He saw the dawning light of comprehension in Spencer’s eyes. There was a way the DI could dodge endless hours of unpaid overtime, the perpetual weight of the media monkey on his back and the emotional drain on his officers. Spencer wasn’t a shirker, but everybody knew how souls were shrivelled by cases like this. And there was no need for it, not when there were people with an appetite for this sort of shit. And protocols that demanded certain kinds of case should be shunted sideways. Spencer nodded. ‘As you say, sir. I know my limitations.’
Reekie nodded, stepping away from the bright lights and the soft rustle of movement that marked the crime scene. He knew just who to call.
5
Detective Chief Inspector Carol Jordan grasped the handle of the bottom drawer on the left side of her desk. This was the price she had to pay for deciding to leave Bradfield. At the end of the month, her seasoned team of experts would be disbanded and she would be on her way. By then, every desk drawer, every filing cabinet, every cupboard in her office would have to be filleted. There would be personal stuff she’d want to take with her – photographs, cards, notes from colleagues, cartoons torn from magazines and newspapers that had made Carol and her colleagues smile. There would be professional material that needed to be filed somewhere within the confines of Bradfield Metropolitan Police. There would be scribbled notes that made no sense out of the context of their particular investigation. And there would be plenty of fodder for the shredder – all those bits of paper that nobody else would ever need to see. That’s why she’d stayed behind to make a start on it after the rest of the team had called it a day.
But glumness set in as soon as she yanked the drawer open. It was stuffed full, case papers layered like geological strata. Cases that had been shocking, terrifying, heartbreaking and mystifying. Cases she’d probably never see the like of again. It wasn’t something she should have to attack unfortified. Carol swivelled in her chair and reached for the middle filing cabinet drawer with its more familiar contents. She helped herself to one of the miniature bottles of vodka she’d collected from hotel mini bars, train buffets and business flights. She tipped the dregs of a mug of coffee into the bin, wiped it out with a tissue and poured the vodka. It didn’t look much. She grabbed a second bottle and added it. It still barely looked like a drink. She knocked it back and thought it barely felt like a drink either. She tipped another two miniatures into the mug and set it on the desk.
‘For sipping,’ Carol said out loud. She did not have a drink problem. Whatever Tony Hill might think, she was in control of the alcohol. Not the other way round. There were points in her past when it had been a close thing, but they were behind her. Enjoying the fact that a couple of drinks took the edge off did not constitute a problem. It didn’t interfere with the standard of her work. It didn’t interfere with her personal relationships. ‘Whatever those are,’ she muttered, dragging a bundle of files from the drawer.
She’d worked her way through enough of the stack for a ringing phone to feel like rescue. The screen of her phone showed a police-issue mobile but she didn’t recognise the specific number. ‘DCI Jordan,’ she said, reaching for the mug, surprised to find it empty.
‘Detective Superintendent Reekie from Northern Division,’ a gruff voice said.
Carol didn’t know Reekie, but it had to be important if someone that far up the pecking order was working so late into the evening. ‘How can I help you, sir?’
‘We’ve got something here that I think is right up your team’s street,’ Reekie said. ‘I thought it best to bring you into it soon as. While the crime scene’s still fresh.’
‘That’s how we like them,’ Carol said. ‘But my squad’s winding up, you know.’
‘I’d heard you were working out your notice,’ Reekie said. ‘But you’re still in harness, right? Thought you might want to get your teeth into one last special one.’
They weren’t the words she’d have chosen, but she understood what he meant. They all knew the difference between the run-of-the-mill domestics and criminal infighting that made up most homicides, and murders that signalled a warped mind at work. Cases where there was any element of mystery at all were relatively rare. So she supposed that ‘special’ wasn’t such a strange word to assign to a murder. ‘Text me the location and I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ she said, replacing the unexamined files and kicking the drawer shut.
Her eye caught the empty mug. Technically she was over the limit. She felt perfectly competent to drive, a line she’d heard from dozens of protesting drunks in custody suites throughout her career. On the other hand, she preferred not to turn up single-handed at a crime scene. If they were going to take a case, there were actions that needed to be initiated then and there, and that wasn’t the best use of her time or skills. She mentally flicked through her squad. Of her two sergeants, Chris Devine had had too many late nights recently preparing a case for a major trial; and Kevin Matthews was out celebrating his wedding anniversary. Reekie hadn’t sounded too worried, so this probably wasn’t worth messing up a rare night out. That left her constables. Stacey Chen was always happier with machines than people; Carol still thought Sam Evans cared more for his own career than the victims they were there for; which left Paula McIntyre. As she dialled Paula’s number, Carol acknowledged to herself that it was always going to be Paula.
