Dead in the Water

Fargo nodded. “I see. That’s very helpful.”

Rose didn’t like the idea that she had been helpful, not if, as she suspected, being ‘helpful’ meant she had confirmed the police’s suspicions of Mullen. “So why are you here?” she said with sudden aggression, “if neither Doug nor Becca is here?”

There was a guttural noise from behind Fargo. Rose peered round his bulk. It was Dorkin. He was standing on the top step of the doorway. She had no idea how long he had been there or how much of the conversation he had heard. All she knew was that she preferred Fargo.

“Ms Baines has been taken to hospital,” Dorkin said.

Rose felt a mixture of shock and relief, but mostly relief — not only that Mullen was not lying dead on the drive, but that the two of them had not done a runner into the sunset.

“Is she alright?”

Dorkin was watching her through narrowed eyes. “Someone drugged her,” he said. “Very likely it was your friend Mr Mullen. I was wondering if you knew where he might have gone.”

“Why should I know?”

“You’re pally with him, aren’t you? Maybe he told you. Maybe you’re planning on meeting up with him.”

“What on earth do you mean? I am a friend. But I don’t know where he is. And if, as you seem to be implying, you think I am involved in some criminal activity with him, then why on earth would I have come here when there are police swarming all over the house?” She couldn’t help feeling pleased with her own logic. But that didn’t stop Dorkin giving her his grade one hard-man stare. She tried to face him down, anger beginning to stir. She hated bullies. Starting with her father, she had always hated bullies.

But Dorkin had not finished. “Let me tell you, lady, that assisting a murderer is a very serious offence.”

A murderer? Mullen a murderer? Surely not. She shuddered, but held Dorkin’s gaze. “Am I free to go?” she said after a long pause.

Dorkin nodded. “Please do.” He was suddenly as polite as pie. “This is potentially a murder scene so we don’t want it contaminated. But if you do a runner, make no mistake — we will catch you and we will question you until we get the truth out of you.”

Rose turned and walked away, back towards her car. Fear had been replaced by fury. ‘Lady!’ The word resounded in her head and she felt something not far from hate for Detective Inspector Dorkin.

* * *

Dorkin and Fargo watched Rose Wilby get into her car and drive off down the road in the direction of Wooton.

“So you don’t think she’s involved?” Fargo said.

“No.”

“She likes Mullen.”

“She wouldn’t have come here if she was complicit with his plans. She’s an innocent stooge who’s been taken for a ride.”

“So where’s Mullen?”

“He’ll have an escape route. People like him always do. A fake passport. A boat moored in a marina on the south coast under another name.”

Fargo looked down at his feet because he couldn’t bear to look Dorkin in the eye. It was as if his boss had given up on catching Mullen. Fargo found that deeply disturbing.

“We need to get a marker on his car,” Fargo said. “If he’s heading for the south, he’ll probably have gone down the A34. We’ll soon pick it up.”

“He’s probably changed his car or switched the number plates. He doesn’t strike me as being a stupid criminal.” Dorkin was up to his thighs in his slough of depression.

Fargo pressed on. “There will be evidence in the house. If he’s got a boat, there will be some paperwork somewhere to tell us that.”

“You think he’s going to leave stuff lying around for us to find?”

“He’ll have made a mistake,” Fargo said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Dorkin’s gloom was infecting him.

“Fat chance.” Dorkin spat into the gravel and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He lit up and sucked in a lungful of smoke before releasing it into the Boars Hill air. He turned towards Fargo. “Well what are you hanging about for then, Sergeant? Get on with it.” And he stamped off down the drive.

* * *