Death Line by Maureen Carter Read Free Book Online Page A

Cops were getting younger these days: floppy fringe, bum fluff, pimple cluster under a
retroussé nose. This guy could’ve been on work experience.
    “I passed it on to Inspector Hainsworth? He’s getting a squad car there? Someone else is on to the gaffer?” Answers sounded like questions. Either way it was three out of
three. Least he was learning. Textbook stuff.
    They were back in the squad room now, Jack Hainsworth shouting down the phone, Byford heading for a computer. Sun streaming through the windows. Light on the case as well?
    “What’s your name?” Bev asked.
    “DC Freeman. Tony.” He was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Either the excitement was too much or he needed a piss.
    Perching on the edge of a desk, she kept her voice calm. “You took the call?” It’d be dead easy to get infected by Freeman’s excited conviction. Everyone wanted a collar
but there was a load of nutters out there. Hoaxers. Axe grinders. Stirrers.
    Eager nod. “Yeah. A woman.” He smoothed already impeccable hair with a still fluttering hand. “Wouldn’t say who she was. But she lives in one of the flats in Marston
Road?”
    Good. Should be easy to trace if need be. “Go on.”
    “Says she saw a motor pull up in the early hours on Thursday, and this bloke take something out of the boot. She thought it was a roll of carpet or something.” Or something? Bev
shuddered. Hold on, though. Unless Mrs X had X-ray vision...
    Freeman must’ve read her thoughts. “Street lights were on, and she saw his face in the courtesy light.”
    Better. “How come she knew it was Roland – ” Bev glanced at the note again. “ – Haines?”
    He shrugged. “Maybe she saw him in the papers like that guy.” Freeman nodded over at Byford who was tapping a keyboard. Christ, Bev thought, the rookie didn’t even know the big
man. “Either way, sarge, she says she recognised the face, realised she’d seen him around.”
    Even better, but: “How come she didn’t...?”
    “What’ve we got?” The door took a hammering, Knight came hurtling in, tie over his shoulder, Powell on his tail.
    “Take a look.” Byford swivelled the screen. As one, they moved closer. He’d pulled up a court report from the Guardian. And a picture of Mr Nobody, the sort of guy
you’d pass in the street, not think twice. Roland Haines still gave Bev the shivers. He’d stood trial for murdering a child in Bristol in 2005.
    And been acquitted.
    Haines hadn’t changed much over the years. Apart from the lavish damson eye shadow. Clumsy. Head-banged a door according to Hawkins and Gibson, the uniforms who’d
brought him in. Their word against his, and he’d been yelling blue murder. Had he not been so tired and emotional, someone might have given a shit. Haines was currently cooling off in a
holding cell before helping with inquiries. The search team taking his Balsall Heath pad apart had already found a couple of heroin baggies. Leverage as they were known in the trade.
    Elsewhere in the nick, feelings were also running high. To some cops Haines was already ‘that murdering bastard’. Quite a few had dropped by to have a butcher’s through the
peephole. Not that it was a freak show. Roland Haines was middle-aged, mousy-haired, average height, average weight, average looks. Call me Norm, as Bev had just told Mac on the phone.
    She was in the canteen, multi-tasking, scoffing a pasty and cramming for an interview: Haines’s. Knight wanted her in on it. Mac was calling from Balsall Heath where, in lieu of Bev,
he’d taken Carol Pemberton to cast an eye on the Quarry Bank’s troubled waters. Sounded to Bev like they needed a little oil drizzled. According to Mac, a dozen or so hotheads were
calling for a visible police presence 24/7 on the estate until Josh’s killer was arrested. If not, Mac reckoned the ringleaders would likely take to the streets themselves.
    “Any chance I can drop a hint we’re holding a suspect, boss? Make clear it’s