The Trail Killer

Fourteen

Melanie squinted her eyes against the grey morning light which was permitted entrance by the slick upward movement of the garage door. Given the trembling nature of her hands, unlocking the driver's door of the Renault and inserting the ignition key into the slot both proved insidious and somewhat time-consuming tasks. Partly, it was the booze. Partly, the cannon-boom level of shock which had yet to even remotely subside. Mostly though, it was the sheer dizzying recklessness of the plan which had moments earlier plunged into her head like an asteroid into an ocean.

Finally, the Renault spluttered into life, crackled out onto the driveway gravel. Already over the limit - substantially so, three or four times so - Melanie could only pray that she wouldn't encounter some devious, watchful officer in a patrol car who would siren-blare her mission to a premature halt. No, for those next few minutes at least she needed to be careful, feign at some basic level of calmness and presence of mind.

And after that?

Well, after that nothing much mattered anymore.

*

The CID room was abuzz with cleaning staff tidying up the mess from the previous evening's festivities.

"Morning ladies!" greeted Shields.

She didn't stop for her usual helping of station gossip however, just made a beeline straight towards Gooch's office. He was on the phone, she saw, but couldn't have cared less. Just bustled hell-bound through the door.

"Happy with yourself then?"

She stood bristling and defiant before him, watched as he clamped his hand over the receiver, scowled up at her.

"As a subordinate, you are required to knock before entering my office. As a subordinate, you are also required to use a respectful tone in your dealings with me."

But the anger swelling inside of her made her immune to reprimand or giving any consideration to the consequences of her actions. Yes, she was an officer of the Wynmouthshire Constabulary and all which that entailed, but first and foremost she was a human being. It was this bare, unranked version of herself which Gooch needed to hear.

Her arm swished out in the vague direction of Dunwick. "You sent me out there to break the terrible news to that poor girl and her mother, yet all the time kept the fact of his suicide note secret from me!"

"What suicide note are you bloody talking about?"

"Oh, come on - sounds like the whole station is in the know."

Gooch lifted a fat, stubby index figure to indicate that she should shut it for a moment, then pressed the receiver back to his ear

"Sorry about this sir, something's come up. Going to have to call you back I'm afraid."

After lowering the receiver into the cradle, he turned her another scowl.

"I do not appreciate having to curtail my phone calls to the inappropriate whims of a subordinate. Particularly not when the phone call in question is of a highly important and confidential nature with none other than the Chief Constable himself. Now, I warn you sergeant to tread very carefully here. Very, very carefully indeed."

But Shields had no intention of treading carefully. None at all. Her intention was the exact opposite, in fact. She was there to trample and to stomp. To knock things over, turn them upside down. Squash them, shatter them, smash them to smithereens.

"The pair of you were discussing strategy, no doubt. How to spin it if it gets out to the press." She nodded towards the window. "There's Redfern the Echo crime correspondent outside the entrance right now. I could be down there in an instant, tell him everything. Not just about the note, but the rigged ID parade too, the threats you made to Gupta and his family."