Valentine made to rise; his chair legs scraped on the carpet tiles as he stood. “By the way, in case you haven’t seen the paper . . .” – he retrieved his case and grey dog-tooth sports coat – “our man Sinclair shafted us well and truly.”
“What?”
Valentine was at the door when he replied. “Gave our victim’s name away. When the hacks get wind of today’s turn of events, I think they’ll be having a day and a half as well.”
Artefacts of the Dead by Tony Black, £7.99 paperback, Black & White Publishing.