Tooth & Nail

Rebus read through the unattributed piece. Basically, it concerned itself with the progress or lack of it on the Jean Cooper murder inquiry. But the closing paragraph was the killer. 'The team investigating what have come to be known as the “Wolfman Murders” are being assisted by an expert on serial killers, drafted in from another police force.'

Rebus stared at the newsprint without really seeing it. Surely Cath Farraday wouldn't have? But then how else had the newspaper got to know? He kept his eyes on the page, aware' that both Flight and Lamb were looking, at him. He couldn't believe it: him, an expert! Whether it was true or not—and it wasn't—didn't really matter now. What mattered was that results would be expected from him, results above the norm. Yet he knew he couldn't deliver and in not delivering he would be made to look a laughing stock No wonder those two pairs of eyes burned into his head. No hard-working policeman liked to be usurped by `experts'. Rebus didn't like it himself. He didn't like any of it!

Flight saw the pained expression on Rebus's face and felt sorry for the man. Lamb, however, was smirking, enjoying Rebus's agony. He accepted his newspaper from Rebus and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

`Thought you'd be interested,' he said.

The judge finally looked up, his attention fixed on the jury. `Members of the jury,' he began, `it has been brought to my attention in the case of Crown versus Thomas Watkiss that the evidence of Police Constable Mills contained a passage which may have lodged in your minds, influencing your objectivity.'

So, the man in the dock was Tommy Watkiss, Maria's husband. Rebus studied him again, shaking his mind clear of the news story. Watkiss' face was a curious shape, the top half much wider than the cheekbones and jaw, which fell almost to a point. He had the look of an old boxer who had suffered one dislocated jaw too many. The judge was going, on about some cock-up in the police case. The arresting constable had given evidence stating, that his first words on reaching the accused had been `Hello, Tommy, what's going on here?' By giving this in evidence, he had let the jury know that Watkiss was well known to the local constabulary, something which might well influence their judgment. The judge was therefore ordering the jury to be dismissed.

`Good on ya, Tommy!' came a cry from the public gallery, quickly silenced by a glare from the judge. Rebus wondered where he had heard the voice before.

As the court rose, Rebus stepped forward a few paces and turned to look up at, the balcony. The spectators had risen, too, and in the front row Rebus could see a young man dressed in bike leathers and carrying a crash-helmet, grinning towards Watkiss. He raised his fist in a gesture of triumph, then turned and began to climb the steps to the gallery's exit. It was Kenny, Samantha's boyfriend. Rebus walked back to where Flight and Lamb were standing, watching him, curiously, but Rebus directed his attention towards the dock. The look on Watkiss's face was one of pure relief. DC Lamb, on the other hand, seemed ready to kill.

`Luck of the fucking Irish,' he spat.

`Tommy's no more Irish than you are, Lamb,' Flight said phlegmatically.

`What was the charge?' Rebus asked, his mind still confused by the newspaper story, by Kenny's presence in this place and by his actions. The judge was leaving by a green padded leather door to the side of the jury box.

Unknown

`The usual,' said Lamb, calming quickly. `Rape. When his old woman snuffed it, he needed somebody else on the game. So he tried to “persuade" a girl on his street that she could make a few bob. When that didn't work, he lost his rag and had a go at her. Bastard. We'll get him at the retrial. I still think he did for his old woman.'

`Then find the evidence,' said Flight. `Meantime, I can think of a. certain Police Constable who needs a good kick up the arse.'

`Yeah,' said Lamb. He was grinning evilly at the thought, then took the hint and 'left the courtroom in search of the unfortunate PC Mills.

'Inspector Flight.' It, was the prosecuting counsel, striding briskly towards them with documents and books cradled in his left arm, his right arm outstretched. Flight took the well-groomed hand and shook it.

`Hello, Mr Chambers. This is Inspector Rebus. He's come down from Scotland to help us on the Wolfman investigation.

Chambers looked interested. 'Ah, yes, the Wolfman. I look forward to prosecuting that particular case.'

`I just hope we can give you the opportunity,' said Rebus.

`Well,' said Chambers, `meanwhile it's tricky enough landing the little fish like our friend.' He glanced back in the direction of the dock, which now stood empty. `But we try,' he said with a sigh, `we try.' Then, he paused, and added in an undertone, directed' at Flight. `Get this, George, I don't like being royally shafted by my own team. Okay?'