Without knowing what he was dealing with, it was a question Miller couldn’t answer, but he was willing to let it go for the time being. He looked down at the case again, saw the dent in one corner which he knew would match the one in Wayne Cutler’s head. ‘Is that what you’re so worried about? The bloke you brained at the station?’ Miller didn’t want the lad to be any more terrified than he already was, so he did not bother mentioning the brainee’s name. Or the misfortunes that usually befell people who crossed him.

  ‘It’s not that,’ Andy said. ‘Besides, it wasn’t me that smacked the bloke in the head, it was Ji—’

  The boy had managed to stop himself in time, but he’d almost given away his mate’s name. Just the one syllable of it. So, his partner was most likely a Jimmy. A James . . .

  ‘It’s not the case, it’s what’s inside it.’ Andy swallowed again and scrunched up his face. He pressed himself back into the sofa. ‘You should see for yourself, I reckon.’

  Miller moved to pick up the briefcase then sat down again with the case across his lap.

  ‘I’d better warn you,’ Andy said. ‘It’s a bit bloody grim. So, you know . . . best to prepare yourself.’

  Miller shook his head as he fingered the locks. ‘Listen, I’m a police officer and I don’t want to sound like I’m patronising you, but some of the stuff I’ve seen would make those gory thrillers you’re so fond of look like Enid Bly—’ He opened the case. ‘Holy shit!’

  ‘Told you,’ Andy said.

  Miller studied the contents of the case for a minute or so before gently closing the lid and setting the case at his feet. ‘Right, then.’

  ‘So, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Well, we could put an ad in the local paper’s lost and found section. You know, “If you’re struggling to wave at friends or having trouble applauding, we might have a couple of things that belong to you”, but I doubt the individual to whom these were once attached will be coming forward to claim them any time soon.’

  ‘Because they’re . . . dead?’

  ‘That’s my best guess,’ Miller said.

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘And what you’re going to do is hand this case straight in to the police station. Come on, I’ll take you down there.’

  Andy Bagnall stood up, shouting and shaking his head. ‘No, I can’t take it. They’ll nick me for something, won’t they?’

  ‘Just tell them you found it. Tell them your dog found it. Have you got a dog?’

  ‘They’re never going to believe that.’ Andy was pacing the carpet and starting to hyperventilate. ‘I’m sure they’ll find summat to do me for.’

  Miller thought the lad was probably right. There was CCTV at the railway station, so they wouldn’t have much problem identifying him and at the very least doing him for theft. Even if the individual to whom the case belonged had now vanished and was very unlikely to press charges.

  ‘Right,’ he said, eventually. ‘You’d best make yourself scarce then.’

  Andy stopped and stared. His hands were pressed together like he was saying a prayer. ‘Serious?’

  ‘You were never here, fair enough?’

  ‘I was never here, right.’ Andy thought for a moment. ‘So, where was I, then?’

  Miller ushered him towards the door. ‘It doesn’t matter. Just make yourself scarce. Oh . . . have you ever been nicked before?’

  ‘Well, I’ve had a few run-ins, like.’

  ‘Properly nicked, I’m talking about,’ Miller said. ‘Have you ever had your fingerprints taken? They’ll be all over this case and if they match up to prints they’ve taken before, there’s not a lot I can do to help you.’

  Andy shook his head. ‘I had a mugshot taken once. You know, one of those fake ones you can have done at the Pleasure Beach. I put it in my wallet. Thought it would impress girls.’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘Not so much,’ Andy said.

  Miller watched Andy Bagnall walk quickly away from his front door, stopping only to turn and give Miller a thumbs-up. Miller walked back inside, had another look at what was in the briefcase, then called Sara Xiu.

  She sounded distracted, and Miller had a fair idea what or who was doing the distracting. Xiu was shouting above what sounded like three or four jet engines tumbling down a flight of stairs. She told him to wait while she found somewhere quieter, which Miller reckoned would have been just about anywhere. A minute or so later and he guessed she’d gone outside. He still had to raise his voice above the muted yet repetitive thumping, now cut through with a noise that was frankly startling; resembling, as it did, the agonised growls of a laryngitic Alsatian.

  Miller thought it would make a good name for a heavy-metal band. ‘Good evening, Blackpool! We are Laryngitic Alsatian. One, two, three, four . . . ’

  Xiu’s advice, once Miller had told her what he had in front of him, was unambiguous and predictable. She told him to get to the station as quickly as possible and turn the briefcase over to S&O. She wondered why he even needed to ask.

  Miller thanked her. She was right, of course, as she usually was.

  He closed the briefcase, played with the rats for a while, then went to bed.

  SIX

  He was glad there was nobody home when he got back to his apartment. It was better that way. Time to think, to plan his next move. Besides, he liked his own company just fine. Just him and a bottle of Jack.

  What was not to like?

  Palming the case off on that cop had been a smart move, but since when had he made any other kind? Now, it was the cop’s problem. The Mechanic was free as a bird. So, he’d maybe have to smooth things over with his partner, but that was no biggie. It was time to move on and wait until the next job came calling. The next mark. He worked better alone, anyway.

  Just him.

  And that . . . bottle—

  Bagnall’s phone rang.

  ‘Bugger.’

  Andy put down his bottle of Pepsi Max and looked at his phone. It was Keith calling, which wasn’t much of a shock, because Keith had been calling constantly ever since the previous evening. When he’d come back and found that the case had gone, presumably. Andy had guessed Keith would be straight round to try and get the case back, so he’d been walking the streets for twenty-four hours, more or less.

  Until he’d run into Finn, who’d told him she might be able to help.

  He let the phone ring out then listened again to the message Keith had left several hours earlier.

  ‘Hello, mate, it’s Keith . . . again. Listen, I’m not angry because you took the case, I swear, and I know you’re a bit freaked out by everything and I get it . . . but don’t do anything daft, all right? Just stay calm and let’s meet up for a pint or whatever and sort everything out. Obviously we need to get rid of what’s in that briefcase, but not all of it, yeah? Just stop and think about how much those rings must be worth. Bloody loads, pal. I’m sure we can find someone to take ’em off our hands and obviously we’ll split the dosh fifty-fifty, because that’s only fair. Right? I’m betting it’ll be more than enough to get you to New York or wherever. Business class, an’ all, like as not. So, anyway . . . stay calm, like I say, hang on to that briefcase until I see you and give me a call back. Yeah? Call me, Andy . . . for God’s sake . . . ’

  Andy laid down his phone and slumped back on his sofa. Fine, so he’d got rid of the briefcase and he was fairly sure that the copper was trustworthy because Finn had said so, but it wasn’t like that made everything fine and bloody dandy.

  He needed to stay clear of Keith, that was the main thing. He didn’t believe for one minute that Keith wasn’t angry. He’d waltzed off with the case while Keith was down the road getting chips, so Andy knew he’d be sodding furious. He knew Keith had a temper, too. He’d seen him stab a kid in the arse with a compass once, because the kid had said something about Keith’s haircut being done by the council, and that was when he was only twelve, for God’s sake.

  Andy didn’t want to get stabbed in the arse.

  Or anywhere else, come to that.

  He got up and began to pace about, just like he’d done in that copper’s front room. Last thing he needed now was another panic attack, so he grabbed one of the empty crisp packets on the table and began breathing into it. He inhaled a gobful of salt and vinegar crumbs for his trouble, so he gave up, and stood there panting for a while, trying to work out what to do.

  Keith knew where he lived, obviously – he’d been there often enough when Natalie wasn’t around – so the sensible thing to do was to get the hell out of there. Thinking about it, it occurred to him that Keith might be outside already, so Andy rushed to the window, just to make sure he wasn’t.

  Once he’d established that the coast was clear, he ran into the bedroom and began to chuck pants and socks into a bag. A few of his favourite books. Maybe he could bed down next to Finn for a few nights, but then again he might be better off getting out of Blackpool altogether. He didn’t know where to go, though, because he’d never been further than Preston.

  It wasn’t like he had enough money to get far, anyway . . .

  He stopped and, just for a few moments, he thought about the rings in that briefcase and the money Keith had said they could get for them, and he imagined a plane touching down at JFK. He pictured himself strolling down Fifth Avenue in the sunshine. Scoffing a chilli-dog in Central Park or showing his fake mugshot to some girl who would be dead impressed, in one of them booths in a dimly lit bar, with neon signs and jazz and stuff.

  Then he remembered the waxy dead fingers those rings had been on and started throwing things in the bag a bit faster.

  He stopped again when he thought about Natalie. She’d be worried when she came home and he wasn’t there. She always worried about him. He’d call her as soon as he was sorted, let her know he was OK, but he needed to let her know now that there was no reason to panic. He ran back into the front room to grab a pen and a takeaway menu from the drawer.

  Andy finished packing his bag and dropped it next to the front door. He chucked some snacks and drinks into a plastic bag. Then he sat down, turned over the menu and began to scribble a note.

  SEVEN

  Miller took off his crash helmet, removed the elasticated cables he’d used to attach the briefcase to the back of his moped and sauntered into the station. The duty sergeant clocked what Miller was carrying as he walked past the desk and nodded. ‘Somebody’s going upmarket. Got your sarnies in there, have you, Dec?’

  ‘Just a pair of severed hands,’ Miller said.

  The officer shook his head, chuckling, like Miller was a caution.

  A few minutes later, when Xiu saw what Miller was carrying, her reaction was rather different. She jumped up from her desk, marched across the incident room and manhandled Miller back into the corridor.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘Depends on what you think it is,’ Miller said. ‘You’re tricky to second-guess sometimes.’

  Xiu was not in the mood. ‘Seriously? You said you were going to bring it in last night.’

  ‘It was late,’ Miller said.

  ‘It was nine o’clock.’

  ‘Right, and I’m normally tucked up with a hot milky drink by then. I had my jim-jams laid out and everything.’ He tried to move past her, but she blocked his way. ‘Come on, a few hours aren’t going to make much difference.’

  Xiu, who clearly thought they made a great deal of difference, looked as though she was ready to snatch the briefcase off him and hand it in herself. What would have been an unseemly tussle was only prevented when DI Tim Sullivan appeared in the corridor.

  ‘Excellent,’ Sullivan said. ‘You’re together.’

  ‘Who’s been spreading rumours?’ Miller said.

  ‘We’ve got a body in a flat behind Kingscote Park.’

  ‘A dead one?’ He returned the DI’s contemptuous stare. ‘No need for evils, Tim, I’m just making sure I’ve got all the facts.’

  ‘Get yourselves down there.’

  ‘Righto.’

  Sullivan was already stabbing at an iPad. ‘I’ll set up a briefing for this afternoon.’

  ‘Won’t be a tick.’ Miller held up the case. ‘Just need to drop this off at my desk.’

  Sullivan was oblivious to Xiu’s scowl. ‘Quick as you can, Miller.’

  ‘Sir.’ Miller winked at Sullivan as he stepped past him, rubbing the case like its contents were precious. ‘Cheese and tomato and a blackcurrant Fruit Shoot.’

  It was a small, two-bedroomed flat on the top floor of a house on Nethway Road. From the living room window it was possible to see right across the park, but those already working inside – the force photographer, a team of CSIs, the on-call pathologist – had an altogether less pleasant view. Outside in the hallway, as they climbed into plastic bodysuits and got ready to take in the grim scenery themselves, Miller and Xiu were briefed by the uniformed officers who’d been first at the scene.

  ‘The victim was found by his sister,’ one of them said. ‘She’s a nurse, on nights at the Vic. Discovered her brother’s body when she got back from work this morning.’

  ‘In bits, obviously,’ the second officer said.

  ‘What . . . dismembered?’ Miller looked horrified.

  ‘No, the sister’s—’ The officer stopped when he realised that Miller was winding him up and looked at his partner, unsure how to react. The first officer – a woman who had worked with Miller before – simply sighed and shook her head before the pair of them wandered away.

  ‘It’s always hard, the first time,’ she said. ‘You’ll get used to him . . . ’

  Miller zipped up and followed Xiu into the flat.

  It was possible, of course, that the victim and his sister had not been the tidiest of tenants, but Miller doubted that the state of the place was down to lackadaisical housekeeping. Every room had been comprehensively trashed. Mattresses had been turned over and slashed, drawers emptied out and ornaments scattered. Miller and Xiu wandered back into the living room where Prisha Acharya, the pathologist, was examining the body.

  ‘What a mess,’ she said.

  ‘The body?’

  ‘Everything.’

  The victim lay on the floor in front of a sofa that had been tipped on to its side, his chest and legs strewn with the fluffy white innards of the sofa’s disembowelled cushions. A see-through plastic bag was tied around his head, fastened with a belt at the neck.

  ‘Probably asphyxiation,’ Acharya said. She pointed. ‘Plenty of bruising though, so I’d say the poor lad got a good beating before the killer put the bag over his face.’

  Xiu moved to stand next to Miller and looked down at the body. They had barely exchanged a word since leaving the station, but suddenly there was nothing to say.

  Miller leaned down to get a closer look. The face was already swollen beneath the plastic, but Miller didn’t need to look very hard. He shook his head, said, ‘Bloody hell . . . ’

  Xiu followed him out into the hallway and watched as he stood, ripping off the bodysuit like he was trying to shred it.

  ‘Disturbed a burglar, you think?’

  Miller turned and glared. ‘Oh, so you’re talking to me now?’ Seeing the shock on Xiu’s face, he quickly raised a hand and shook his head. He hadn’t intended to speak to her quite so sharply. ‘Sorry . . . ’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Xiu reddened, then shrugged and began removing her own bodysuit. ‘What’s—?’

  ‘This wasn’t a burglar,’ Miller said. ‘Be a damn sight easier if it was, but this is someone a lot more dangerous, who killed that lad because he felt like it, then tore the place apart looking for something. Something I know he didn’t find, because the lad didn’t have it any more.’

  ‘Didn’t have what?’

  Miller kicked out at the crumpled plastic suit gathered around his feet, but it felt childish, besides which, no amount of anger and aggression could shift the picture in his head. That soft, round face; the nervous smile.

  ‘I prefer a bit more murder and mayhem.’

  ‘The victim’s name is Andy Bagnall,’ Miller said. ‘He’s the one who gave me the briefcase last night.’

  EIGHT

  Xiu drove them back towards the station. She swore at a van driver with as much vehemence as one of the Goody brothers, then turned calmly to Miller. ‘So, why didn’t you hand the case in last night? Really . . . ’

  She waited.

  Miller stared out of the window, wishing he had an answer; a stupid one, a comical one, anything. Perhaps, the night before, there had been some half-baked (and mercifully short-lived) notion that he’d be able to use the briefcase as some kind of leverage against Wayne Cutler. He could have shown up at Cutler’s bedside and forced a confession, then marched triumphantly into S&O having single-handedly salvaged their botched operation. Alternatively, he could have quietly suggested to Cutler that the briefcase might ‘disappear’, if only Cutler could shed some light (any light at all) on who had been responsible for Alex’s murder.

  Mercifully short-lived . . .

  ‘Was it because it was S&O? Alex’s old squad?’

  ‘No,’ Miller said. ‘What’s that got to do with the price of fish?’

  ‘Cutler, then. Because the briefcase is connected to Cutler and you still believe he had something to do with Alex’s death.’

  Miller grunted, non-committal. No, Xiu didn’t laugh at his jokes nearly enough, or even at all, and the heavy metal sex thing was downright weird, but Miller had to admit she was good.

  ‘It’s not like you haven’t got form, is it?’

  ‘As a top-class thief-taker, you mean?’ Miller nodded. ‘The scourge of local villainy. As an unorthodox, yet hugely respected detective who’ll do whatever it takes to get results?’