Was it a sign from on high? Was it buggery.
He watched an ugly slag and her two screaming brats leave the next table then leaned across and dragged over a carton with a few chips in it and stuffed his face. Brett hated the filth. His
older brother was banged up in the Scrubs, his old man had done more time than Big Ben, Brett himself could open a police caution shop. He owed the Bill squat. He burped then dragged a sleeve
across his mouth. OK, Stig’d had it tough, but if Brett ’fessed up about the glasses, the cops wouldn’t let it go. They’d needle him till he couldn’t think straight.
Then stitch him up. Sod that for a game of Star Wars. It wasn’t down to Brett. Stig should’ve known better, stupid kid had been asking for it getting into that sodding car.
Bev stood at a desk, leafing through a pile of paper, glanced up when the door opened. Her widest smile was in situ before she could stop it. “Guv! How you doing?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was ages since Byford last showed his face in the squad room. Scrub that. It was five months, two weeks, three days.
“Not bad, thanks.” Brisk nod. She gave him a subtle onceover. Looked as if he was putting on a bit of beef, hitting the booze, maybe? Couldn’t live without her, eh? Yeah. And
I’m the Pope’s daughter-in-law.
“DCI Knight around?” he asked.
Only if he was the Invisible Man. The place was comparatively deserted since the turnout first thing, just Hainsworth and a handful of DCs phone-bashing and taking incomings. Most detectives
were in the field... detecting. And keeping the peace. A couple of officers thought a spot of bother could be brewing on the Quarry Bank estate, angry residents scared about their kids’
safety, demanding police protection. Powell had asked her and Mac to suss it out, nip it in the bud. Mac was waiting for her in the car with a pair of secateurs.
Smile dropped, she matched Byford’s delivery. “Not seen him since the brief.” Jotted a number on a post-it note, shoved it in the pocket of her navy linen pants.
“He said something about a strategy meeting?” Partial enlightenment came from a rookie DC nestling a phone under his chin. “Policy review? Something like th...” He raised
a finger, returned to the call.
“Cheers, mate.” Bag hoisted, she was about to hit the road, took a call on the way out. Just some routine query from admin. Byford was now chewing the cud with Hainsworth over by the
printers. Call ended, she headed out again, take two. Byford held the door.
“Ta, guv.” He looked well pleased with the proximity. Not. Like she was? “You back with us, then?” The question was more to fill an uneasy silence than in any real
expectation. If he’d heard from the brass, surely he’d have said? It wasn’t as if it didn’t involve her. She cut him a glance, couldn’t read his expression as he
worked on a reply.
“Maybe.”
Was equally enigmatic. She frowned. “How’s that work then?”
“Later, Bev. How about...?”
“Sarge!” Shit. Fire broke out? Bomb gone off? Both spun round, made brief body contact, side on. She felt warm flesh, smelt the soap he used, the mint tea on his breath. Had no time
to consider what the effects were having on her heart rate. The detective constable who’d been on the phone was waving frantically from the squad room doorway. Even from here she could see he
was wired.
“Sarge. The killer?” As she neared, his trembling hand held out a scrap of paper. “Looks like we’ve got a name.”
And address.
9
Roland Haines. It had a familiar ring. Bev ran it through her memory bank. Where’d she heard it before? Byford was quicker off the mark. “He’s known to us.
Bristol police, if I remember right.” He creased his eyes, clearly trying to recall the detail. “Case was in the news a few years back...” Not quick enough.
Waving the note, Bev glanced at the DC. “What you done with this?” True what they said.