‘No. Definitely not.’
Marina stopped walking, not believing what she had just heard. ‘No? What d’you mean, no?’
Franks stopped walking also, turned, came back to her. ‘I mean no.’
They were in the corridor outside the interview room. Stuart Milton had been left to sleep while they went about putting the circus together to ride on Wrabness. Or at least Marina had thought that was what they were doing.
‘But that’s not fair. After what I’ve just done … Gary, that’s my daughter out there. I’ve got to come. No question.’
‘I’m sorry, Marina, but you’re not. It’s my decision. I listened to your arguments and let you in there and you did a damned good job. But you’re a psychologist. Your presence on a police field operation could be detrimental to its success. So I’m sorry, but no.’
Marina didn’t know what to say, how to reply.
Franks’s features softened. ‘I’m sorry, Marina, I really am. If there was a way you could be there, I would let you.’
She said nothing.
‘You can stay here. Or you can go home. But you can’t come with us. I’m sorry. We’ll call you as soon as we can.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘With good news, I hope.’
She felt like she was about to explode. ‘I’m not some fucking grieving relative, Gary. I’m one of the team. A valued member. Or I thought I was.’
Franks’s eyes widened. Clearly unhappy with women swearing. ‘You are,’ he said. ‘Of course you are.’
‘Yeah,’ said Marina. ‘Right.’ She turned away from him, strode off down the corridor towards the reception area. Keyed in the pass code, slammed through the door. To find her brother sitting in reception. She stopped walking, looked at him.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘Waiting for you,’ he said. ‘Fuckers let me go. Couldn’t hold me.’
She looked at him. He looked like she felt. Dirty, dishevelled. His sweats and trainers filthy.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
Marina opened her mouth to tell him, closed it again. She looked round. Checked no one was in earshot.
‘Where’s your car?’
‘Outside. They brought it here. Why?’
She thought. ‘Got anything planned for the rest of the night?’
Sandro, his face lined and tired, gave her a suspicious look. ‘I have a feelin’ the right answer isn’t “Goin’ home to bed”.’
‘Dead right,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Wrabness. To get my daughter back.’