‘Sian, can I have a quick word?’ Rory sidled up to her desk in his chair.
‘If you can get my sandwich out of this hermetically sealed packet, you can have several,’ she said, handing him the pack. ‘I see you’re growing your hair again.’
‘Yes. Natasha likes it long and curly. She says I look like Jon Snow.’
‘The newsreader?’
‘The character from Game of Thrones.’
‘Oh. I’ll take your word for it.’ She turned away and her eye caught DS Aaron Connolly on the other side of the room. ‘What’s wrong with Aaron?’
‘I’ve no idea. Why?’
‘He’s just sitting there staring into space. He’s got a face like a slapped arse.’
‘He’s always got a face like a slapped arse.’
Sian frowned as she studied her colleague. It was true his face belied what he felt. He had the original poker face. However, more than usual he seemed to have the weight of the universe on his shoulders.
‘Maybe he’s having personal problems,’ Rory said.
‘Really? Him and Katrina? I thought they were solid.’
‘Not everyone can be like you and Stuart. Speaking of which …’ He handed her the open packet. She took out the first sandwich, looked at the limp bread and sparse filling and took a disappointing bite. ‘You know your anniversary party at the end of the month?’
‘I should do, I’m planning the whole bloody thing.’
‘I was wondering if I could bring Natasha along with me.’
‘Well, the invitation does say Mr Fleming and guest.’
‘Cheers,’ he beamed.
‘Things getting serious with you then?’
‘I think so.’
‘How long have you been seeing each other?’
‘Five months. I know it’s not long, but when you know you just know.’
‘Yes, Rory. Your generation didn’t invent romance.’
‘She’s just so … I don’t know, I can’t describe it. If I had to write a list of everything I wanted in my ideal woman, I would be describing Natasha. It helps that she’s bloody gorgeous, too. Have you seen her out of uniform?’
‘I can’t say that I have, Rory, no,’ Sian said.
‘She has an amazing body. You should—’
‘Erm, Rory,’ Sian interrupted. ‘I think you’re probably better off waiting until Scott or Ranjeet gets back before you continue that sentence.
‘Oh yes, sorry. I’ll just go and grab a coffee.’
‘Maybe a cold shower as well,’ Sian said. She was about to take another bite when her phone rang. She rolled her eyes.
‘Homicide and Major Enquiries. DS Mills speaking.’
‘Sian, it’s Tony,’ the sergeant on the front desk said. ‘I’ve got a bloke on the phone who says he’s from the British Embassy in France. He’s asked for DCI Darke but she’s not in and DI Brady isn’t answering. Can you take it?’
‘Sure. Put him through.’ She took a sip of cold tea to rinse out her mouth while the call was being transferred. ‘Hello, I’m afraid Detective Chief Inspector Darke is out at the moment. I’m DS Sian Mills. May I help at all?’
‘I hope so. I’m Adrian Moorhead. I’m with the British Embassy Paris. Early yesterday morning a young boy presented himself to Police Nationale in Marseille. He said his name is Carl Meagan. Does that mean anything to you?’