Darkside

‘None of us are sure, Holly. If we were sure, we’d have caught the killer.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You think it’s a local?’

‘No, sir.’

Marvel raised his eyebrows. ‘Interesting,’ he said.

Jonas didn’t like Marvel questioning him. He felt like a calf being corralled into the corner of a barn. Nothing bad was happening right now, but a veal crate was always a possibility. ‘I only mean that I know everyone in Shipcott. Pretty much. Not everyone in the other villages, but in Shipcott I do. And I can’t think of anyone who might have done this.’

Marvel pursed his lips and nodded as if it was all sinking in. Which it was.

‘What about this Ronnie Trewell?’

‘Skew Ronnie? He’s a car thief.’

‘Maybe he’s moving up in the world.’

Jonas couldn’t help smiling. ‘Have you spoken to him, sir?’

‘Not yet.’

‘He’s not moving anywhere. He’s harmless. He’s not … quite … right.’ Jonas waved at his temple with his forefinger. ‘You know?’

‘The Yorkshire Ripper wasn’t quite right, Holly.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What about Peter Priddy?’

‘As the killer?’

‘No, for president.’

Jonas ignored the sarcasm. ‘I think it’s highly unlikely.’

‘Because you know him?’

‘No, because I know what he’s like.’

‘And what is he like, Holly?’

‘He’s all right. Nothing special. He’s just a good bloke.’

‘So Trewell is harmless and Priddy’s a good bloke. Convincing,’ said Marvel waspishly.

Jonas was sick of standing in the corner of the barn. ‘Don’t you have any forensic evidence, sir?’

‘That you didn’t put your grubby great mitts all over?’

Jonas flushed deeply and realized he’d backed into the crate all by himself. Marvel wasn’t being nice. He wasn’t sharing. He’d just been waiting for his chance to get Jonas back for the fright at the door – he could see that now, but it was too late.

‘And now I hear you’ve been doing our fucking job, Holly – bumbling about asking questions before we can go in.’

‘People keep asking what we’re doing, sir. What I’m doing. As the local officer I thought I should be doing something. That’s all.’

After their first encounter Marvel had marked Jonas Holly down as spineless and stupid. Now he expanded his opinion of him to encompass spineless, stupid, and with ideas above his station. There was something about Jonas that brought out the bully in Marvel – made him want to cut the lanky young man down to size.

‘You think you should be involved, do you, Holly?’

‘Sir, I only—’

‘Be part of the investigation? Get a bit of glamour in your life? Local bobby catches killer?’

‘That’s not what I—’

‘OK then!’ Marvel clapped his hands together and rubbed them as if he was about to partake in a truck-pull. ‘Far be it from me to keep a good man down, Holly. I’ve got just the job for you.’

Jonas said nothing. He felt he could only make things worse.

But even his silence fed Marvel. ‘Killers,’ he said, ‘like to return to the scene of the crime. Right?’

‘Some do,’ said Jonas warily.

‘Then I want you to wait for him.’

Jonas was confused.

Marvel headed back to the front door, gesturing for Jonas to follow him. He opened the door and pointed at the now-empty step.

‘I want you to stand there until further notice.’

‘You’re joking!’ The words burst out of Jonas before he could stop them. He almost added ‘sir’ in an attempt to mitigate them, but that bird had flown.

Marvel was unruffled.

‘Maintain the integrity of the crime scene. Report suspicious activity. Consider yourself involved.’

Jonas said nothing. Marvel cocked his head and put a hand behind his ear. ‘I didn’t hear you, PC Holly.’

Jonas had one last stab at resistance: ‘What about my job? I’m not under your command. Sir.’

‘What job? Cats up trees and taking fags off school kids? Do me a fucking favour. This is a murder investigation and I’m the senior investigating officer so you’re under my command if I say you are. Got it?’

Again he cocked his head. Again the hand behind the ear.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jonas. ‘I got it.’

* * *

Marvel’s shoes were ruined and they were the only pair he had with him. He turned the heating up to Full and put his brogues on the radiator, stuffed with the sudoku and horoscope pages from the Daily Mail; each as pointless and confusing as the other. Debbie used to read his stars to him. at him, really. Taurus. The Bull. Bullshit, more likely. She’d always said they were a perfect match. Well look at them now: him sat in a stable with wet shoes, her back with her mother like some impecunious student, having chosen the retro couch over him and his growing collection of empty Jameson bottles. A match made in heaven.

Fuck. He suddenly remembered the vomit. He pulled his phone out of his pocket more in hope than expectation, but was surprised to see five full bars of signal inviting him to make the call while he still could.

‘Reeves?’ he said. ‘It’s me.’

Jos Reeves had obviously been asleep and Marvel glanced at his watch. It was only 11.10pm, the bloody stoner.

‘Yeah,’ said Reeves. ‘What?’

‘I found what looks like vomit outside the vic’s back door.’