A Bleeding of Innocents by Jo Bannister Page B

off preceded Donovan’s motorbike round the corner. It slewed to a halt, spitting grit. Liz waited in the open door of her car while he took his helmet off. Then she said, ‘What’s all this about? What have you found out?’
    His urgent stride carried him up the steps to the front door. ‘Come on, I’ll tell you inside.’
    She didn’t move. ‘Sergeant.’ When he looked back she tapped her finger on the roof. ‘In the car.’
    He frowned, puzzled and irritated. ‘But—’
    â€˜The car.’
    When he had folded his long legs inside, and shut the door because she made it clear she was waiting for him to do so, she said – quietly, without rancour, but also firmly: ‘A few ground rules, Sergeant. You don’t bounce me around. I’m happy for you to use your initiative but this is my case and I want to know what you’re doing and also what you’re thinking. When I know why you want to, I will decide if we talk to Page again, and what we say. But we’re going nowhere until I know what you suspect and why.’
    For a moment Donovan looked like a sparrowhawk who’s been mugged by a sparrow. Then he blinked resentfully and explained. ‘What if Kerry wasn’t the intended victim? What if it was Page? Anyone who knew them would be expecting him to be behind the wheel. His boss says you could make that mistake – particularly if it was dark and she was wrapped up warm.’
    Liz had considered the possibility without reaching any conclusion. ‘Did Tulliver know someone who might want Page dead?’
    â€˜No. But I might.’ Liz heard the electric thread running through his voice and wondered if it should be warning her of something. Clarke would have known, and probably Shapiro, but she didn’t know him well enough. ‘I looked at his flight log. Last Saturday week he flew a party up to Cartmel for the races.’
    Liz knew the pause was for dramatic effect but did not mind humouring him a little. ‘Who?’
    â€˜Jack Carney.’ He said it with a kind of tight-lipped triumph. ‘Maybe the name doesn’t mean much at Headquarters but he’s the closest thing we’ve got to the Godfather. What trouble we have with organized crime is down to Carney. It’s always someone else does the time but Carney pulls the strings. He’s an evil sod, and he’d buy a hit if he thought it’d keep him out of jail.’
    Liz’s eyes were searching his narrow face. She had not realized how ravaged he looked. ‘So what are you thinking? That Page was running errands for this man, that he tried to cheat him – something like that?’
    Donovan shook his head. ‘Tulliver says not, reckons Page wouldn’t do anything illegal. But suppose he overheard something – something that could put Carney behind bars? It’s a two-hundred-mile flight, say three hours there and back. Maybe somebody got careless, forgot Page wasn’t on the payroll.’
    â€˜So Carney waited a week and then shot his wife?’
    â€˜Even Jack Carney doesn’t have a resident hit-man,’ glowered Donovan. ‘He’s got muscle. If this was a broken arm I’d want to know where Terry McMeekin was last night. But McMeekin isn’t a killer. He’d like you to think so but he hasn’t the guts. Carney’d bring someone in from outside. A week is about what it’d take to get hold of a pro, brief him, and get him in place. Only he made a mistake and shot Kerry instead.’
    Liz turned it over in her mind. It was possible. It didn’t stand out as a certainty but in this job not much did. You found something the rough shape of an answer and chipped away at the inconsistencies until a theory emerged. And the connection between David Page and the local gangster was surely more than a coincidence. At any event it warranted exploring.
    â€˜All right, we’ll talk to