CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Go home, you two, I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.’ Amy was talking to Molly and Paddy, the last members of her team standing. It was gone nine, but they had started at the crack of dawn. There wasn’t much more they could do for tonight. ‘Are you sure?’ Paddy rubbed his face. ‘I’ve just boiled the kettle. I can stay for another hour if you like.’
Amy dismissed him with a wave. ‘No, you shoot off. Walk Molly back to the hotel.’ She knew Sally-Ann would be waiting to surprise him when he got back.
She watched as Molly stowed away her pens and stationery into her desk drawer. ‘Everything OK? You’ve been quiet today.’ She had sensed a change in Molly since her arrival, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. As Paddy left to lock his police radio away, it was just the two of them in the room.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Molly glanced up from her desk, a bright smile fixed on her face. But there was a fleeting look behind her eyes that gave Amy pause. Was it fear? Nervousness?
Pulling over a swivel chair, Amy took a seat next to her. ‘Molly,’ she said, stilling her movements as she touched her arm. ‘We’re the only two women in this team, which makes it doubly important that we look out for each other. If anything is troubling you . . .’
‘I’m fine.’ But a flush crept upwards from Molly’s chest to her throat. Amy raised an eyebrow, allowing the silence to stretch between them as she waited for an honest reply.
‘You’re not, though, are you? Something’s playing on your mind.’
Molly’s brow furrowed as she exhaled a sigh. ‘I’ve had loads of officers from CID asking me how to get on to our team. I guess it just . . .’ She pursed her lips as she chose her words carefully. ‘It made me see how lucky I am to be here. I love my job, but now everyone wants to come on board and . . .’ She rubbed the back of her neck. ‘There are only a few spaces. I’m worried I’ll be replaced by someone with more experience.’
‘So, you’re feeling insecure?’ Amy said, trying to understand her concerns. Of all the members of her team, Molly had nothing to worry about.
‘It didn’t cross my mind until I watched the documentary back,’ Molly said. ‘I barely featured in it. It made me wonder if I was good enough for the team.’
‘You can’t judge your worth by a TV documentary.’ Amy smiled. ‘You’re doing great. Have you seen their other programmes? They all focus on men. Why do you think Steve got so much airtime, in his tight shirts and even tighter trousers? I mentioned it to Donovan. He said it was something to do with their target demographics. Another term for sexism, if you ask me.’ Amy tilted her head as she scrutinised Molly’s face. ‘Are you sure that’s it?’
‘Yeah, honestly, I’m fine.’ Molly brightened as she looked around the room. ‘Being here, away from home, is so nice. I live with my mum and dad. Not much chance of me being able to afford a place of my own. Not with London property prices.’
‘I’ve got a flat I’m subletting in Shoreditch,’ Amy said. ‘It’s a shoe-box, but you might be able to stretch to it if you share.’ She had rented out her flat when she moved in with her mother after her father’s death.
Molly chuckled at the prospect. But it was a dark, cynical laugh. ‘As if Mum would let me out of her sight,’ she muttered under her breath, her words sharp.
‘What was that?’ Amy said, keen to prise the truth out of her. It was unusual to see this side of Molly, and Amy’s interest was piqued.
‘Right, are we off?’ Paddy’s gravelly voice made Molly jump. ‘There’s a pint of Guinness with my name on it. Fancy joining us, boss?’
Just like that, the moment between Amy and Molly had ended. A relieved-looking Molly was already tearing across the office to grab her jacket from a coat hanger behind the door.
‘I’ll skip, thanks, but enjoy your evening,’ Amy said. Donovan was speaking to the neighbourhood policing department, but he would be back in ten minutes or so. As Paddy and Molly left, Amy sent a quick text to Sally-Ann, who would surprise Paddy in the bar. She turned to her planner, ticking off the tasks she had set herself. Her thoughts wandered to Chesney, who had surprised his children with a holiday. To Martin, with his plump red cheeks, who made the perfect Santa Claus. Then to Darius, who was nicknamed ‘Derry’ by the toddlers in the ‘Little Ducks’ nursery where he worked. Their families deserved justice. They needed to know the truth. There was one more box to tick before she could call it a day. She relaxed into her chair as she dialled the mobile number, happy to speak to an old friend.
It was always a comfort to hear Ray’s voice. The coroner was a link to the familiar territory of her station in Notting Hill. She trusted Ray, as he had worked with her father when he was a superintendent in the police. Like her, Ray was dedicated to his job and felt genuine empathy for the victims. But unlike Amy, all the victims Ray dealt with were dead. With many years of experience under his expansive belt, Ray was an esteemed coroner, and Amy valued his input on the case. Which was why she had asked him to investigate each of the
