see you working alongside my men just for the next few days, by which time we’ll have a result. Then you can go back to your own stuff. Apart from anything else, this’ll give you a chance to be in at the kill, as it were. And give me a chance to assess your suitability for the squad.’
‘ You’ll only be absent for a few days,’ FB pointed out. ‘I’ll keep an eye on your work, make sure it doesn’t dry up.’
Henry leaned back. It sounded good.
‘ Think about it, Henry,’ Morton said.
He didn’t need to. A grin cracked across his face.
Morton held out his hand. ‘Welcome to the squad, the cream of the crop.’ His grip was firm and dry and he had the look of an angler who’d just netted a black marlin.
Completely bemused, Henry made his way back to his desk, chuffed to hell and back.
And yet… slightly disconcerted. Steamrollered was a word which sprang to mind.
Think this through, he told himself. What are the implications, professionally and personally?
Professionally, going on the squad would probably affect his chances of promotion. But he had always been in two minds about going for Inspector anyway as it would take him one rung further up the ladder away from ‘real’ policework. He’d have to talk management issues and strategies, all that crap. Stuff like that bored him shitless. He liked being operational, hands on, arresting people.
Going onto the squad would give him the opportunity to stay at this level and yet deal with high-class criminals. And maybe it would give him the time and space to delve into Dundaven and try to find the remainder of those firearms, the details of which Karl had sent him.
Personally… well, Kate should be told immediately, but he didn’t dare pick up the phone. She would go ape. Henry decided to keep it until he went home that night so he could break it gently to her, face to face. That would be better than a phone call.
‘ DS Christie?’
Shaken out of his reverie, Henry jumped up at the mention of his name by DC Robson, the female detective on the squad whom he had briefly met before.
Henry had never been in a position to inspect her from close quarters. With her standing next to him, he had to admit that she was stunning. Black hair in a well-cut bob, shining brown eyes, small nose and a wide, soft mouth which needed to be kissed forcefully. He was aware that her complexion was porcelain perfect, dabbed with only the hint of make-up which made her high cheekbones stand out even more prominently. She was wearing a practical work suit — jacket, blouse and skirt — but it was nicely tailored and expensive.
The jacket swung open near to her shoulder and inadvertently his eyes crossed her lovely breasts and registered they were secured in a white, frilly bra which he could see through her blouse. She reminded him of a younger version of Kate. His heart gave a pathetic flutter.
Her intoxicating perfume almost overpowered him into a swoon.
‘ Hello. Siobhan, isn’t it?’
‘ Yes. Well-remembered.’ She smiled easily at him. Her tongue ran onto her top lip in a gesture that was thoughtful rather than erotic. Even so, it made Henry’s guts jump.
He swallowed. ‘What can I do for you?’
She held out her hand to be shaken and said those three memorable words.
‘ I’m your partner.’
‘ Is this it?’ Seymour peered through the windscreen as the wipers, on double speed, worked overtime in an effort to clear the heavy rain which was bucketing down.
Lucy Crane pulled into the side of the road. She wound her window down and looked across at the high-rise development of council flats. She checked the note in her hand. ‘Think so.’ She rolled the window closed. ‘You coming?’ she asked Seymour.
‘ Suppose so,’ he said with great reluctance. Their relationship had not improved and they spoke only when necessary.
They had got a list of all the women in Blackburn who had come to the attention of the cops in connection with prostitution in the last eighteen months. It was a fairly short list and quite repetitive. This was their third visit of the morning. It was a dull and tedious task trying to find someone who knew Marie Cullen and could maybe fill in some background for them. Two dead ends so far.
Also on the list were the names of two convicted pimps who operated in the area. Once they’d finished with the workers, they’d be moving onto the managers.
By the time they ran over the road and reached the entrance to the flats, they were both drenched.
‘ He had such an enjoyable time, he wants you again this afternoon,’ Saltash said with a wicked smile on his face. ‘So c’mon, get your well-fucked black arse into gear and let’s get going. There’s good money to be made in this for us both.’
‘ No, I’m not going. I don’t like him, I don’t like what he does and I can’t stand the thought of going with someone who might have murdered Marie.’
Saltash didn’t have the time or patience to argue. ‘Get up, get your coat on and stop messin’ around, Gillian, otherwise I’ll have to slap you — and I don’t wanna do that, honey.’
The black girl was sitting on the settee in her small lounge. She drew her knees up and presented a defiant face to her pimp. She shook her head. Her lips were taut and eyes blazing. Her body language screamed, ‘Make me!’
Over the years Saltash had had many dealings with reluctant whores. Sometimes they didn’t know how lucky they were when he looked after them. They could have been on the streets, facing all sorts of threats, whereas he ensured that all the business he put their way was inside hotels or homes, places where they could give their full potential in a bit of comfort. Not down some dogshit-laden back alley or car.
When he had problems with them, he always resorted to the same well tried and trusted remedy.
‘ You refuse to go, eh?’
He lurched across in an attempt to grab her black hair. Gillian ducked and he found his fingers groping for thin air. She squirmed off the settee with the intention of running into the bathroom and locking the door.
Saltash recovered quickly. He dived at her, rugby-style, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing her down to her knees.
She struggled wildly. Her elbows jabbed backwards. One caught the side of his face, next to the eye-socket, with such force that he released his grip and his hands went up to protect his face. ‘Fucking cow!’ he screamed, reeling away.
Gillian dragged herself to her feet. She was angry. Instead of doing the sensible thing and bolting while she had the chance, she twisted round and launched a frenzied attack on Saltash, kicking and scratching him remorselessly, pummelling him with her fists.
He succumbed to the onslaught, trying to protect himself with his hands, parrying the blows which rained down on his head without a break.
‘ OK, OK, you win, you win,’ he tried to tell her. She didn’t listen, or if she did, she was past caring. As far as she was concerned, she was fighting for her life. She drove him back across the room. He turned to crawl away, all the fight having seeped out of him, giving her the chance to kick him properly. It hurt him. She was wearing Doc Marten boots.
‘ Jesus, Jesus, OK… Ahh… you’ve made your point!’
Gillian got her balance properly and aimed a perfect kick into his ribs. The force of it flicked him over and sent him rolling across the room, sprawling underneath the dining table where he lay on his back, panting, his arms clutched across his chest.
From this position he glowered at her. ‘You’ll pay for this, you stupid cow.’
She was unable to stop her head from shaking. ‘No, I won’t, no, I fucking won’t, you bastard. I’ve had it with you and your snotty ways. You’re supposed to look after us, but what happened to Marie, eh? You let her get killed, you bastard. I’m not going to finish up like her.’
Saltash attempted to ease himself into a sitting position. The pain which shot across his chest like a whiplash laid him back out again. ‘C’mon honey, help me up.’ He held out a hand and tried to look pleading. ‘We’ll work
