‘Get out of my house,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll be speaking to your superiors about this.’
Kay bit her lip as the door slammed shut in their wake.
‘Did you see Josh’s face when you told him Sophie was pregnant?’ said Barnes, before steering the car award from the house.
‘Yeah. He definitely didn’t have a clue about that, did he? I think he’s lying about not having sex with her, too.’
‘Interesting. I wonder why Blake Hamilton didn’t want us to talk to him in private?’
‘Something else going on there, you think?’
‘Maybe. I want to go back and speak to Courtney Hamilton when Josh and Blake aren’t around. I got the impression she was bored out of her mind last time Carys and I spoke with her. She might be a bit more open to having a conversation.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be talking to the Hamiltons any time soon, if Blake carries out his threat and reports us.’
‘Why?’
When Barnes didn’t answer, Kay bit her lip, and then groaned. ‘Do you mean to say Blake Hamilton is also friends with the Right Honourable Richard Fremchurch?’
‘Yes.’ Barnes slowed as the car approached a T-junction. ‘I looked him up online before we came out here, to see if he’d been in the news recently. Looks like he’s quite a big donor to Fremchurch’s charitable trust.’
‘Larch is going to kick our arses.’
Twenty-Four
‘Shut the door, Hunter.’
Kay pushed the door into its frame, closed her eyes for a split second, and took a deep breath.
Sharp was present, at least.
She had a feeling she was going to need someone to fight her corner with her.
She turned back to the detective chief inspector, who leaned back in his chair, straightened his tie, and then clasped his hands together on the desk.
He didn’t offer her or Sharp a seat.
At least he’d waited until after the afternoon debrief.
At least no-one else would hear what was going to be said.
‘What part of “low-key” didn’t you understand, Hunter?’
‘Sir?’
‘When we opened this investigation, I specifically ordered you to keep your enquiries respectful. There’s a lot at stake here, Hunter.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand. We have a dead sixteen-year-old girl, a suspect in custody who’s attempted suicide, and several other leads we now have to follow up.’
Larch’s fist hit the desk so hard, his computer screen wobbled. ‘That’s not what I meant, Hunter, so don’t take the piss.’
‘Sir.’
He stabbed a forefinger at her. ‘You may have redeemed yourself in your colleagues’ eyes, Detective, but you’ve still got a long way to go before you convince me you take your career seriously. If you honestly thought you stood a chance in hell of becoming Detective Inspector, you’d understand that.’
Kay swallowed, but refused to lower her gaze. Her throat constricted, her eyes stinging, but she wouldn’t let him see her reaction. She couldn’t let him know how his words frustrated her. She clenched her fist so her nails dug into her palms.
Sharp shifted his weight from one foot to the other beside her, his arms behind his back, but he remained silent.
She was suddenly reminded of the fact he came from a military background; his whole stance reflected a soldier standing at ease, but within Larch’s office it carried almost an air of defiance.
She took strength from it, knowing that he too had to tread carefully. If he attempted to rebuff Larch’s accusations, it could earmark him for problems, too. And she would never forgive herself if that happened.
Larch leaned forward and opened a file in front of him, swept his reading glasses from the desk surface, and perched them on the bridge of his nose.
He picked up a page and ran his eyes over it before tossing it to one side. ‘Blake Hamilton has lodged an official complaint about your line of questioning in relation to his son and Sophie Whittaker,’ he said. He peered over his glasses. ‘Care to elaborate?’
‘It’s the twenty-first century. Sir.’
‘These people have standards, Hunter! You have to learn to be more diplomatic!’
‘Sir, my sole focus is finding out who killed Sophie Whittaker. If that’s Peter Evans, so be it. But I can’t rest until I’ve exhausted every angle of this investigation. It would be unprofessional of me.’
‘Stay away from the Hamiltons, Hunter. That’s an order.’ He turned to Sharp. ‘In future, you handle all interactions with that family, is that understood?’
‘Sir.’
‘In the meantime, get on to the CPS about charging Peter Evans with the murder of Sophie Whittaker.’
‘Sir, with all due respect – and given the other leads we’re continuing to follow up – that could be hasty.’
‘Do it, Sharp.’ Larch slapped the folder shut. ‘Dismissed.’
Kay spun and wrenched the office door open, furious. She strode along the corridor back to the incident room muttering under her breath, cursing Larch for his narrowmindedness.
‘Kay? Kay!’
She stopped, and turned.
‘Don’t let him get to you, Hunter.’ Sharp moved closer. ‘Hang in there.’
She blinked, hugged her jacket to her sides, and raised her chin until she was looking at the ceiling tiles. She blinked again, and tried to fight down the urge to completely lose control of her emotions, before she took a shaking breath.
‘I’m just trying to do my job,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘I know. We all know.’
‘So why—’
‘I don’t know. I’m doing what I can. You have to trust me.’
‘Thanks, guv.’
He nodded, and walked a few paces past her before he stopped and turned.
‘You’re a good detective, Kay. Don’t ever forget that.’
Twenty-Five
Matthew Whittaker tracked the mouse across the screen and began to type the numbers into the squares in the spreadsheet, his hand shaking.
It was worse than he thought.
Especially now, after having to pay for the caterers, marquee hire and everything else for a ceremony that had proved to be pointless.
And, soon, a funeral.
He eyed the spirit bottles in the mahogany cabinet, and then refocused on the screen.
He didn’t dare start drinking yet. He didn’t know if he’d
