Maurice Simpson, the moderator of the original Facebook group, lived in Cheltenham and was happy to meet that afternoon. Mackenzie was going to travel up with Ottey and Cross as she was across all of the posts. She gathered her things together and took her coffee cup to the office kitchen. As she went in she was aware of someone following her but washed the cup up, leaving it to drain. When she turned she was face to face with DI Warner. DC Murray was hanging back in the entrance like a faithful lackey.
‘Mackenzie, I hear you have a little charabanc off to Cheltenham this afternoon,’ Warner began. Mackenzie looked over his shoulder at Murray, the obvious source of this information, who just shrugged his shoulders.
‘What about it?’ she asked.
‘What’s the purpose of the visit?’ Warner went on.
‘We’re visiting an ex-pupil of Alistair Moreton,’ she explained.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘I just do as I’m told.’
He walked closer to her, not in any threatening way, but close enough that his breath blew against her cheeks. It had a sour, metallic smell of stale alcohol. No amount of polo mints nor coffee could camouflage the unmistakable odour of an excessive night on the lash.
‘Okay. Well, why don’t we meet up at the end of the day for a drink and you can fill me in on any developments,’ he said.
‘I’d rather do that in the office.’
‘Understood. So why don’t we go for a drink after we’ve met in the office. Make it strictly social.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Tomorrow night?’
‘Also no,’ she said, implying that any suggested night would get the same response.
He was about to say something, when Ottey appeared.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked with a quick look at Murray.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Warner said, then turned and smiled widely.
‘Okay,’ she said, unconvinced. She instinctively didn’t like his overbearing proximity to Mackenzie.
‘I was just talking to Alice. Wasn’t I?’ Warner asked the young staff officer.
‘Four,’ Mackenzie replied. Even Ottey was thrown by this.
‘What?’ asked Warner.
‘You have four really long hairs on your nose. They’re so long and thick I was frightened you might have my eye out,’ she replied.
‘Let me see,’ asked Ottey, walking up to have a closer look at his proboscis.
Warner looked at them both, maybe trying to come up with a witty put-down. But none was forthcoming. He smiled again and walked away with his wingman, Murray, in tow.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Ottey, unsettled by what she’d just witnessed.
‘I’m fine.’
‘What did he want?’
‘What do all men like that want?’