Open Grave by A.M. Peacock

Author:A.M. Peacock [Peacock, A.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books

22

A week later Jack had convinced Edwards to let him back to work. He’d heard nothing from McGuinness in the meantime and had enjoyed no luck with his enquiries into the Nell Stevens case, despite speaking with a number of close friends, including her agent. It was with this conundrum that he was wrestling when Robson’s name popped up on his phone.

Jack accepted the call. ‘What do you want?’

‘You beat up one of McGuinness’s boys?’ David Robson’s trembling voice hurtled down the receiver.

He held up a palm to indicate Watkins should wait outside before lowering his voice. ‘How do you know that?’

‘That’s irrelevant. They think I’ve talked!’

‘You have talked, David.’

‘Yeah, but now I’m in the shit! You asked him specifically if somebody was muscling in on Dorian’s patch.’

Jack sighed. ‘Unless you start telling me exactly what’s going on I can’t help you.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ Robson spat. ‘They’ll come for me now.’

‘Some would call that karma. Anyway, that was nothing to do with the drugs stuff.’

There was a pause on the end of the line, followed by the noise of someone shuffling about.

‘It’s all connected, Jack. Or, at least, they think it is. You know it’s my job to write those stories.’

‘It’s not your job to destroy the reputation of the police at every opportunity, Robson.’

The journalist lowered his voice. ‘Look, if I go easy on you, make you look good in the press, will you watch out for me?’

‘I’ll think about it.’

He left the reporter in a nervy state and concentrated on the whiteboard in his office. Sure, Edwards had instructed him to take it easy but that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up to speed. Pictures of the Open Grave victims lined the board: Travis Kane, removal man, thirty-one years old. Jessica Lisbie, twenty-six, worked in marketing. Peter Rutherford, an unemployed twenty-three year old. Amy Drummond, a twenty-seven-year-old receptionist. They still had no connection established between the victims.

The conversation he’d just had with Robson refused to leave his mind. It wasn’t like his old nemesis to get so spooked. Maybe he really would have to keep an eye on the situation; not to mention on top of watching his own back. McGuinness would clearly know what had happened. What would his next move be?

He threw a pen at the board, picked up his canteen coffee and took a sip. Resisting the urge to gag, he left it on the desk and stood, running events over in his mind for the millionth time. Now that Robson was onside, that would be of help, but this was making national press. That, alongside Nell Stevens’ stalker, was making the whole force look incompetent. If they weren’t careful, the powers that be would call in somebody else to do their job.

Watkins appeared back in the doorway. ‘You coming to the meeting?’

‘What meeting?’

‘The new PCC thing remember?’ Watkins said.

The meeting was a gathering of the who’s who of Newcastle’s constabulary. Jack took a seat in the second row, right behind the considerable bulk of Edwards, who was positioned next to his superiors.

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