Beneath the Bleeding. Val McDermid

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      ‘Sorting you out.’ She pulled her chair round so she could see the screen.

      Tony typed in the url. It took them to a page with the banner heading, ‘The Best Days of Our Lives.’ For only £5 annual membership, the site promised it would provide the best service in the UK for reuniting old school friends and workmates. A brief exploration revealed that by registering with the site, people could check out their old contacts and get back in touch via emails which would be forwarded by the website administration. ‘Why would Robbie Bishop be interested in contacting old school mates?’ Tony said. ‘I’d have thought they’d be falling over themselves to get back in touch with him.’

      Carol shrugged. ‘Maybe he wanted to look up an old flame who dumped him? He was footloose and fancy free after the end of his engagement.’

      ‘I don’t see it. He was good looking, rich and talented. Everywhere he went, women threw themselves at him. And apparently, he was quite happy to catch some of them. He was engaged to a very cool trophy babe. If he was still carrying a torch for somebody who dumped him when he was fifteen, he wouldn’t be behaving like that. And he’d have done something about it before now.’ He shook his head. ‘No, the psychology’s all wrong for that. Do we know for sure it’s Robbie’s handwriting?’

      ‘We don’t. It’s with forensics now. You think somebody gave it to him?’

      ‘He told Phil Campsie he was having a drink with someone from school. Maybe whoever he was drinking with suggested he should check out the site, look up some old mates. Robbie’s not interested but he doesn’t want to seem rude so he shoves it in his pocket and forgets all about it.’

      ‘Could be. It makes sense.’

      Tony opened a window and typed in, ‘Harriestown High School, Bradfield.’

      ‘You know where he went to school?’ Carol sounded suspicious.

      ‘I follow football, Carol. I know where he grew up. His mum and dad still live in the same house, in Harriestown. He offered to buy them a new place, but they wanted to stay where they belonged.’

      ‘You don’t learn stuff like that from following football.’

      Tony had the grace to look shame-faced. ‘So I surf the gossip from time to time. It doesn’t make me a bad person. Look at that.’ He pointed to the screen. There was a photograph of Harriestown High School, boxy sixties concrete and glass flanking the old Victorian brick core. Beneath a brief history of the school there was a section entitled ‘Famous Alumni’. A couple of MPs, two rock bands who had made a small dent in the charts during the Britpop era, a mid-list crime writer, a minor soap star, a fashion designer and Robbie Bishop. A couple of clicks and he’d brought up the names of Harriestown High School former pupils who had overlapped Robbie Bishop’s years in the school. ‘Whoever gave him the url, chances are the name is here.’

      Carol groaned. ‘I suppose it does whittle down the list a little. Rather than checking out every single person who was at school with Robbie, now we only have to go through the ones who are paid-up members of the Best Days of Our Lives.’

      ‘At least now you’re looking for a needle in a sewing box rather than a haystack.’

      ‘You think that makes it easier? That’s the trouble with not having an obvious motive. You don’t know where to start.’

      Tony winced. ‘And that’s what I’m for, right? The one who narrows things down when “Who benefits?” doesn’t cut the mustard.’

      Carol grinned. ‘Something like that. And on that cheerful note, I’m going to leave you to it. I’m off to London to talk to Robbie’s ex.’

      ‘The lovely Bindie Blyth, would that be?’

      ‘I see what you mean about surfing the gossip. You’re absolutely right. And before I can take off, I need to sort out some bodies to acquire as much city-centre CCTV footage as we can get our hands on. And then the poor sods have to go through it all.’

      ‘Rather them than me. What’s the coverage like around Amatis?’

      Carol rolled her eyes. ‘It ranges from overkill to nothing at all. The front of the club is well covered, and so are the routes to the nearest multi-storeys. But there’s a side exit near the VIP area. It opens on to an alley that runs down the side of the building. From there, you’re into the warren of Temple Fields back streets. And in spite of our best efforts, far too much of that is still CCTV-free.’ There was a moment’s silence while they both remembered past cases that had revolved around Temple Fields, an area that managed to combine the red-light district, the gay village, designer apartments in converted warehouses and a honeycomb of small businesses. Temple Fields was the cusp of cool and crap, where edgy met enterprising for denizens who spanned the spectrum from criminal to righteous.

      ‘It’s still the only part of town where anything can happen,’ Tony said, his voice almost dreamy. ‘Good and bad.’

      Carol snorted derisively. ‘I’ll have to take your word for the good.’

      ‘We only ever see the worst. I suspect there’s good magic there too.’

      ‘Tell that to Paula.’ Carol’s voice was sour, remembering how Paula had almost died in a dingy room in Temple Fields.

      Tony smiled. ‘Carol, Paula understands much more about transgression than you or I ever will. She knows what tempers the down side of Temple Fields. For a long time, it was the only place where people like her could be safe. There were gays in Temple Fields long before the gay village became a cool destination.’

      It was a gentle rebuke, but one that reminded Carol she couldn’t lay her reactions over Paula’s and expect an exact fit. ‘You’re right,’ she admitted. Before she could say more, a nurse knocked and walked in.

      ‘What can I do for you?’ she said.

      ‘He needs pain relief but he won’t admit it,’ Carol said, standing up and gathering her things together.

      ‘Is that right?’

      Tony nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

      The nurse consulted his chart and said, ‘I told you, there’s no medals for martyrs here. I’ll bring you something.’

      Carol followed her to the door. ‘I’m not sure when I’ll be back from London, but I’ll try and come by tomorrow.’

      ‘Good luck,’ Tony said. He wasn’t sorry to see her go; her visit had reminded him how little energy he had. It was a relief to know there would be no other visitors that evening. There were advantages to keeping the world at arm’s length.

      For a long time, he had mistrusted those few overtures of friendship that had come his way. He’d believed they were based on the misconception that the face he presented to the world had anything to do with what was going on inside him. He was aware how slender was the connection between the two. And that his own history placed him closer to those he hunted than those on whose behalf he hunted. He knew the extent of his damage and understood that its gift of empathy had to be paid for somehow. By the time he’d plucked up the emotional courage to lay some of the blame on his mother, he’d also acquired enough knowledge to understand that was too easy an option. He had spent years feeling like a child with its face pressed to the window behind СКАЧАТЬ