Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

to let him back into her life. Not now, not ever. No matter what he said. No matter how well he manipulated her emotions. And that was all that was going on here. It wasn’t real. Just Tony playing her for his own benefit. It didn’t change anything. Michael and Lucy were still dead. Well, she’d show him she was a better person than him. She’d do the right thing because it was the right thing. Not for his sake. For its own sake.
    Carol had no recollection of leaving the police station. The blur resolved itself as she reached the Land Rover. She climbed inside and leaned her forearms on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, trying to recover herself. After a couple of minutes, she composed herself enough to take out her phone and send a message to Stacey:

Everything you can give me on Gareth Taylor from Banham village. ASAP.

    Now it was simply a question of waiting.

    A moment’s inspiration was never enough in police work. Generally, it had to be followed up by the painstaking slog of asking questions and making checks. And then sometimes it paid off. Paula might have scored the credit for inserting the idea of a portable anaesthetic machine into the investigation, but it had taken a hardworking detective constable bashing the phones all day to come up with the strongest lead.
    He bounced up to Paula’s desk with all the abandon of a small boy who’s won a treasure hunt. ‘I’ve got a stolen portable anaesthetic machine for you,’ he said, waving a piece of paper at her.
    She couldn’t help feeling a lift in her spirits. Sometimes the slightest forward motion in an investigation felt like a giant stride. ‘Good work. Where was it nicked?’
    ‘There was an emergency services conference five weeks ago at Manchester University. They had an exhibition hall full of stands for equipment manufacturers. Everything from ambulances to satellite radios. And a company that makes portable anaesthetic units had one that went a bit too portable, if you get my meaning?’ He grinned at her as he handed her the details of the exhibition. ‘It went missing overnight from their stand. They’d been using it to demo how it works on site.’
    ‘Did they report it to us?’
    He shook his head. ‘The organisers persuaded them there was no point. They refunded their exhibitors’ fee, so the company weren’t out of pocket and the organisers didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of having cops crawling all over their exhibition. That’s why it didn’t show up on our records.’
    ‘Fantastic. Well done. So, does anybody have any idea who might have nicked it?’ Even as she spoke, Paula knew it was too much to hope for.
    Now he looked crestfallen. ‘If they have any suspicions, they’re not letting on.’
    ‘Have you got a map of the layout of the exhibition?’
    His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Of course. No, I haven’t. I didn’t think of that. I’ll track it down.’
    ‘And a list of accredited attendees. One other thing – what about the gases that the machine uses? Did the thief get those as well?’
    He nodded. ‘Apparently the machine was loaded up with the real thing. Bloody stupid, if you ask me.’
    Paula sighed. ‘If you don’t expect to be a victim of crime, you don’t always take the sensible precautions. Still, nice work. Let me have a look when you’ve got that exhibition map. Plus a list of delegates and exhibitors.’
    He took off, bounce restored at the prospect of having something useful to do. Once the PC had done his job, she’d have to persuade Fielding to check whether it was possible that Tony could have attended the conference or the exhibition. Paula couldn’t help hoping he’d have a cast-iron alibi for the days in question. It was a pity she couldn’t reveal the ultimate source of this latest development to her boss. Demonstrating Tony’s usefulness to the investigation might remind Fielding of his value to BMP but it probably wasn’t the best way to improve Paula’s career prospects.

63

    S tacey’s speed had always been a thing of beauty. Working at less than full stretch thankfully hadn’t blunted her skills. Within half an hour of Carol sending her text, Stacey had replied with a hyperlink to a cloud-based application. Tapping the link took Carol to the fruits of Stacey’s searches.
    Under Gareth Taylor’s name was a list: date of birth, National Insurance number, driving licence details, passport number, address, vehicle registration number, bank