“But Sam Calvin’s got people coming over to start work on it this morning,” Dillon said. “George was sorting it out when Kelly and I came in to see you.”
“I’ll speak to Mr Holland. I’m sure he can blag us an exhibits officer from another team for a day.”
“Okay, I’ll spread the word. Steve’ll be especially pleased, it means he can go around and visit Colin again later today.”
“Tell him to pass on my regards if he does,” Tyler said. “Now scat. Go get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
◆◆◆
As Dillon wearily descended the stairs towards the car park, he bumped into DCS Holland, who was on his way up.
“Ah, Dillon, I’m just on my way up to see Jack. Your team did damn good work catching Winston. Is everyone okay?”
“We’re all fine, sir. Just a little tired.”
“So, how long before we can bring Winston back for questioning?” Holland was eager to see him on the charge sheet as soon as possible.
“They reckon he’ll be hospitalised for about a week.”
Holland grimaced. A quick charge might have lessened the brass’s interest in the carnage that preceded the arrest. It would have made the media easier to handle, too. “That’s a pity, but it can’t be helped, I suppose. What sort of security have we got on him?”
“An ARV crew was still there, the last I heard,” Dillon said, “but I imagine the DPG will take over later this morning.” It was policy that the crew of an SO19 Armed Response Vehicle should only be used to provide an armed hospital guard until a team from the Diplomatic Protection Group could take over.
“I see.”
Holland cleared his throat, and then glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot. Lowering his voice, he said, “I trust that the bastard was well and truly spoken to when he was arrested?” The inference being that the man had been given a good hiding for his troubles. Holland was old school. If a villain wanted to play rough, you made sure that you played rougher. That way, they thought twice about trying it on next time.
“He was most definitely spoken to, sir,” Dillon confirmed. Holland didn’t miss the fact that the large DI had deliberately avoided eye contact. It told him all he needed to know.
“Excellent,” he said, passing Dillon on the stairs.
“Sir,” Dillon replied dutifully, knowing that Holland had understood the unspoken answer to the unspoken question.
Did he get a good hiding?
Is the pope a Catholic?Does a bear shit in the woods? Would we let him get away with that, unscathed?
So, he got a good hiding, then?
He got spanked senseless.
Excellent!
◆◆◆
By ten o’clock the last of Jack’s team had gone off duty, leaving DS Deakin and a skeleton staff to hold the fort.
Holland, now fully appraised of the situation, would deal with the media circus. He had been ordered to attend the Yard for midday, and was to be present when the AC attended a media briefing to make a formal statement about the night’s events. All in all, the hierarchy agreed, despite the mayhem that led up to the arrest, Tyler and his team had done well under the most difficult of circumstances. It was already being muted around the corridors of power at the Yard that Franklin should be nominated for a Commissioner’s High Commendation.
◆◆◆
When Johnson arrived at Arbour Square that morning he seemed preoccupied and irritable. He fussily inspected his desk, annoyed to find his ‘in’ tray full. Wendy Blake had only known him for a couple of days, but that was long enough. They exchanged strained pleasantries as he sat down, but after that, she only spoke to him about work-related matters, and then only when it was strictly necessary.
When he popped out to use the loo an hour or so later Dean Fletcher turned to her. “What’s wrong, Wendy? You haven’t said much today. It’s not at all like you. Are you ill or something?”
She shook her head. “It’s that new analyst, Dean. Something about that man makes my skin crawl.”
Dean bristled. He was fond of Wendy, and if Johnson had been making her feel uncomfortable, he would have to have a quiet word.
“Don’t say anything,” Wendy said, seeing the expression on Dean’s face.
“Wendy, we’re one big happy family here, and I’m not having anyone come in and spoil things,” Dean said firmly.
“It’s fine, Dean,” she said quickly. “He hasn’t said or done anything, it’s just the vibe that he gives off. Julia picked up on it, too. Apparently, a few of the girls have. They all reckon he’s got a downer on women.”
◆◆◆
At four p.m. Chris Deakin came into the Intelligence Cell to give them an update. He had just received official confirmation from the FSS that the skin samples retrieved from Tracey’s fingernails during the post-mortem examination were a DNA match for Claude Winston. Dean and Wendy were delighted. Even Johnson seemed pleased. “Have you told Mr Tyler yet?” he enquired.
“No,” Deakin said. “He looked exhausted when he left, so I thought I’d let him sleep a little while longer. I’m just about to pop down and let the DCS know, but I wanted you guys to know first.”
Johnson glanced at his watch. “I hadn’t realised the time,” he said, standing up. “I’m supposed to be attending a meeting at Whitechapel. Would there be any objection to my letting Mr Porter know about this development while I’m there?”
Deakin shrugged. “I suppose not,” he said. “He is the Borough Commander. But you shouldn’t let anyone else know until Mr Tyler has cleared it.”
“Of course not,” Johnson said, frostily. His tone implied that Deakin was an idiot for stating the obvious. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and set off purposefully.
“Did he say anything to you about going over to Whitechapel today?” Dean asked Wendy as soon as Johnson had left the room.
“No,” she said, “but he wouldn’t,
