‘Don’t call it that. You make it sound even worse than it is.’ Zigic looked through the internal window, sure that it was obvious to every single officer out there that they were doing something wrong. ‘I gave her it, she took it, said it’ll be Tuesday or Wednesday before she can get back to me.’
It sounded simple when recounted like that. But it had been nerve-racking, haunted at each step by the knowledge that this was highly illegal and because it was one of Riggott’s cases they were attempting to expose, they couldn’t rely on him to step in and protect them if they got caught out.
Zigic had sat in his car, tucked away at the furthest edge of a cinema car park, praying that the sample didn’t match and this whole shabby exercise would be rendered pointless and forgettable. There were other ways to take down Walton, he insisted to himself, but none sprang to mind.
‘How did talking to Mel go?’ he asked.
Adams leaned back against the internal window, arms folded, trying and failing to look relaxed. ‘She knows we’re up to something.’
‘Yeah, I gathered that.’
‘I said I’d tell her everything in a few days; it seemed to calm her down a bit,’
Zigic seriously doubted Adams was reading the situation correctly, misinterpreting the calm before the storm as actual calm.
‘In the meantime,’ Adams went on, ‘there’s someone we should go and talk to.’
‘I’ve got a murder investigation getting heated up here,’ Zigic told him. ‘I can’t keep running out on it every two minutes.’
‘It’s Cooper’s solicitor. I told her we were looking at the case again and she wants to chat.’
‘I bet she does,’ Zigic said. ‘You’re gifting her a civil suit for false imprisonment, you do realise that?’
Adams shrugged. ‘He probably was falsely imprisoned. Why wouldn’t we want to straighten that out for him?’
‘Oh, there’s your moral centre, hiding just behind your naked self-interest.’
‘You’re way too far into this to keep playing the puritan with me, Ziggy.’ Adams smirked. ‘So, you might as well come along and make sure I don’t say anything I shouldn’t to the very smart lady.’
Reluctantly Zigic went, pausing as he passed through the office to give out words of encouragement to Bloom and Weller and answer a question for Parr. On the front steps they passed Ferreira.
‘More secret boy stuff?’ she asked, around her cigarette.
Adams went up to her, hand on her waist, face close to her ear and Zigic couldn’t hear what he said but he saw the smile Ferreira plastered on her face as she nodded, and then how quickly it fell away once Adams turned his back, replaced by an unnerving blankness.
They drove to an office block in the city centre, tucked between the marketplace and the cathedral precincts, a chunk of relentless brutalism that was all concrete and smoked glass. Cater & Baxter took up a full third of the building but there were huge ‘OFFICES TO LET’ signs in the lower windows, and Zigic wondered what had happened to the firms that had been there last time he’d visited; an engineering company and an accountants, he thought, gone or reduced or relocated out of the centre.
‘Who did you speak to here?’ he asked, as they got out of the car.
‘Moira Baxter.’
Zigic stopped in the middle of the gateway. Moira Baxter was one of the leading criminal defence barristers in the area, the kind who got footballers off their drink-driving offences and finessed members of the local gentry into non-custodial sentences when they turned their shotguns on walkers who dared to use the footpaths crossing their land. She’d also been the first QC to question Zigic in court, and he still had occasional nightmares featuring her merciless stare and cut-glass accent.
‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘She must have been a big deal twenty years ago. Why was she representing Neal Cooper?’
‘Apparently his mum was her cleaner, and she went to bits when he was accused so Ms Baxter stepped in and took the case pro bono.’ Adams headed for the main doors. ‘I suppose she was eager to get Mrs Cooper’s full attention back on her toilet bowl.’
Inside a receptionist took their names and checked their IDs, the process conducted with a saccharine smile and an over-bright tone, before he showed them to a softly furnished holding pen on the third floor.
Moira Baxter kept them waiting for fifteen minutes but had the grace to apologise about it as she saw them into her office.
They took their seats and she went around the other side of her cantilevered desk, smoothing her linen shift dress under her as she sat.
‘Detective Inspector, is it now?’ She smiled slightly. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You handled yourself admirably for a first-timer.’
He gave the barest nod of thanks, even as a small thrill went through him. Immediately followed by a quick poke of shame for being so easily flattered.
‘And you’re looking into Neal’s case again?’ she asked. ‘May I ask, why now?’
‘Information has come to light that suggests another suspect may have been responsible for Tessa Darby’s death,’ Adams said.
Baxter kept her eyes fixed on Zigic.
‘Chief Superintendent Riggott is due to retire next year, I gather,’ she said, steepling her fingers under her chin. ‘How does he feel about you opening up one of his most significant convictions to fresh scrutiny?’
Zigic heard Adams shift uncomfortably in his chair and resisted the urge to do the same, as she held her steady gaze on him.
‘Getting to the truth is more important than any one detective’s feelings,’ Zigic said.
This time the pleasure lifted her whole face, just for a split second.
‘An admirable sentiment,’ she said. ‘So, what can you tell me about this new suspect?’
‘Nothing as yet,’ Zigic said slowly, watching her for a reaction she was too experienced to let him see. ‘The investigation is still in its early stages, but we’ll be happy to keep you up to speed as developments occur.’
He was overpromising and Baxter would know that but she didn’t challenge
