‘I’m fucking angry. Ezra is in a hospital bed because of Pellacia.’
‘That’s not fair, Ramouter. You can’t blame—’
‘Of course I can. He had an obligation to protect him, but he exposed him to people like Kaiden Longley and whoever thisfucking Don is. Pellacia should have done better to protect Ezra. He knew that Ezra was in danger, and he did nothing.’
‘Are you done?’
Ramouter leaned forward and took a sip of coffee. ‘Aye.’
‘Now I’m talking to you as your boss,’ said Henley. ‘Pull yourself together. I’ve told you more than once that this team doesn’t work if we’re not supporting each other. I need you to focus and not let Ezra’s hard work be in vain. Don’t let your anger with Pellacia get in the way. You’re better than that. He’s hurting and you’re hurting.’
‘Are you telling me to apologise?’ Ramouter asked.
Henley stood up. ‘No. You’ll know when it’s the right time to do that.’
‘Is that it?’
‘We’ve got a case to deal with and I need a partner who’s got his head screwed on. So, are we good?’
‘Aye, boss,’ said Ramouter. ‘We’re good.’
55
‘I’ve got you,’ Eastwood said triumphantly. She paused the CCTV footage and picked up her can of Coke. Her eyes were burning, and she was convinced that she’d developed repetitive strain injury after spending hours moving the mouse to rewind, pause, zoom in and peer at frozen images. But her diligence had paid off as she stared at the van that a cab driver had said had driven away at speed shortly after Catlin Ferguson was attacked. She zoomed in and then leaned forward as she attempted to decipher the blurry images that made up the van’s number plate. She jumped as she felt a tapping on her shoulders.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, removing her headphones. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘What do you want, an apology?’ said Joanna.
‘I’m going to let that go because we’re all having a shitty day and praying for Ezra. So, what is it?’
‘Crimestoppers have transferred a call over to us. Line seven.’
‘Ok, but before you go. Look at this,’ Eastwood said as she pointed at the van’s number plate. ‘Can you make that out.’
‘It’s a bit blurry but it looks like GN20. Sorry I can’t see the rest.’
‘Jo, you did a better job than me,’ Eastwood said. She picked up line seven. ‘Serial Crimes Unit, DS Eastwood speaking.’
‘Oh hello, my name is Jennifer McMahon.’
‘I’m sorry but I can barely you hear you,’ said Eastwood. She increased the volume on the phone but to no avail.
‘I don’t want to speak too loudly. I’m in my office. The man you’re looking for … I think he’s in my house repairing my conservatory. I saw his picture, the sketch on the news this morning and then I went on the Crimestoppers website and I’m sure that it’s him, the one who was wanted for the attack on that couple in Dulwich.’
‘And this man is in your house?’
‘He’s been working here for the past few weeks on my garden and the conservatory. He’s such a nice man but—’
‘Shit,’ Eastwood said as the composite image of the man who Laurence Durant called Don appeared on the screen. She stood up and walked away from her desk, towards Pellacia’s open door, until the cord was taut.
‘Jennifer, what is this man’s name?’ Eastwood asked as she waved frantically at Pellacia.
‘Donovan Hernandez,’ she whispered. ‘I found him on one of those find a tradesperson sites.’
‘Ok, I need you to give me your address and we’re coming to you now.’
‘What shall I do?’
