blinds Hannah could see the rain slanting down on to the overflowing bins in the yard at the back of the headquarters building. This room was an oasis of calm, far removed from the incoherence of the world outside. A world where — yes, even in Cumbria, so proud of its modest rate of criminal activity — old people were mugged for the price of a shot of heroin, where men in anoraks hid in bushes beside lonely paths, waiting for young women to walk by in the twilight.
‘So where do we go from here, ma’am?’
Her tone was all brisk efficiency. When giving in, no point in doing so with a bad grace.
The ACC straightened the papers in her folder. She hated anything to be out of place. ‘We’ve already agreed a start date and that you can have Lowther as your sergeant.’
Hannah had briefly contemplated making a sacrifice for Marc’s sake. Why not forget about recruiting Nick for the Cold Case Review Team? But that would be absurd. Nick was perfect for the job; she couldn’t overlook him simply to please her partner. Marc would have to grow up. She wouldn’t cave in.
‘I’ve already sounded him out, ma’am, and I’m sure he’d be interested.’ Hannah paused, groping for suitable Lauren-speak. ‘Motivated by the opportunity.’
‘Marvellous. You’ll have four constables, working in a couple of teams so that you make best use of resources. Obviously you won’t want a group of idle uniform-carriers.’
‘So can I choose who I want?’
‘Provided they are available and happy to sign up. And then there’s your consultant. We’ve trawled through NROD.’
The National Retired Officers Database listed men (they usually were men) who had opted to leave the police and pick up their pension, only to weary of the prospect of watching daytime television until they dropped dead of boredom. Hannah supposed that they hankered after the camaraderie of the job, to say nothing of the chance of a bit more cash.
‘And?’
‘I’ve offered a contract to Les Bryant. Until a couple of years ago he was a Detective Superintendent with North Yorkshire Police. He’s headed several high profile murder inquiries over the years. The Whitby caravan shootings, yes? I’m sure we’ll benefit greatly from his experience.’
So he’s to keep an eye on me, Hannah thought, to make sure I don’t mess up like I did with Sandeep Patel.
‘I’m sure he will, ma’am.’
‘Very good.’ The ACC took a sheaf of correspondence from her in-tray to indicate that the meeting was at an end. ‘One more point, Hannah. With this kind of project, public profile is all-important.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Hannah wondered what was coming. A warning not to screw up again, on pain of being transferred to traffic control and enduring career gridlock?
‘The press office will be issuing a news release and we’re planning a media conference.’ The ACC put on a smile, as if rehearsing for the cameras. ‘I’m hoping for extensive press, radio and regional TV coverage. It may stir a few memories about cases of the past, and, just as important, we could do with all the positive publicity we can get after…recent events. So please, whatever you do, don’t walk out on the assembled media the way you did when the questioning over Patel got rather sharp. Everyone’s allowed one mistake, but two PR disasters in quick succession are simply unaffordable. Do we understand each other? Lovely. That will be all, Hannah. And please accept my congratulations on your appointment.’
‘Dream Policing,’ Nick Lowther murmured the next morning, over coffee in Hannah’s office. ‘Isn’t that what the ACPOs call it when they blend a team of serving officers with someone from NROD? Taking advantage of expertise that would otherwise be lost forever. Tapping into the investigative skills of senior officers who retired while still at their peak. Combining the talents of…’
Hannah grinned. ‘Or, to put it another way…’
Nick Lowther accepted the feed-line gleefully. ‘Alternatively, we’re being lumbered with some wrinkly has- been whose old lady is sick of him getting under her feet and who thinks that fingerprinting and grainy photo-fits are the last word in forensic detection.’
‘I don’t know much about Bryant. Except that he’s a Yorkshireman.’
‘So we can look forward to an open-minded, forward-thinking colleague who’s always first to buy a round at the bar and the last to venture a controversial statement, for fear of giving offence to those who might disagree. And is that a pig I see flying past the window?’
Hannah laughed. ‘And you reckon Yorkshiremen are bigoted! Be fair. We ought to give him a chance before we write him off.’
‘When did being fair ever have anything to do with police work? Did they teach you nothing at police college?’
Nick gave her a mischievous grin. He had untidy black hair and easy charm. Whenever people described him, the adjective of choice was laid-back. Only the absent-minded way he gnawed at his fingernails made Hannah wonder if he was really as relaxed as everyone thought.
‘On second thoughts, you’re right.’ She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms out wide. ‘Anyway, you’ve taken the ACC’s shilling now. You’re spoken for. There’s no going back.’
‘Fine by me.’ He yawned and said, ‘Better this than a transfer to Millom. And to tell you the truth, I was ready for a change.’
‘Me too.’ She’d never thought so until that moment, but as soon as Nick said it, she knew he was right. ‘Patel was such a sickener. But the first time I spoke to you about reviewing cold cases, you gave me the impression it was taking a step down.’
‘That was before I heard that the ACC had arranged for us to tell the world how good we are before we actually do a lick of work.’
She giggled. ‘Kelsen’s sure I’ve been shown a yellow card. One more mistake and I’ll be out of his life forever.’
Nick made a gesture that gave a graphic indication of his opinion of Detective Inspector Albie Kelsen. ‘Yeah, he’s as happy as a dog with two dicks. It’s what he wants to believe, that your career’s gone off the rails. None of it’s about you, it would be the same with any younger woman who climbed the ladder faster than him. Don’t take any notice.’
‘Honestly, I try not to. But can you remember, as a kid, trying to ignore chicken pox? You know what you shouldn’t do, but the irritation’s so great that you simply can’t resist…’
Of course Nick was right. Generous, too. Both of them knew that he was just as good a detective as she was. Yet, smart as he was, he’d never had much luck with promotion boards and exams. Perhaps he didn’t want it enough, perhaps he preferred to be one of life’s sidekicks. The two of them had worked together for a couple of years and not once had he ever given her a moment’s trouble. Marc maintained it was because he wanted to sleep with her, but she refused to believe that. Nick never flirted and she never caught him giving her a sidelong glance. She told herself that she was almost entitled to feel peeved by his lack of interest. All that grief from Marc and not a thing to show for it.
Chapter Four
‘To Tarn Cottage,’ Miranda said, raising her glass.
‘To Tarn Cottage — and us.’
Daniel took a sip of Bollinger and leaned back gingerly in his chair. His back was creaking like the cellar door after a long afternoon spent laying carpets in the hall and living room while the plumber fitted a wash basin and the builders put finishing touches to the new airing cupboard. No matter how many times it was vacuumed, the cottage never seemed free of dust, and he and Miranda were always glad of a chance to get some fresh air into their lungs. They escaped to the paved area outside the living room as soon as the last of the workmen left. The York stone flags were uneven and some were half-hidden by creeping dandelions, but until the sun sank out of sight they could escape the wood shavings and the smell of new carpets and look out at the tarn. In the chill evening air, he felt another twinge: an unexpected sense of loss. One day, would he regret abandoning the career he’d striven for,
