‘Presumably the allegation was sexual,’ Markham pursued his train of thought.
‘You betcha.’ His colleague’s scowl was fearsome to behold, causing a waitress who had approached their table to recoil in consternation. Oblivious, Noakes continued, ‘The guy probably raised his voice to her . . . gave her a bad mark . . . put her in detention or summat . . . An’ she saw a way of getting back at him . . . an’ then it all got out of hand.’ He was transparently entranced with his own thesis. ‘Yeah, I reckon that’s how it went, guv. You heard what Ty said. Shawcross got all weepy ’bout his women’s magazine garbage . . . a story about some student accusing an innocent man . . . only that was hunky-dory cos, you see, he felt dead guilty an’ never meant to do it. Boohoo.’
‘Don’t burst a blood vessel, Sergeant.’
‘It jus’ gets to me, boss. It’s an awful thing, child abuse, but—’
He broke off in horror, suddenly appalled at his own tactlessness.
‘You’re quite right.’ Markham’s voice was gentle. ‘Somehow society’s lost sight of those who are wrongly accused. He that filches from me my good name . . . makes me poor indeed.’
Noakes was relieved. If the boss was quoting poetry, it meant he was alright.
‘The missus says she feels sorry for lads an’ lasses these days . . . Like they have to sign a bleeding contract or summat before they c’n even have a snog.’
Markham refrained from pointing out that such considerations were unlikely to have inhibited the pneumatic Natalie. The DS would not like to hear that his beloved daughter, the apple of his eye, had acquired something of a reputation in connection with Bromgrove nightlife.
Seeing that Noakes was poised for another tirade — O tempora, o mores! — he quickly interposed. ‘There’s no one of that name at the community centre, so far as I’m aware . . . no Carmichael.’
‘’S right, guv.’
‘But we need to check this out. If there’s a relative or friend of Phil Carmichael employed at the community centre, then what happened to Ms Shawcross could have been a revenge killing . . .’
‘An’ then Mister Brylcreem sussed it somehow an’ blackmailed the killer. Hey,’ an idea struck Noakes, ‘mebbe he sympathized with ’em. His wife had been flinging all kinds of accusations around during their divorce, according to Burton . . . Might’ve made him take the killer’s side . . . Like kinda fellow feeling an’ all that.’
‘It’s one possibility, certainly.’
‘I’m sorry, guv, I just gotta say it,’ Noakes burst out.
‘Be my guest, Sergeant.’
‘She was a nasty little madam that “Bex”. Like father like daughter.’
‘Well, heredity is bound to count for something, Sergeant.’
His DS looked uncertain whether this constituted an unqualified endorsement of his theory.
‘What now, boss?’ He looked longingly as a tray of burgers and chips passed their booth. ‘I don’ suppose . . .’
‘You can get a Greggs on the way to the community centre, Noakes,’ the DI said firmly. ‘Time for pig-outs once we’ve cracked this case.’
That’ll be the freaking Twelfth of Never, his subordinate brooded mutinously.
* * *
As Noakes reversed out of Hope’s car park, the DI’s mobile went.
‘That was Kate,’ he said after a few minutes’ conversation. ‘The press conference is first thing tomorrow morning.’
Noakes pulled one of his special faces. The one he reserved especially for announcements like this. He thought of it as his Barry Lynch face, though not even this distortion of lips, cheeks and tongue could adequately convey his dislike of the station’s PR supremo.
‘Kate can front it,’ Markham said, only too aware of his sergeant’s thought processes.
‘She’s bloody welcome.’
‘But ideally we need to give the press folk something to chew on.’ There was a hint of steel.
‘Like what, guv?’
‘Something to substantiate a claim that we’re following “several lines of enquiry”, Sergeant.’
‘You’re not gonna give them owt about Carmichael are you, boss?’
‘Not explicitly, no . . . too risky. But I think we need to weave Bromgrove General and the “complex personal background” somewhere into it. Hints of a troubled private life . . . that kind of thing.’ Markham sighed. ‘Whatever will keep them from sniffing round the centre and school, essentially.’
‘Oh right, I’m with you.’
Operation Misinformation.
‘I’m going to take over from Kate at the community centre.’
Noakes didn’t like the sound of this. ‘Then you and she are going to check out that adolescent unit.’ There was a determined ring to Markham’s voice. ‘I want to know what she was doing there when she nipped out of school. Was it research or professional development like she put down when she signed out? Or was it connected with when she had counselling for PTSD? Or was she there for something else entirely? Whatever it was, I want to know.’ A thought struck him. ‘Plus, we’ll need details of the treatment she had over the Carmichael business.’
‘An’ after that?’
‘You can do a quick fact-finding spree at the council offices.’ Markham was grimly purposeful. ‘I want this Carmichael issue clarified. If it’s just a sideshow, I want it out of the way.’
‘You think we’ll get a name, guv?’
‘Maybe not a name . . . but at the very least a lead.’ He suppressed a smile at the look on Noakes’s face. ‘I know you found Kate a little . . . full-on during the Newman investigation. But you’ve shaken down together very well since then and,’ he knew he was grasping at straws, ‘I want her to learn from you.’
‘Oh aye.’
Clearly not a match made in heaven, but the
