Written in Blood Read online

  ‘Hi.’ Anna mirrored the smile. ‘We haven’t yet, but sometime soon.’

  Her words triggered a bubble of anxiety in Mariner’s stomach. He wished she wouldn’t talk as if it were a done deal, when they’d only just started thinking about the pros and cons. It was a big shift for both of them and he, at least, was still getting used to the idea.

  When he’d first met her, kids were the last thing Anna wanted; she had a successful career and a severely autistic brother, a combination guaranteed to dampen the strongest maternal instincts. But during the last year events had conspired to change her mind. Two months ago Jamie had moved into a hostel for independent living, and was doing just that, leaving Anna with time and energy on her hands. Concurrently, Anna’s best friend Becky had produced baby daughter Megan, waking Anna to the fact that time might for her be running out, and from then on babies had insidiously crept into everyday conversation. Gradually, without lengthy overt discussion, children had moved from being out of the question, to a possibility and more recently a probability.

  For his own part, Mariner had never been so much opposed to children as ignorant of them. His mother, his only close blood relative, had passed away last year, leaving him practically alone in the world, but for a few distant cousins he’d never met. He and Anna had something good together, so in many ways children seemed like the next natural step. It was only after he’d agreed to consider it that the doubts had begun, and Anna had been so euphoric these last few weeks that now he couldn’t bear to spoil it for her.

  ‘You’re jumping the gun,’ he cautioned. ‘We haven’t had the appointment through yet.’

  Anna caught Selina’s expression. ‘My brother is autistic, ’ she explained. ‘So we’re being referred to a counsellor.’ It had been Mariner’s suggestion, partly to test out how serious she was. ‘There are known genetic links so there’s always the chance that our child could have a degree of autism.’

  ‘Better to be safe,’ Selina agreed.

  ‘Not that it’ll make a scrap of difference,’ Mariner said. ‘Once Anna’s made up her mind about something—’

  ‘We’d need to be prepared for what might happen,’ Anna said, dodging the issue. ‘Meanwhile the gifts are for my goddaughter, Megan. She’s my substitute child, and it’s her first Christmas so she has to be spoilt rotten.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Four months, and I just can’t get enough of her.’

  ‘Well, I can’t recommend it too highly,’ Selina enthused. ‘I’ve got a three-month-old.’

  Anna must have been as floored as Mariner, because suddenly they were in the midst of an awkward silence. Knox hadn’t mentioned this. His own kids were adults themselves now, and he’d always expressed huge relief that he’d put the nappy-changing and the sleepless nights behind him long ago. And what kind of woman leaves her three-month-old baby at home to go out dating?

  Selina laughed, a brilliant peal of uninhibited joy. ‘You should see your faces,’ she giggled. ‘You can relax. My baby’s of the canine variety,’ she said. ‘A chocolate Labrador is something less of a commitment.’ So she had a sense of humour, too.

  ‘You must still have your hands full,’ said Anna, as Knox returned and passed round fresh drinks.

  ‘I have to admit life will be easier once he’s stopped piddling on the floor and chewing my tights.’

  ‘She didn’t mean Tony, she meant the puppy,’ shot back Mariner.

  Selina shook her head sadly. ‘I know, but the dog’s very impressionable. It copies everything he does.’

  ‘Hilarious.’ Knox didn’t share their amusement. ‘You two should try a spot at the Glee Club.’

  Mariner and Selina exchanged a complicit smile. This was going to be fun. Not since his separation had Tony Knox been out with someone Mariner could so instantly relate to.

  After the warming drinks, they queued for burgers with herb-fried potatoes, finding themselves a quiet corner to eat from the flimsy paper plates. The food smelt and tasted delicious but somehow the image - brown, moist and indistinct - deadened Mariner’s appetite.

  Knox saw the hesitation. ‘Brings back memories, does it, Boss?’ he asked. ‘Charlie Glover told me you’d been knee deep in shit all morning.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mariner, throwing Selina and Anna an apologetic look. ‘One of life’s less pleasurable experiences. ’ Mariner put down his plate untouched.

  ‘You not eating that?’ asked Knox, helping himself.

  The two women were watching Mariner expectantly.

  ‘You don’t want to know,’ he said.

  ‘Yes we do.’

  ‘We have to now.’

  Mariner sighed, all his earlier efforts undone. ‘Workmen found a blockage down one of the main sewers in Stirchley. It turned out to be the body of a woman, wrapped in bin liners and bound with duct tape. We had to go down there to check it out in situ.’ He saw Anna’s grimace. ‘There, aren’t you glad I told you?’

  ‘I hope you’ve showered since.’

  ‘Have you got an ID?’ Knox asked, garlic wafting Mariner’s way.

  ‘Not yet. But we’ve got a good set of prints from her, so Charlie Glover’s trawling through Missing Persons. Otherwise we have to hope she’s committed a crime that’s put her on CRIMINT. Whoever put her down the drain didn’t count on her being found.’ In the time Mariner had been speaking Knox had polished off both portions of food.

  ‘We should go, shouldn’t we?’ said Selina, taking the used plates and depositing them in a nearby bin.

  ‘Yeah, not all of us have the luxury of reserved seats.’

  ‘Not all of us have got to stand up and make pillocks of ourselves,’ countered Mariner.

  ‘You’ll be wonderful dahling.’ To Mariner’s surprise Selina grasped his arms, giving him a Hollywood-style peck on each cheek.

  ‘I’m flattered by your confidence,’ said Mariner.

  Anna was scanning the stalls around them. ‘Before we go, I want to get one of those little springy puppets for Megan,’ she said.

  Mariner glanced at the carrier bags. ‘Ah yes, because she hasn’t got enough.’

  ‘We’ll see you down there, then,’ said Selina, and, taking Knox’s arm, she steered him down towards the main street. ‘See you later,’ Knox said, over his shoulder. His arm snaked around Selina, fusing their bodies as one.

  ‘Do you think it’s the real thing this time?’ Mariner said, watching them go.

  ‘She’s lasted longer than any of the others. And Tony can’t keep his hands off her.’

  ‘She’s a bright girl, too. I don’t know how he does it.’

  ‘Confidence,’ said Anna. ‘Women find it irresistible.’

  ‘Including you?’

  Anna shook her head. ‘Nah. I just have a weak spot for the underdog.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘We could have waited for them,’ said Knox, mildly. ‘We’ve got loads of time, and it won’t be a full house.’ He and Selina were crossing Corporation Street on their way to St Martin’s.

  Selina cuddled up closer. ‘I wanted you to myself for a bit. I still don’t understand why we’re spending the evening in a dreary church when we could be at home making our own entertainment.’

  ‘I’m showing a bit of solidarity,’ Knox said. He’d explained all this before.

  ‘But he’s your boss. Isn’t it a bit strange, to be socialising with him?’

  ‘He’s been a good mate, too.’

  ‘Was he friends with Theresa?’

  ‘Not friends, exactly. He knew her, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, once they’ve got a family they’ll have their hands full.’ And seemingly satisfied with her own resolution of whatever the issue was, she squeezed him even tighter.

  There was no such intimacy for Mariner and Anna when they followed some time later, bearing the bulky carrier bags. They had to settle for an awkward linking of arms, the baby paraphernalia keeping them apart.

  ‘What the hell have
you got in here?’ Mariner grumbled, as he apologised yet again for colliding with a passer-by.

  ‘You wouldn’t be any the wiser if I told you. It’s just toys for Megan. It’s not much, but everything’s jumbo sized at her age.’

  ‘You’re telling me. They’ll cost a fortune in postage.’

  ‘I was planning to take them down. I thought I’d go at the weekend.’

  ‘You were only down there a couple of weeks ago.’

  Since Becky had left her job as Anna’s P.A., she, her GP husband Mark and their small daughter had moved to a country practice in rural Herefordshire. Thus far the geography hadn’t proved a deterrent.

  ‘Is that resentment?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘She’s my goddaughter. I have to spend time with her. Everything happens so fast at her age, I might miss something. Besides, I’ve got a lot to learn.’

  ‘It’s all right, you don’t have to justify yourself.’

  ‘Anyway there’s nothing to stop you coming too. You haven’t even met Megan yet. I don’t know why.’

  ‘It’s been busy at work.’ It wasn’t the whole truth, but he wondered if Anna realised that.

  At seven in the evening the main shopping centre was still swarming with people as Anna and Mariner, clumsily arm-in-arm, trundled towards St Martin’s Cathedral, past the bronze bull, the armour-plated bulge of Selfridges coming into view like the prow of a slow-moving liner. The church had been retained as a focal point for the massive redevelopment of the Bullring area, and tonight it was stunningly lit by floodlights, the dark spire nestling dramatically between the concrete and glass, and the Burne-Jones stained-glass windows crimson against the twinkling suburban sprawl.

  In the distance the West Midlands Police Service brass band could be heard playing the opening bars of the first carol; ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’. Mariner felt contented and at ease and for the first time for as long as he could remember, some excited anticipation of the Christmas season. He turned to Anna to tell her. As he did, there was a flash of white light and the explosion ripped the air between them like a thunderbolt, and a scorching tornado punched him back off his feet, tearing the smile from his face and Anna’s arm from his. He heard Anna’s scream above the deafening crack of imploding plate glass before he slammed onto his back, his head bouncing hard off the stone slabs.

  Opening his eyes, Mariner slowly, painfully, raised his head. The world was unnaturally dark and hushed, and the air tasted of dust. The church that had been so magnificently lit only moments before was hazy, behind a cloud of dense smoke, the dark silhouette of its tower emerging shakily defiant at one end. As Mariner struggled to comprehend, the ringing in his ears subsided and sounds invaded his consciousness. People were screaming and running, alarms were ringing. They were in the middle of a war zone.

  Mariner fumbled for his phone, his fingers clumsy and unresponsive, and gagging on the dust, it took him three attempts to force out the words. ‘DI Mariner, Granville Lane. There’s been an explosion in St Martin’s. All emergency services needed urgently.’ Turning, he saw Anna, prone and still on the ground nearby and a hot wave of panic surged through him ‘Anna!’ he shouted hoarsely. After what seemed like an eternity she looked round at him and a weak smile split her dirt-caked face. ‘I’m okay, really I’m all right. Do what you have to.’ She swiped a hand. ‘Go.’

  Mariner heaved himself unsteadily to his feet, manually locking his knees back into place to support him. ‘Wait here for help,’ he told Anna unsteadily before crunching through rubble and glass that was ankle deep, towards the ruin of the cathedral and into the jaws of hell.

  Chapter Two

  The emergency services were there in minutes but Mariner and anyone else who was able had stayed with them inside the crushed citadel clawing at the debris to find the injured and the missing. Hours later they’d sent him out into a blue strobing dawn with dust clogging his airways, his hands chafed and bleeding. Yards from the ruin he had to fight his way through an unruly mob of press photographers ineffectually held back by uniformed PCs.

  ‘Were you inside when it went off? What happened?’ Voices assaulted him on all sides.

  ‘I don’t know. I was late.’

  ‘What’s it like in there?’

  ‘Use your fucking imagination,’ Mariner said, coldly, and a flash preserved his dirt-stained face for posterity.

  The city was thrown into chaos, with police cordons everywhere. It took Mariner an hour to get to where he’d left his car and to get out. Dozens of injured had been taken to the city’s main hospitals, many cut by flying glass. And there was widespread panic that this may just be the first of a number of explosions. He couldn’t find out where Anna had been taken and he hardly dared think what had happened to Knox and Selina. People had died. That much he knew, but not how many nor who they were.

  22nd December

  Finally a text on his mobile from Anna told Mariner that she was at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. He went in to collect her, still dazed and exhausted, his uniform covered in filth. In the waiting area they held each other tight.

  ‘I called a taxi. I didn’t expect to see you for hours. Is it bad?’

  ‘It’s bad.’

  ‘Has anybody been—?’

  ‘There have been some fatalities.’ He knew of one for certain.

  ‘What about Tony and Selina?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s still bedlam there.’ He wanted so badly to say that they’d be all right, but he couldn’t tell her what he didn’t know. They’d both been incredibly lucky. Between the shopping centre and the church they’d been shielded by the flight of steps and had escaped serious injury, but it would be different for anyone inside. Mariner went to ask at the reception desk but the staff were inundated with desperate friends and relatives and he would only add to the pandemonium. Instead he and Anna drove home in near silence, the experience beyond articulation.

  Helpless to trace Knox, Mariner called Jack Coleman at Granville Lane. But Coleman knew nothing either.

  ‘How many dead?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘We don’t know yet. It could be up to ten.’

  ‘Christ. I’ll get myself cleaned up and come in.’

  ‘No. We’ve got enough here already. You’ll be a liability. Get some rest.’ Easier said than done. Half an hour later, Coleman called back. ‘Tony Knox is at Heartlands.’

  Mariner went straight there. Against the pristine white sheets Knox looked old and grey. He’d suffered cuts, bruising and possible concussion. ‘They’re letting me out later today. They need the bed.’

  Selina hadn’t escaped so lightly, her right foot crushed under several tons of masonry. ‘They’re amputating below the knee,’ Knox said, his voice heavy with emotion.

  ‘She’ll never make centre forward now,’ said Mariner.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘She’s alive. It’s what matters.’ Knox was right. By now news had permeated that at least five others, men, a woman, a child, had not been so lucky. ‘Is Anna okay?’

  ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘They keep asking me what I saw,’ Knox said.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘But one minute I was having a laugh with Colin Fleming, next I was under a pile of crap trying to breathe.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything either.’

  ‘You’re a star though.’ Knox reached for the early edition of the newspaper one of the nurses had left. Christmas Carnage cried the headline. He turned to an inside page and Mariner saw himself, or what looked like him, under all the dirt and grime, emerging from the wrecked building just after he’d been accosted by the reporter. ‘The lengths people go to, to get in the paper.’

  Emergency blood donation clinics had been set up all over the city, including at the hospitals. On his way out Mariner saw the queue. He joined it.

  The investigation into the explosion began immediately and in the absence of a rational explanation, rumours were
rife, among them the inevitable black jokes about six Irishmen on a train. But this time the witch-hunt took on a different focus. The threat of terrorist activity had loomed large in other major British cities since the war in Iraq and attacks in London by Al Qaeda. The media had already decided that this could be the start.

  Although other causes hadn’t been ruled out, like a reflex response, security across the city tightened to a level that hadn’t been seen since the height of the IRA’s mainland campaign during the 1970s. There were police patrol cars everywhere. Bags were routinely searched and vehicles on the main routes into the city were being randomly stopped.

  Not that anyone realistically expected to find anything, but the police had to be visibly active. Most of the dead turned out to be civilians. If it had been a terrorist bomb, ironically the main players - the Chief Constable, Mayor and other dignitaries - had escaped relatively unscathed and someone, somewhere would be cursing their own bad luck.

  Mariner and Anna tried desperately to carry on as normal but the shock of unspeakable sights and sounds had come between them. Mariner didn’t talk about what he’d seen in there. Instead he and Anna spent hours silently holding each other tight, for comfort. TV and radio provided a constant background commentary and nothing, it seemed, could distract Mariner from reliving those hours over and over again. Part of him didn’t want distraction and was disgusted at the obscenity of the indifferent world. Sleep became an elusive state and when at night fatigue did finally engulf him his rest was fitful and he would wake with a jolt, sweating and heart pounding, waking Anna too.

  They spent whole afternoons and evenings holding hands but saying little. That last conversation before the explosion hung over them, neither willing to revisit it. Guiltily, Mariner hoped that all this might make Anna feel differently about the prospect of bringing a child into the world, but deep down he knew it was for all the wrong reasons.

  ‘My family curse has rubbed off on you,’ Anna said. ‘Perhaps you’ve made a mistake taking up with me.’