26

Fedden was in his office, head down, tie off, glasses on, reading through papers. He looked up and his expression changed from absorption to annoyance. He pushed his glasses to the top of his head.

‘Yes, shut the door. Sit down. You see the video?’

Sarah nodded. Fedden shoved his chair back from the desk. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and damp under the arms. He was drafting an appeal to Brannon, he said, waving a sheaf of paper in his right hand.

‘I’ve got this advice from a forensic psychiatrist. It’s all disclosable, and if we catch the bastard before he tops himself, it’ll go towards an unfit-to-plead application. Can’t make head or tail of it. I’ve got to offer to help him, apparently. I’d murder the bastard with my bare hands if I could.’ He put the psychiatric report on the desk, leaned forward and passed Sarah a printout of an email. ‘Right now, this is the last bloody thing I need landing in my inbox.’

Sarah got the gist of it pretty quickly. It was a formal complaint from Mr Richard Stephenson’s lawyers. He’d consulted, she noted, one of the more prestigious firms, based in Westminster. The guy both had money and also knew who to go to. The threat of civil action was palpable. The lawyers ticked off the main points – the damage being done (staining Mr Stephenson’s name), the value of the thing being damaged (a respected member of the community, an MBE who has enjoyed a long and eminent career) – and of course hinted at the possible cost to the police when the dust settled: It is hard to estimate the distress and financial loss . . . What actual evidence, they requested to know, were the police acting on?

Wondering who had told Stephenson about the inquiries, Sarah put the email down on the table. The boss tapped the desk lightly with his fat little fingers. ‘Any thoughts before you write the apology?’

‘Just that I don’t like being told to back off. I’m sure you’re the same.’

Fedden shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’ve got nothing! He drove a green Jaguar!’ He slammed the desk with the flat of his hand. ‘I’ve no time for this.’

She pressed her lips together, waited.

‘Just give me the facts. What have you had Elaine doing?’

‘I asked her to talk to schools where he worked, orchestras he directed—’

‘For Christ’s sake!’

‘If I may say, you rather forced my hand with speeding up the inquiries.’

Fedden blinked quickly at this. ‘I certainly didn’t give you carte blanche to ruin a man’s reputation. If you had had more evidence to go on—’

Sarah tilted her hand up to stop him. ‘If you’d let me get a word in, I’m sure you’d feel better quite quickly.’

Fedden stared hard at her. He really did look as though the pressure was building sufficient for an explosion. His expression was almost funny, but she suppressed a smile and tempered her language before they were so rude to each other that there was no way back.

‘I don’t think you need to worry. We’re pretty much covered for our inquiries into Mr Stephenson. I just checked my emails. Elaine put out a request to other forces for any intelligence relating to him. There are three open investigations into historic complaints of serious sexual assault including rape against Mr Stephenson by girls who were taught by him. One of them was thirteen at the time. They are from different schools in different force areas and the women don’t know each other. The method appears to corroborate their accounts. Given time, there may be more.’

Fedden put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. His eyes widened as he considered this new information. Then he grinned. ‘Thank fuck for that!’ The good news dawned more fully and the creases lit up at the edges of his eyes. This was the cheerful Fedden who liked nothing more than to stick it to the bad guys. Seeing him now, Sarah could well believe that his rendition of ‘It’s Not Unusual’ might actually be rather good. ‘He can stick his complaint up his arse then,’ he said with tremendous emphasis. He shifted in his seat and studied Sarah for a moment. ‘I’m not going to have to apologize to you, am I?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Good, because I think I’m going to explode if anything else happens.’ He paused again, but then leaned across the desk and offered his hand. It was warm and sweaty. ‘To hell with it, I’m sorry anyway. This Skye thing . . .’

‘It’s all right. You’re under a lot of pressure.’

He sat back down.

‘Damn right I am. Run it all past me, quick as you can. How much have we got on Stephenson apart from the Jag?’

There was a tap on the door. It was Steve Bradshaw. Fedden rubbed his forehead and beckoned him in. ‘Sorry, I’ll have to deal with this. It’s Brannon.’ Sarah got up to leave, but Fedden said, ‘No, stay.’ He glanced at Steve. ‘If that’s all right by you?’

Steve pulled up one of the spare chairs that was against the wall. ‘Of course.’

Sarah looked between the two of them and sat back in her own chair. This was a turn-up. Steve had already begun the briefing.

‘Bit of background, Sarah. Earlier today Marley – she’s a relative—’

Sarah interrupted. ‘Yes thanks. I know who she is.’

‘Good. So she got a call from a prepaid unregistered mobile. Bit of a long shot but obviously we’re desperate, so the boss sent some officers down to check the shop where the mobile was bought six days ago.’

Fedden interrupted. ‘Hurry up, Steve. Let’s not wait before we unwrap our presents. I’m guessing you got a hit on the CCTV?’

‘Yes, boss. It was Brannon bought the phone.’