The Bat(103)

A friend of a colleague, whom Harry had met at a rare dinner engagement, was a local council psychologist. He had sent Harry a quizzical look when Harry elucidated on his method for combating emotions.

‘War?’ he’d said. ‘Shredder?’ He had appeared to be genuinely concerned.

Harry opened his eyes. The first morning light was seeping in through the curtains. He looked at his watch. Six o’clock. The radio crackled.

‘This is Delta. Charlie, come in.’

Harry jumped up from the sofa and grabbed the microphone.

‘Delta, this is Holy. What’s up?’

‘We’ve found Evans White. We got an anonymous tip-off from a woman who had seen him in King’s Cross, so we sent three patrol cars and picked him up. He’s being questioned now.’

‘What’s he said?’

‘He denied everything until we played him the tape of his conversation with Miss Enquist. He told us he’d driven by Hungry Jack’s three times after eight o’clock, in a white Honda. But he gave up when he didn’t see her and drove back to a flat he’s renting. Later he went to a nightclub, and that was where we found him. By the way, the tip-off asked after you.’

‘I thought as much. Her name’s Sandra. Have you searched his flat?’

‘Yeah. Nada. Zilch. And Smith says he saw the same white Honda drive past him three times outside Hungry Jack’s.’

‘Why didn’t he drive the black Holden as arranged?’

‘White says he lied about the car to Miss Enquist in case someone was trying to set him up, so that he could do a couple of circuits and check the coast was clear.’

‘All right. I’m on my way now. Ring the others and wake them up, will you?’

‘They drove home two hours ago, Holy. They’d been up all night and Watkins told us—’

‘I don’t give a shit what Watkins said. Call them.’

They had put back the old fan. It was hard to say if it had benefited from its break; at any rate it creaked in protest at being brought out of retirement.

The meeting was over, but Harry was still sitting in the conference room. His shirt had large, wet patches under his arms, and he had placed a phone on the table in front of him. He closed his eyes and mumbled something to himself. Then he lifted the receiver and dialled the number.

‘Hello?’

‘This is Harry Holy.’

‘Harry! Pleased to hear you’re up early. A good habit. I’ve been waiting for you to ring. Are you alone?’

‘I’m alone.’

There was heavy breathing at both ends of the line.

‘You’re on to me, aren’t you, mate?’

‘I’ve known for quite a while, yes.’

‘You’ve done a good job, Harry. And now you’re ringing because I’ve got something you want, right?’

‘That’s correct.’ Harry wiped away the sweat.

‘You understand that I had to take her, Harry?’

‘No. No, I don’t understand.’

‘Come on, Harry, you’re not stupid. When I heard someone was digging I knew of course it would be you. I hope for your sake you’ve been smart enough to keep your mouth shut about this. Have you, Harry?’

‘I’ve kept my mouth shut.’

‘So there’s still a chance you could see your red-haired friend again.’

‘How did you do it? How did you take her?’

‘I knew when she was finishing work, so I waited outside the Albury in the car and drove behind her. When she went into the park I thought someone ought to tell her it wasn’t advisable to go there at night. So I jumped out of the car and ran after her. I let her have a sniff of a cloth I had with me, and after that I had to help her into the car.’

Harry realised he hadn’t found the transmitter in the bag.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘You sound nervous, Harry. Relax. I don’t intend to ask for much. Your job is to catch murderers, and that’s what I’m asking you to do. To continue to do your job. You see, Birgitta told me that the main suspect was a drug dealer, a certain Mr Evans White. Innocent or not, every year he and others like him kill many more than I’ve ever done. And that’s not such a small number. Ha ha. I don’t think I need to go into details. All I want is for you to make sure Evans White is convicted for his crimes. Plus a couple of mine. The conclusive evidence could be traces of blood and skin belonging to Inger Holter in White’s flat? Since you know the pathologist he could supply you with some samples of the requisite evidence and you could plant it at the crime scene, couldn’t you? Ha ha. I’m joking, Harry. Perhaps I could get some for you? Perhaps I have traces of blood and skin of the various victims, and the odd hair, lying neatly sorted in plastic bags somewhere? Just in case. After all, you never know when you might need it to send people off on the wrong track. Ha ha.’