Free Dead Won't Sleep by Anna Smith Page A

plus, we can’t prove where it came from. If we had the mobile, well, maybe we could. Need the mobile.’
    ‘I’ll get it tomorrow, Mick,’ she promised, trying to hide her disappointment, and hearing Tracy’s voice played over and over in her mind.
    ‘This is going to be a nightmare to get in the paper. A nightmare,’ McGuire said.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, Gilmour.’ McGuire looked straight at her. ‘We’ll have a good fucking try.’ He banged his fist on the desk. ‘What’s your next move?’ He had that twinkle in his eye. Rosie had seen it before. He was in.
    She told him they were still doing tests on the body, but there were no signs of injuries or struggle.
    ‘I talked to my man in Forensics,’ she said, ‘and he told me the post mortem didn’t tell them that much.About six months in the water, so there was a lot of decomposition. Obviously there’d be no bodily fluids and no DNA of other parties. Her brain was gone, and there wasn’t much fatty tissue left on the body at all. Probably wasn’t much in the first place. With no brain, they wouldn’t even be able to run tests for drug addiction. Not that it mattered anyway. My man said it would be impossible to prove conclusively the cause of death.’
    ‘Which would suit the cops perfectly.’
    ‘Exactly,’ Rosie said. ‘You can guarantee they’ll be saying it was most likely suicide – kid depressed from the earlier abuse and stuff. It gives them an out. People stop looking after someone says suicide.’
    ‘But we know different,’ McGuire smiled.
    ‘That we do, sir.’
    She suggested that, initially they run the story, having a go at the social work department since this kid was in their care . . . just see what it flushed out. You never know, perhaps someone would ring in with decent information. Stranger things have happened. On the day after that was published, they could run a follow-up story hinting that Tracy may have been with some very important people.
    ‘That way, we don’t implicate anyone.’ Rosie clenched and unclenched her fist. ‘All we do is get their arses twitching. They’ll know that we know more, and they’ll be panicking, wondering what is going to spill out next.’
    McGuire agreed. He said they shouldn’t tell anyone else at the moment, not even Lamont.
    ‘I know he’s not exactly your best mate,’ he said, with a smirk.
    ‘He’s an arsehole,’ Rosie said, deadpan.
    ‘He’s organised. Methodical,’ McGuire offered.
    ‘So was Adolf Eichmann,’ Rosie said.
    McGuire half smiled. ‘Anyway, you don’t have to deal with him, so forget about him. You only answer to me.’ He sat back in his chair, hands behind his head again. He looked slightly puzzled.
    ‘So tell me this, Rosie.’ He looked at her. ‘Because this is a problem for me.’
    She held her breath, wondering what he was going to say.
    ‘What I can’t get is, why would high-ranking detectives be using cheap hookers like this?’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘I just . . . I just can’t see why. Do you get my drift, Rosie? These guys have been around the block. They’re well paid. If they want a quick shag, there have to be other ways. There are bars where they could pick up a woman for a bit of uncomplicated rumpy.’
    Rosie shook her head. ‘They’re all married, Mick. It’s not that easy. They’ll have lives, families. And the thing is, they’re all ex-vice squad, so they grew up messing around with the prostitutes. It’s one of the perks of the job, if you want to put it that way.’
    ‘Christ.’ McGuire shook his head. ‘Perks? With some syphilated shagbox?’
    ‘That’s not the point, Mick. With these guys it’s allabout using the power they’ve got. Basically, they do it because, well, because they can. They probably always have done. One of my good contacts told me that Fox and his mates were getting paid off by the sauna bosses. One massage parlour in particular. I know a crook who says Prentice