Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

change at junctions, an alteration of priorities at traffic lights. Enough to make her a stranger.
    She pulled into the multi-storey car park in Skenfrith Street five minutes early. The sixties brutalist structure was stark in the fluorescent lights. It was past eleven and there were few cars left on the ground level. Carol parked her Land Rover Defender in the middle of a strip of empty slots and got out. Her footsteps echoed on the stained concrete like a clichéd movie soundtrack. She leaned against the front of the Landie, feeling a faint flutter of nervousness. She was a woman alone in a deserted late-night city-centre car park. When she’d been a cop, the simple fact of that status had acted as a protection. Now, although it made no sense, she felt distinctly more vulnerable. Even her choice of clothes contributed to that element of risk. She’d grown accustomed to the aura of strength and competence that came from her new work clothes. Donning her former work uniform of suit and blouse and low heels made her much more of a target for passing predators. She hoped Bronwen Scott wasn’t going to be late.
    Right on schedule, a set of tyres screamed as an Audi TT took the car park entrance a little too fast. It reversed into the space opposite Carol, like a pair of gunslingers facing off. Bronwen Scott’s legs appeared first, gleaming in the light, black patent spike heels leading the way. Carol’s eyes were drawn upwards to a pencil skirt topped with a tailored jacket over a camisole. Over it all, a loose, flowing camel coat. Her hair was dyed a hundred shades of dark blonde, shoulder length and glossy, and her immaculately made-up face showed no trace of the same years that had carved lines into Carol’s. Although much of her practice was state-funded legal aid, the fancy clothes and the expensive car came from representing people who had not come by their wealth honestly, and every cop in the city knew it. The pursuit of justice was pushing Carol into the arms of strange bedfellows.
    Scott stopped a couple of feet from Carol. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
    ‘That might possibly work in our favour,’ Carol said.
    ‘So what’s all this cloak and dagger in aid of?’ Scott swept her hair from her face in a practised gesture. Carol wondered what it must be like to devote so much attention to your appearance. She wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the way men looked at her and she was aware that she was attractive. But it had never been how she defined herself, so when her looks began to lose the gloss of youth, she took it in her stride. But women like Bronwen Scott seemed to see ageing as a challenge, a war to be fought every day, taking advantage of every possible weapon, be it surgical or pharmaceutical. Carol had never seen the point of battles you couldn’t win.
    ‘There’s a prisoner in the cells in Skenfrith Street who needs a good lawyer.’
    ‘What’s the charge?’
    ‘Murder, times two.’
    ‘Who’s the arresting officer?’
    ‘DCI Alex Fielding.’
    ‘And what’s your interest?’
    Carol tilted her head back and studied the fluorescent tubes. ‘Easily misconstrued.’ She sighed and met Scott’s curious stare. ‘My interest is in seeing justice done. The man under arrest didn’t do it. So there’s a killer out there on the street who’s going to kill again while Fielding’s busy playing games with an innocent man.’
    ‘I still don’t see why you’re bothered. I spend half my life clearing up the mess made by stupid cops who can’t get past the first idea in their heads. What’s special about this case? Apart from the fact that the accused man apparently can’t pick up a phone himself?’ Scott was beginning to sound irritated. That wasn’t the goal. Time to get to the point.
    ‘Tony Hill.’
    Scott frowned. ‘What about him? He’s been keeping a very low profile since Jacko Vance.’
    ‘He’s under arrest. He’s across the street in the cells. He thinks he doesn’t need a lawyer because he’s not done anything wrong.’
    Scott cackled. ‘One born every minute. You’d think he’d know better. Did you teach him nothing, all those years?’
    ‘I think he needs you. Because there’s some very tasty evidence stacked up against him.’
    ‘Can he afford me?’
    ‘Inheritance. Insurance. He can afford you.’
    ‘Go on.’ Scott was on the hook. Now Carol just had to reel her in.
    ‘His blood on the cuff of the jacket of the first victim. His alleged thumbprint on