were the sort who was willing to be beguiled.
‘Face what?’ Stacey had to ask.
‘Well, you’re wasted on that sort of shit, frankly. Like I said, any old plod could do it. But the other stuff, the stuff that idiots like me are clueless about-that’s what we need you for. The bread and butter? You should be shovelling it towards the likes of me.’
‘The ones who like the credit without the work, you mean?’ Stacey smiled to soften her words.
Sam looked offended. She couldn’t believe his cheek. Everyone knew he was a glory hound. He clutched his chest, miming heart-broken. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’
‘Sam, what’s the use pretending? I wasn’t born yesterday. I remember the Creeper investigation, when you tried to make an end run round the boss. You’d have to be totally blinded by ambition to try something as mental as that.’
He looked sheepish. ‘That was then. Trust me, Stace, I learned my lesson from that little debacle. Come on, let me help. I’m bored.’
‘You’d be a lot more bored if I handed off the collected wittering of Robbie Bishop. I know that much already.’
The door opened and they both looked up as Chris Devine walked in, looking ready for a country walk in her waxed jacket, cords and green wellies. She saw their expressions and pulled a face. ‘I know, I know. I slept in, the dog needed a run, Sinead’s in Edinburgh on business, what can you do?’ She kicked off her wellies and slipped into a pair of shoes she produced from a Tesco bag. Under the jacket she wore a perfectly respectable cashmere sweater.
‘Quite the transformation,’ Sam said.
‘Yeah, I clean up. nice for an old slapper,’ Chris said. ‘What are you two up to?’ She headed for the kettle and the cafetiere she had added to their brewing equipment.
‘I’m offering to help Stacey but she won’t let me,’ Sam said. Stacey pursed her lips. He made it sound like she was the problem here.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Chris said. ‘You and computers? From what I’ve seen…’
‘He’s a lot more competent than he lets on,’ Stacey said, surprising herself with her candour. The look Sam turned on her held no warmth, only cold speculation. She saw Chris weighing up the situation. From what she had seen of Chris, the only thing on her mind would be how best to use this tension between her and Sam in a creative way. One that worked for the benefit of the unit. Stacey dreaded what was coming.
‘What is it you want to do, Sam?’ Chris said, eyeing them both.
‘I thought it would free Stacey up for the complicated stuff if I read through the emails,’ Sam said, eyes wide.
Chris looked at Stacey. ‘And this is a problem…how?’
‘I see your point, but Sam’s one of us, Stacey. He understands the importance of confidentiality. I don’t understand what the issue is. If Sam’s got nothing else to work on, he might as well do your shit work.’
‘No problem, Sarge.’ Stacey looked back at her monitors, not wanting to show Chris how pissed off she was. ‘I’ll print out all the relevant files,’ she said in a last-ditch attempt to prevent him from having direct access.
‘No need for that,’ Sam said. ‘Just burn me a CD, or send them to my mailbox. I’m happy reading on screen.’
Stacey knew when she was beaten. Honestly, what was the point in having lesbians on the team when they sided with the men? ‘Fine,’ she muttered.
By the time Carol arrived an hour later, Stacey had much more to worry about than who was reading Robbie Bishop’s emails.
Carol stared at the screen with a look of incredulity. The temporary mailbox Stacey had set up for responses from the Best Days of Our Lives subscribers already contained over two hundred responses. She gave Stacey a bemused look. ‘I guess that proves your point about getting the online community on our side,’ she said dryly. ‘What exactly did you ask them for?’
Stacey looked bored. The obvious stuff. When they were at school, whether they knew Robbie, anything they can tell us first hand about Robbie at school or since. Recent photos of themselves and anyone they were at school with. What they were doing on Thursday night. Who can corroborate that. And whether they have any bright ideas about who might want Robbie dead or why.’ She cracked a smile. ‘I think you might get quite a few people suggesting those fat cats who own Chelsea and Man United.’
Carol couldn’t fault Stacey’s logic. ‘OK. Chris and Paula, I want you to split them between you. Weed out any possibles. Print out photos. And tonight, it’s back to Amatis with the photos. Let’s see if any of our revellers or bar staff pick out any faces.’
Chris leaned over to study the screen. ‘That’s a big ask. There’s four more come in just while we’ve been talking. We might need some more bodies.’
‘Point taken. See how you get on this morning. If it’s taking too long, we’ll hijack some help.’ Carol looked around the room. ‘Sam, what are you working on?’ she asked.
‘Robbie’s emails,’ he said without looking up.
‘OK. If Chris and Paula need a hand, you can put that on the back burner and weigh in with them.’ Carol checked through her mental list of things to do. Kevin was busy making sure the shrine down at the Victoria Park stadium was properly recorded and assessed; he’d be coming back at some point with more potential evidence to be collated. There was a lot of activity going on. But the question was, did it have a point? Were they moving in the right direction? And how would they know when they were?
