Murder in Retribution by Anne Cleeland Page B

work, you know.”
    “I know.” He suppressed the emotion, but it simmered, just beneath the surface. There was an awkward silence for a few long minutes; she hoped she wouldn’t be sick again for fear he’d push her out of the car; it would be a long and humiliating walk home.
    With a visible effort, he began to discuss the case again in a level tone. “The chief inspector believes there are major players involved behind the scenes.”
    Considering this for a moment, Doyle dredged up a name. “Solonik?” Solonik was some sort of Russian underworld villain ; Acton had worried he was involved in the last case—the one with raving-lunatic Owens, who had tried to put a period to the fair Doyle. In truth, her husband’s misconception was her own fault; Owens had been obsessed with Acton, and was performing various and assorted murders as his own version of stalking, trying to catch Acton’s attention. He had confessed as much to Doyle, but she could not bring herself to recite this particular motivation to her husband, being as he was a Section Seven, himself. So instead, she’d told Acton that Owens worked for Solonik, a name she’d heard in passing and a suitable scapegoat, being as he was a shadowy Russian kingpin and probably accustomed to having crimes laid at his door. Thinking of this, she paused for a moment, much struck. Acton had made no mention of Solonik in connection with this turf war, but it would only make sense that he’d have a hand in all this, as it appeared to be Russia versus Ireland.
    Williams had glanced over at her in surprise when she mentioned the name. “Perhaps; but he’s a very slippery character, and unlikely to get his fingerprints anywhere near a murder. More likely it’s someone who is a local troublemaker; Solonik tends to keep to his own orbit.” He paused. “Why—has Acton said something?”
    He was worried, she could sense it, and so she quickly disabused him; she shouldn’t be wildly mentioning names that gave Williams a case of the willies. “No; he’s the only Russian kingpin that I know of, is all.” She added, “And Drake said Solonik is not the type to show off—seems unlikely he’d be killin’ everybody, left and right.”
    “Definitely not—he stays very much under the radar.” Williams went back to his original line of thought. “If the factions are escalating the violence, the chances get better that they’ll get sloppy, and the chief inspector believes we’ll have an opportunity to nail some people that are up the chain of command—people who are usually more careful not to get caught.”
    Doyle decided to write this down later, as for now she was concentrating on the scenery. “You can still call him ‘Holmes,’ you know, Williams—I won’t grass.” She turned to smile at her companion, trying to shake him out of the dismals. He responded by smiling in return with some constraint. “Right, then.”
    There, better. But there was that residual emotion, simmering still. She’d best be careful; show him she was shipshape. “Are there any witnesses we’ll be questionin’ on the aqueduct murder today?”
    He paused fractionally. “This one takes precedence.” Doyle hid her surprise. Witness statements should be taken as soon as possible, and they had already missed a day. If this one at Newmarket was indeed a tit-for-tat—a retribution murder for the aqueduct murder—then the two cases should be investigated in tandem; it would be easier to establish the players, the motive, and the timeline. She said nothing, though; she just didn’t have the stamina to argue today and she wanted to be careful not to upset him further. Faith, she was miserable. It didn’t seem fair that one didn’t feel measurably better after one was forced to be sick at the side of the road.
    They came to a frontage road near the racecourse and had to stop to ask for directions, as the directions given by the witness to the dispatcher were unclear and the GPS