The ACC (Operations), Jack Crosby, a tough no-nonsense career detective was one of his visitors. He looked grave and unhappy. He’d spent all his service with Lancashire and had been involved in over 200 murder investigations — and got a result on all but one. He’d also been involved in career manipulation and politics at the highest level of the service, and could see right through the chief’s announcement. It was obvious what he was thinking. Dick rules head.
Robert Fanshaw-Bayley, the Chief Superintendent in charge of crime, was the other visitor. Despite his fancy-sounding name and appearance, he was as tough and hard-edged as Crosby, but ten years younger. He thought he’d seen and heard everything in his time, but the Chiefs words left him gobsmacked.
August could see what effect his announcement had had, but there was no going back now.
‘ So I hope you’ll give her your whole-hearted support,’ he finished weakly.
‘ And there’s no doubt about it — she’s gonna need a hell of a lot,’ said Fanshaw-Bayley. He clammed up as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
The Chief kept his temper. ‘I admit she’s inexperienced, but she’s very capable.’
‘ And ambitious,’ interjected Crosby. ‘Isn’t this what it’s all about — ambition?’ His Liverpool accent, normally undetectable, became more pronounced.
‘ It’ll be a good challenge for her,’ August said. ‘And yes, it won’t do her career any harm.’
Crosby sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘ This crime,’ he said, ‘is above career ambition. In my opinion, Ronnie Veevers is the man who should be running it. He’s got the experience, contacts and ability to run such a large investigation. He did well on the Baxter shooting and that double murder over in Colne at the beginning of the year. And he wouldn’t be heading it because he wants to become a Chief Constable — he’d be heading it because he wanted to catch the evil bastard that did it!’ His voice had risen.
‘ If she wants some experience, boss, let her run with Veevers. Be his aide, his assistant or whatever — but don’t let her have the reins. This is far too big to make mistakes.’
August sat back in his big chair. The leather creaked. He indicated Fanshaw-Bayley. ‘Robert, have you anything to add?’
‘ Plenty — but not here and now, except to say I agree with everything Mr Crosby has said.’ He folded his arms and gazed past the Chief’s shoulder, out of the window.
‘ In that case — meeting over,’ the Chief concluded airily.
‘ What exactly does that mean, sir?’ Crosby asked.
‘ It means that Miss Wilde heads the investigation.’
After they had gone Karen emerged from the en-suite. She’d been listening at the door.
‘ You were brilliant, boss,’ she cooed.
‘ Mm,’ he said doubtfully.
‘ Typical misogynistic CID, that’s all,’ she assured him. ‘You’ve taken their toys off them and they don’t like it so they’re sulking. A boys’ club, that’s all it is. And I’ve got their ball and I’m going to play with it.’
‘ Don’t you let me down,’ August warned her.
‘ Would I? Moi?’ She winked at him. ‘Now, that briefing is set for eleven. I’ll put it back to two, which’ll give me time to get my hair done and sort out a few new working outfits.’
Inwardly, Dave August groaned.
Crosby and Fanshaw-Bayley walked side by side down the corridor towards Crosby’s office. The corridor of power. Anyone who was anyone had an office along here.
Once behind his own closed door, the man exploded.
‘ I simply do not believe what I’ve just heard!’
He slumped down behind his desk and thumped it with his fist.
‘ Wilde has no experience of police work of any description. She’s done all the secondments and training courses she needs to do to get where she is and nothing more. She’s hardly set the world on fire, just played the system and won. She’s nothing more than a competent administrator. Jesus, this is appalling. I wonder how long it is since she was last face to face with an actual villain? Or even a member of the public, come to that?’
FB listened to the tirade, nodding all the while.
‘ It does help,’ he added, ‘when you’re shafting the Chief Constable at the same time.’
Crosby’s eyes narrowed. ‘We don’t know if that’s true. Let’s turn some of that rumour into hard fact before it’s too late. We don’t want this investigation falling apart round our ears. We’ll need to move fast. Can I leave it to you, FB?’
FB nodded.
McClure picked up Donaldson from his central Manchester hotel paid for by the FBI — at ten-thirty that morning. Both men looked haggard through lack of sleep, but at least McClure had had the advantage of spending the night in his own bed with his own warm-arsed wife to spoon up to.
It had gone three when Donaldson had clambered into a bed which was cold and uninviting despite the plushness of the room. He missed having someone to get to grips with in the dark hours. In fact, he had missed someone for three years. Ever since his wife had disappeared with a beat cop from Fort Lauderdale who worked horrendous hours yet came home every day. Donaldson didn’t really blame her. If he made it home once a week it was an occasion. He was thankful there were no children to worry about.
‘ Put a name to that face yet?’ McClure asked as the agent slumped beside him.
‘ Can’t say I have,’ sighed Donaldson, ‘but I’m sure I’ve seen it before… in the Corelli file…’ He thought hard, screwing up his face. ‘Or a bar somewhere… I dunno.
Anyway, I’m going to do an ET.’
‘ A what?’
‘ You know — phone home,’ Donaldson explained.
‘ Oh, right,’ said McClure bewildered.
‘ I’ll have someone look through the photos for me. I’m sure it’s from one taken in a restaurant or bar. It’s just tough that we’ve hundreds of Corelli in fucking restaurants.’
‘ Actually I have an idea that might just help on that score.’
‘ Whaddya mean?’
‘ Later, later,’ said McClure. ‘Just sit back and enjoy the ride.’
The gymnasium at Preston police station had been commandeered as the murder incident room. Since the early hours, furniture and equipment had been rolled in and placed on the canvas matting which had been laid to protect the gym floor. Four HOLMES terminals (Home Office Large/Major Enquiry System) were already up and running, waiting for information to be fed into them; four more were expected. Twelve phones had been rigged up. Desks were placed around the room, all equipped with stationery and wire baskets and a sign indicating who would be sitting there: Receiver, Allocator, Coordinator, Exhibits Officer etc… and the wall ladders around the gym were covered with whiteboards, blackboards and noticeboards.
Two coffee machines had also been installed. It was going to be a long investigation.
The room was crowded for this initial briefing. There were forty detectives drawn in from around the county, twenty-odd uniform officers mainly from the Support Unit, some traffic cops, a handful of civilians and three Coroner’s officers.
Those present were subdued but expectant and raring to go. Impatient too. After all, the first briefing at eleven had been cancelled. Valuable time was being wasted.
The atmosphere was quietly charged.
Despite himself, Henry Christie couldn’t suppress a smile. He leaned back on the wall and looked around the room. He’d worked on many murders, been in this situation many times. Dying to get going, get your teeth into it. Knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one to feel the collar.
Particularly this one. This was almost personal.
His smile disappeared.
Especially this one.
Karen Wilde shuffled her notes into order, glancing through them once more, collating all the salient facts. She knew all there was to know so far, and she also knew exactly what she was going to say in the briefing which was — she checked her watch — five minutes away.