Galloway leaned over the desk and put a bead on Brennan. He spoke first: ‘What are you doing?’
‘My job, Rob… Some of us still care about that.’
He leaned over the desk too, staring her down. ‘You’re not the only one in this room who’s given more than they’d like to consider to the job.’
Galloway sat down. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts, choosing her words carefully. ‘I haven’t seen much evidence of a result coming any time soon.’
Brennan pushed himself away from the desk, put a hand in his pocket. ‘The footage flushed out Tierney and Durrant. When the SOCOs have been through their flat we might have our murderers. I’d call that a fairly definite result.’
Galloway thinned her eyes. ‘It’s not a result yet… And we still have a missing child.’
Brennan looked away, exhaled slowly. He felt an urge to grab her by those floppy collars and shake some sense into her but he held firm. There was too much at stake. He had come this far with the case and wasn’t about to let a burst of temper ruin everything. After all, that’s what she wanted, and he hated giving in to her.
‘Tierney’s neighbours have confirmed a baby crying in their flat and there’s a possible sighting of Carly at the address. I have Lou and Bri hauling in all of Tierney’s known associates. I anticipate a result imminently.’
The Chief Super closed her mouth, pouted. She seemed to be running her tongue over the front of her teeth. She was definitely thinking. ‘Do you know what today is?’
Brennan answered quickly, ‘It’s your final interview for the Chief Constable’s job.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, it’s that all right. I wasn’t referring to that, though.’
Brennan shrugged his shoulders. ‘What were you referring to?’
She got up again, walked towards the water cooler, took down a small paper cone and filled it. ‘Today’s the day we wrapped up the pub shooting… Or should I say Lauder did. Haven’t you heard?’
The news must have just come in. Brennan chided himself for not stopping to talk to Charlie on the way up. ‘Oh, really?’
Galloway drained the paper cone, dropped it into the bin. ‘Yes, really. So, you see, I do have one clear-up to be happy about.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Brennan. ‘Is that a first for Lauder?’
Galloway flicked her hair back. ‘Tut-tut, Rob, you really shouldn’t be jealous just because one of my inspectors has got a result. In the nick of time too: this force needs some positive press, wouldn’t you say?’
Brennan felt his mouth dry over. He had no words. She was playing him, goading him. She had tried everything else and seemed to be delighted that her latest approach was getting the desired result — Brennan was riled.
The Chief Super straightened her jacket front, brushed her sleeves at the elbows, said, ‘Now DI Lauder will be presenting the case to the Fiscal, but that’s a lot of his workload reduced. I’m wondering if perhaps he would be put to better use on the Carly Donald case.’
Brennan let his hands fold behind his back, scrunched them into fists. ‘I’d sooner not disrupt the team dynamic.’
Galloway laughed, tipped her head back again. Her hair floated behind her. ‘Jesus, Rob, where did you find the management-speak?’
He bit down hard on his back teeth, then released his jaw. ‘Let me put it another way, then: my team is tight and won’t take kindly to a glory hunter coming in at this stage and stealing all the credit for their hard work.’
Galloway tilted her head towards her shoulder. Her eyes were wider than ever as she spoke: ‘Well, well, harsh words indeed, Rob. Perhaps we should ask the team just what they think… Let’s go see the troops.’
Chapter 38
Incident room one was quiet as Brennan walked in, two paces behind Galloway. As she entered, he noticed her stride became a strut. The woman loved the attention her rank afforded her; it was probably why she was in the job, he surmised. It certainly wasn’t to catch criminals, protect the public, or keep the streets clean.
‘Right, listen up,’ said Galloway.
The people in the room had already gathered round the end desks, in front of the whiteboard, where the images of the victims had been stuck up. A couple of WPCs looked at each other, whispered, but most of the team were held in awe of Galloway. She moved in front of the board, took a glance, allowed her jacket to flap open and then attached her hands to the desk as she spoke: ‘Is this it?’
McGuire nodded. ‘We have two teams going door to door and there’s a few more here and there.’
Galloway looked out on the group, raised her chin at a right angle with the floor and then she opened her mouth wide. ‘I am not in the habit of shaking up investigations for the hell of it, but it is clear to me you are pretty far from a result in any shape or form here…’ A murmur went round the room. ‘ Quiet… Thank you. So I am here to tell you all that as of oh-nine-hundred hours on Monday I am putting DI Ian Lauder in charge of all investigations arising from the murder of Carly Donald.’
A flurry of voices went up; heads shook, papers were slapped on the table.
‘That’s enough,’ said Galloway. It didn’t calm the room. ‘That’s enough… I’d like to thank DI Brennan for his hard work-’
‘Hear! hear!’ No one could place the first male voice, but a chorus of approval rang out.
‘Right, Rob, over to you.’ Galloway exited the room. Her strut seemed to have left her; each clack of heel on floor resounded with less force than before.
Brennan stood by the edge of the photocopier, leaning on his elbow. He could feel his neck expanding in his shirt collar, a pulse beating hard on the knot of his tie. His first instinct was to push up off the copier, steady himself, but he didn’t seem able to engage his brain in time to meet the eyes around the room that waited on his words to follow. Brennan tucked a finger behind his tie, loosened the knot, and then undid the top button of his shirt. The relief was instant, but seemed at once to be replaced by a craving for nicotine. ‘Right, you heard the Chief Super… You have very few days left before we hand over to Lauder. If you want to avoid that fate, you better get bloody moving.’
Brennan found his legs heavy as he went towards the office at the end of the incident room. Galloway had undermined him in a public fashion. He had seen scores of senior officers throw their weight about, it was nothing new to him — it was the way she had done it that rankled. The inference was that she wanted the case solved. But turning it over to a new DI wasn’t the way to go about that. What Galloway really wanted was to show him — and everyone else — who was boss.
Brennan was two paces inside the door and lighting up a cigarette when McGuire came in.
‘This is a joke…’
Brennan took a deep draw on his cigarette. He looked at McGuire then pushed past him and called out to a PC, ‘Ben, gimme a fag!’
The constable took up a packet of Marlboro and handed them to Brennan. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thanks.’ He removed a cigarette and put it in his mouth, lighting it with the tip of the Silk Cut. He made to return the packet but the PC held up his hand.
‘Keep them, sir…’
Brennan returned to the office, closed the door.
DC Stevie McGuire was sitting down now, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘What can I do? She’s got our balls in her handbag.’
McGuire leaned forward in his chair. ‘You can raise a complaint.’
Brennan grimaced. ‘Don’t be bloody daft. She has her promotion board today; she’d really be gunning for us after that.’
McGuire moved his hand from the back of his neck, met it with his other and placed them over his face.
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Brennan.
‘Isn’t it?’
‘We still have a few days.’
‘And then?’
