28

‘Hear that, Morriss?’

Powell headed Bev’s way across the car park. Forcing a smile, she tapped a Doc Martens waiting for him to catch up, knew by the gleam in his eye he was dying to enlighten her.

‘Do tell.’ Quick as you like.

‘The sound of another brilliant idea biting the dust. Still, I guess you’re used to it by now.’

Sod off, twat-man. She very nearly voiced the thought. How was she supposed to have known Aiden Manners hadn’t so much shuffled as wrenched off his mortal coil? Hanged himself, according to his mum. Less than a year back, Pembers reckoned. Found a secluded spot on Cannock Chase, slung a length of rope over a tree and … game over. He’d got the secluded bit right. The body hadn’t been found for months. What was left of it.

‘Even I can’t win ’em all, gaffer.’ Bev shrugged. Stacey Hardy had already pointed out the error of Bev’s pontificating about bad things not coming in threes. Mind, a suicide hat trick was nothing to brag about. Cheeky mare had left a note on her desk, reckoned Bev owed her a drink.

‘Now and again might help,’ Powell said.

He could bloody talk. At least she had ideas. ‘Remind me: what’ve you got?’ Apart from a personality disorder. Straight-faced, she chucked her keys in the air, caught them without breaking eye contact. Christ, she could kick herself: another minute and she’d have been out of this joint.

‘High hopes, Morriss,’ Powell said, tapping the side of his nose, ‘high hopes.’

Pie in the sky, more like. She’d just come from the late brief and certainly hadn’t heard any startling revelations, let alone amazing developments. Could all change, given they now had a name and face to work with. The match had come through mid-afternoon via Shannon’s dental records. The press office had issued a news release to go with the girl’s Alice in Wonderland photo. Both pic and appeal had been getting a good airing in the media. Shares on Facebook, Twitter retweets. Powell had done a turn on local telly. Calls had trickled in so far, but, as every cop knew, it only takes one to crack a case.

‘Did you have a word with Raynes, by any chance?’ Bev chucked the keys again.

‘Tried her a couple a times. Can’t see much point now – not with Manners dead. Besides, he gave more interviews than I’ve cooked hot dinners.’

She turned her mouth down. The blond was probably right, but they still needed to find out who’d been feeding the reporter tips. ‘I’ll maybe have a word.’

‘Said she’d be in touch, didn’t she?’

Bev threw the keys again. God, I’m good. ‘Yeah, I’m curious what she made of Manners, though.’ Wondered for one thing if she’d pushed him to reveal Shannon’s name.

‘You’ve got enough on your plate tomorrow.’

She nodded. She had a bunch of Shannon’s mates to interview. Plus she was due back at the girl’s home first thing, to have another go at her mum.

‘You’re right there. I’d best get off. Early to bed …’ The keys went up again. Four in a row?

‘How ’bout a swift half? My shout?’

Powell’s shout? Shit. Missed them. Still, three out of four ain’t bad. Stooping to retrieve the keys, she said: ‘Nah, sorry, gaffer. I owe Pembers a curry.’

He sniffed. ‘Your loss, sunshine.’

I’ll live. Besides, after Pembers she had a hot date.

With a cold case.

‘Chuck in a Diet Coke as well, mate. Plenty of ice. Ta.’ Smiling, Bev handed back the menu, wiped sticky fingers on her jeans. There were smoother accompaniments to a lamb balti but, hey babe. Anyway, she needed a clear head.

Pembers glanced across the table, frowning. ‘You not drinking?’ Way she said it anyone would think Bev had given up oxygen.

‘Yeah, turned vegan an’ all.’

‘Course you have,’ Carol murmured. Raising her gaze, she flashed the waiter a warm smile. ‘I’ll have the chicken biriyani and a Cobra, please.’ The look on his face suggested he’d snatch the shirt off his granny’s back if madam desired.

Carol settled back, tapped a finger against her lips. ‘How come you’re on Coke?’

‘Fancied a change.’ She sincerely hoped that wasn’t one of Caz’s knowing smiles. The woman could make a sharp cookie look like marshmallow. ‘Not illegal, is it?’

‘Not last time I looked.’ She turned her mouth down. ‘Mind you …’

Bev smiled, cast a quick glance round. Apart from a table of student types, she and Carol had the place to themselves. Early yet, though; another hour, it’d be chapati-packed and even more sweltering. Spice Heaven in Selly Oak had barely changed in the fifteen years Bev had been eating there – all maroon flock walls, dimpled gold velvet chairs, cheap chandeliers and far too many mirrors. Good job they served ace food.

Grand to see her mate outside of work, too. Carol usually had too much on her plate at home.

‘How’s it all going?’ Bev fanned herself with a poppadom.

‘Good, ta. Yourself?’

‘Ditto.’ Ish. She’d been thinking about Carol’s comment at one of the earlier Twilight briefs. Something about teenagers not wanting to spend time with their parents.

‘Kids okay?’

‘Fine.’ Her eyes said, leave it.

‘I’m here if you ever want to talk. ’ Pausing. ‘Just so’s you know.’

Carol paused too, held Bev’s gaze.

Message received. Discussion over. Fair enough. Their chat always got back to work eventually, anyway. Bev did most of the talking while they tucked into the dishes. Powell’s cheek; Mac’s need for a new squeeze; how Truss was shaping up. Operation Twilight mostly, though. Bev reckoned Caz deserved a pat on the back.

‘You were dead right, y’know.’ She jabbed her fork to underline the point, hid the spillage with a napkin. ‘No wonder the girl wasn’t reported missing sooner when her ma was off sunning herself.’

‘Bugger of a thing to get home to.’

‘She don’t know the worst yet.’

They ate in silence for a while, probably digesting unpalatable images. Bev took a sip of Coke. ‘How did you find Aiden Manners’ mum?’

Carol glanced up. ‘As in track down or get on with?’

‘Both.’

Aiden’s parents still lived at the old address in Worcester, she said. As for getting on with her, she didn’t. The woman hated cops almost as much as she loathed Shannon Henderson. Reckoned her son would still be alive if the cops hadn’t given the girl’s lies the time of day.

‘I’m surprised she let you in.’ Bev said.

‘We only spoke on the phone.’

She turned her mouth down. Not good, that. ‘Did you tell her Shannon’s dead?’

‘Wanted to know where’s she’s buried so she can dance on the grave.’

‘Nice.’ She sniffed. Mind, who was she to talk? Bev knew a grave she’d take pleasure pissing on. Soon as it was dug.

Caz took a swig of lager. ‘Dunno. I kinda get it. By the time they found her son, there wasn’t much to bury. She insisted on seeing him, though, ignored all advice. Can you imagine that?’

‘Rather not, thanks.’

‘Crikey, I’m stuffed.’ She pushed her plate to one side, watched Bev dig in for a while, then: ‘Mind if I ask you something?’

Her hand stilled for a sec. Course she would. The ‘mind’ guaranteed it. Keeping her head down, she mopped up the last dollop of sludge-coloured sauce, then popped in enough naan bread to feed an army. Tactical manoeuvre.

‘Okay.’ Caz smiled. ‘Point taken.’ But not to heart. Almost immediately she came back with: ‘Look, tell me to butt out if you like, but –’

‘Everything all right, ladies? Anything else I can do for you?’ The waiter shone a beam on Carol that could light up cliffs; bestowed a little bow for her benefit, too.

‘No, ta, mate. We’re ready to settle up.’ Bev wiped a napkin round her mouth, masked a smirk at the same time. Saved by the bill. Who’d have thought it?

‘Leave your bag where it is, Caz. Told you this one’s on me.’ She slapped a few notes on the table, pushed back the chair. ‘Fit?’

They were hardly through the door when Caz piped up again. ‘All I’m saying, Bev, is … you’d be great, I think you should go for it.’

Saved by the bill. Should’ve known Caz better. She’d either picked up baby rumours. Or read too much into the Coke. Course, Bev could be barking up the wrong forest. One false verbal step and she might have a mouth full of feet. She tried a laugh. ‘What you on about, Caz?’

‘The DI post. I hear you’re thinking of putting in for it.’

‘News to me, mate. Where’d you hear, as a matter of interest?’ Blabbermouth Powell had mentioned it in the canteen. There’s a surprise.

‘If Oz can you can, Bev.’ She’d also been told about Khanie sniffing round the same job. Something else the blond had let slip.

‘I’m saying nothing, Caz.’

‘Makes a change.’

‘Ho-de-ho-de.’

Still chatting they strolled along the pavement, dodging the odd drunk and dog walker. Caz asked after Bev’s mum. Bev wondered if Caz had any holiday booked. Neutral territory; safer ground.

Until Caz dropped a bombshell. She’d just unlocked her car. ‘I meant to ask: did you know a date’s been set for Byford’s memorial –?’

‘Yep.’ She didn’t want to go there, or the service. She could think of a million better ways of remembering the big man.

‘It’s just Truss is asking for people to say a few words and obviously you …’ La, la, la. ‘Okay. I can see you’re not keen. Just thought I’d …’

‘No worries. I gotta dash, Caz.’ Smiling, she raised a palm and walked away backwards. ‘See yas.’

‘Take care, Bev. Catch you later.’

Over my dead body, Caz.