Behind Dead Eyes (DC Ian Bradshaw #2) - Howard Linskey Page 0,18

strong enough to reopen it for you.’

‘And I wouldn’t expect you to,’ Bell said, ‘which is why you will be paid.’

‘How would that work?’

‘My wife has money, enough to give you a weekly retainer while you look into this, with a bonus at the end should you discover fresh evidence strong enough to re-open my case – which you will, because I didn’t do it. There will be a further, generous bonus for you when my conviction is finally overturned.’ And Bell proceeded to spell out the terms of his offer. The weekly amount alone was extremely tempting to a man in Tom’s parlous financial state and the additional bonus at the end, should Richard Bell ever walk free, was the kind of cash injection any hard-up journalist would dream of.

‘And your wife is happy with this arrangement?’

‘She has agreed to it,’ Bell confirmed, though Tom couldn’t help feeling this wasn’t exactly the same thing.

‘You make it sound very easy, but it could take months for me to find something and I may not come up with anything at all.’

‘Time is all I have, Tom. I’m not going anywhere. You can work at your own speed. Just keep me posted. If you draw a complete blank we can review things, but I honestly don’t think it will come to that. You do have a distinct advantage over the police.’

‘Do I?’

‘They thought I was guilty. We know I’m not.’

‘But I don’t know that,’ Tom reminded him, ‘I could be helping a cold-blooded killer.’

‘You could be,’ admitted Bell, ‘but if you are going into this with an open mind then you may have to give me the benefit of the doubt on that.’

‘Particularly if you are paying me.’

‘If you want to get to the truth,’ Bell corrected him.

‘Okay but what if I can’t find the truth?’

‘There is only really one thing I need to get through my days here, Tom, and it’s not food, visitors or books.’

‘Hope,’ said Tom instinctively.

‘You see,’ said Bell admiringly, ‘you’re good. I knew you would be.’

‘I can usually put myself in the other man’s shoes,’ said Tom, quietly.

‘A useful quality in your profession,’ said Bell, ‘if I can believe that a man like you; a good man, a clever man, is trying to find out what really happened, then I can go on.’ When Tom said nothing in response, Bell’s shoulders seemed to sag. ‘Look, I’m a realist. I have to be. I know you are busy and I don’t expect you to work every hour of every day on it, just take some time to look into it for me; a couple of weeks at least, please? Just a little paid work looking for the truth, until you choose to look no more? Do it for Rebecca, if you won’t do it for me.’

‘Where would I even start?’

‘I’ll give you a list of names, everyone that matters. Go and see everybody connected with the case.’

‘I’d have go a lot deeper than that.’

‘I think I understand a little of the way you go about your work. Did you bring a pen?’ Tom reached automatically into his jacket pocket and brought out his pen and a notebook.

‘Right,’ the guard’s voice boomed in the large visiting room, ‘wrap this up now.’

‘Just a few more minutes,’ pleaded Bell, ‘we’re writing a list …’

‘No lists, no writing, wrap it up now.’ Bell looked like a child who had woken on Christmas morning to find no presents under his tree.

‘No lists then,’ he conceded, ‘but you’ll come back tomorrow.’ It was more of a statement than a question and when Tom did not look entirely convinced, he added the word, ‘Please.’

Chapter Eight

Councillor Jarvis hadn’t made an appointment – but then Frank Jarvis didn’t need to, not when he simply wanted to see a Detective Chief Inspector, and particularly when he had known that DCI since he was a beat bobby. All the same, Kane was a little perturbed when the politician produced a bottle of Scotch and placed it on the detective’s desk.

‘Bloody hell, I’m supposed to be driving home,’ but he still went to the cabinet in the corner of his office, opened it and produced two glasses.

‘Get one of your lads to drop you off,’ Jarvis told him. ‘There’s plenty would be willing to do that small favour for a DCI,’ he said, unscrewing the top from the bottle and beginning to pour. ‘I’m being picked up later.’ And Kane wondered which young member of the local party machine had