Bicks broke into a smile, the gap between his front teeth on show. ‘Just trying it out for size. You’ve done well, you jammy git.’
‘Ah, there’s the old Bicks I know and tolerate.’ Originally from Liverpool, Sergeant Bickerstaff was a bit of a wheeler-dealer, but never got involved in anything that would compromise his career. Despite being a few inches shorter than Donovan, he had a strong presence when he entered a room. He had narrowly beaten Carla to the role of sergeant when Donovan left, ending up as her supervisor. But there were no hard feelings between them and they’d rubbed along well enough. Every now and again, Carla would drop Donovan an email or make a phone call to catch up. But in the last few years, their correspondence had dried up. Memories of their time together filtered in, compounding Donovan’s sense of loss. Carla was old school. When she gave evidence in court, she used to order her full dress uniform and had worn it with pride. It looked good on her, the polished buttons and stiff white shirt. It was much better than the clingy black lycra tops and baggy zip-up fleeces uniformed officers wore these days.
‘We’re not here to step on any toes.’ Donovan spoke his thoughts aloud as he glanced around the room. He could see the frustration etched on each officer’s face. With high workloads and multiple cases on the go, they did not have enough time to focus on Carla’s death.
Bicks shrugged, his smile fading. ‘I won’t lie. Your presence has ruffled a few feathers. We’re already under pressure for quick results. Especially now we’ve got teams like yours: supercops, making the rest of us look inferior.’ His teasing carried an edge. ‘Most of us believe Carla did herself in. Having you here is going to generate a lot of publicity we could do without.’
Donovan’s attention was drawn to a sharply dressed young man walking towards them. ‘Sorry, gov, I just wanted to say how much I admire your work.’ Donovan shook his hand as it was offered, encasing it in a firm grip. Judging by the man’s smile, it seemed Bicks had not spoken for every member of his team.
‘This is DC Aberra,’ Bicks said proudly. ‘My protégé.’
‘Call me Denny,’ he piped up, before apologising for the interruption, his smile dissolving as he spoke. ‘We’re all shocked by Carla’s death.’
‘Suicide,’ Bicks added. ‘As far as we’re aware.’
‘I’ve got something to share that will change your mind.’ Donovan held up his phone. ‘Carla left me a voicemail the night before she died.’
‘You never mentioned any voicemail,’ Bicks said.
Heads turned in their direction at the advent of news.
‘I was waiting for the team to get here.’ The office came to a standstill as he spoke. ‘Carla didn’t kill herself, and there’s no way she could have fallen off the pier . . .’ His thoughts were interrupted by a text notification on his phone. ‘I’ll upload it to the system,’ he said, ‘so everyone can hear.’
As Denny returned to his desk, Bicks peeped through the office blinds. ‘The posse’s here.’
Donovan was about to ask how he knew, until he remembered the documentary. ‘I’ll show them in,’ he said, casting one last glance around the room before leaving to meet his team.
Donovan felt rejuvenated as he led his colleagues inside. Bicks’s team would get over themselves soon enough. ‘I’ve got your tags sorted,’ he said, about the security passes they needed to access the building. ‘We’re sharing an office, but we’re right at the end so we have our own space.’
‘That’s good.’ Amy held the door open for Paddy, Gary and Molly as they were guided through reception. In future, they could come through the back entrance with their security tags. It was the smarter, safer option for her team, now so many people knew who they were.
‘You can’t get lost in this building,’ Donovan explained. ‘It goes around in a circle, so if you keep walking, you’ll end up back where you started.’ It spanned several floors, with custody on the lower end and the higher-ranking officers on top, like layers of a cake. Donovan and his team were on the ground floor with CID. Bicks was still standing by the window, hands deep in his trouser pockets, waiting for an introduction. They would be working together over the coming weeks and Donovan needed everyone to get along. He watched Amy give Bicks a firm handshake as she was introduced.
She turned to Paddy. ‘This is DS Patrick Byrne, and Gary Wilkes and Molly Baxter, DCs on my team.’ Each one shook his hand in turn, smiling as they were introduced for the first time. The rest of the team acknowledged them with a nod as brief introductions were made.
Donovan’s gaze fell on Amy. She was no stranger to risk-taking, and Carla’s death had hammered her vulnerability home.
‘Where’s Steve?’ she said, oblivious to the effect she was having on him.
‘In the property office, across from the car park. I’ll show you around once you’ve settled in.’
‘Have you had any breakfast?’ Bicks said. ‘There’s a rec room, microwave and kettle if you need it. Lots of coffee shops and caffs in town. Donovan knows where everything is.’
‘I’d like to go over the case with you first, if you can spare the time.’ Amy’s grey eyes roved over the whiteboard Donovan had prepared for his team.
Donovan wanted Amy to have free rein. She was the brains of the operation, and he was looking forward to seeing her at work now her personal life had settled down. This is where she would come into her own. This time, he was the one with a personal investment in the case. He followed Amy’s gaze to the picture of Carla hanging on the whiteboard.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Amy spoke with genuine sympathy. ‘How are you all holding up?’
‘It’s
