DC Imani Oliver pulled her coat tight round her body. December was biting hard. Her face was chilled just from getting out of the car; the wind was numbing. And now it was raining. It had started while she and Khan had been driving down to the Southside Quarter and was now hitting so hard it was like a freezing blanket had been thrown over her.
Khan hadn’t spoken since they left the station. At least not to her, not aloud. His lips had been working and his face twisting, but no sounds had emerged. The steering wheel had taken an occasional hit too. She knew what was wrong with him. She said nothing, letting him work it out in his own head.
They parked opposite an ornately facaded Chinese restaurant and walked up Hurst Street. Past the queuing clubbers waiting to get into Oceania, their enthusiasm undiminished by the rain, their underdressed bodies internally heated by an evening’s worth of bar-hopped alcohol.
The City Neighbourhood policing team were round the corner up ahead of them on Queensway, on a Code 99, police jargon for tea break. They were huddled inside a late-night fast-food café, hands wrapped round cups of tea and coffee. The presence of the three of them, uniforms bulked up by hi-vis jackets, kept anyone else out. The Middle Eastern guy behind the counter was polite and tolerant. Imani and Khan joined them, shaking off the rain as they got inside. One of them broke off from the group, turned to them. He was young, white, with short ginger hair and an easy, ready smile. Imani could see immediately that he would be good at community work.
‘Lovely, eh?’ he said, his accent broad and Brummie. ‘You’d think it would put people off coming out, all this. No such luck.’
‘Well, it is Christmas,’ said Imani, returning his smile. Infectious, she thought. ‘Imani Oliver. DC.’ She stuck out her hand.
He shook. ‘Mike Pierce. Constable.’
Khan introduced himself also, in as few syllables as possible. Pierce introduced the other two, Constables Dalton and Craig. Formalities concluded, he turned back to Imani.
‘So what’s going on, then? Where’s the fire?’
Imani produced a stack of photocopies in a clear plastic folder from inside her coat. ‘This mark,’ she said, pointing to a blow-up of the tattoo from the DVD. ‘We’re looking for somebody with this.’
Mike Pierce studied it. ‘Bit ornate. What is it?’
‘A double helix,’ she said. ‘DNA genome.’
Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘Very highfalutin. Your boss told me it was to do with a murder?’
‘We think this tattoo belongs to the murderer,’ said Khan. ‘He killed a…’ he paused, bit back what he had been about to say, ‘a transvestite. We thought someone down Hurst Street might know him or have seen him.’
‘Right. Well, it’s possible. We could ask round.’
‘That’s what we’re here to do,’ said Imani. ‘Go round the bars, show the picture. What d’you think the general response will be like?’
‘Hard to tell. This area’s come a long way as far as we’re concerned, but it’s still pretty closed to uniforms.’ He smiled. ‘Unless, you know, it’s done for a reason.’
Imani shared his smile. She liked the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners.
‘But they’ll want to turn a murderer in,’ said Khan, unsmiling. ‘Even that sort wouldn’t want a killer left on the streets.’
Imani saw the change in Pierce’s eyes at Khan’s words. The atmosphere became suddenly chilly. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘That sort are the same as you and me.’
Khan gave a snort, turned away. Imani looked at Pierce, felt like she should apologise on Khan’s behalf. He didn’t give her the opportunity.
‘Right then,’ he said to the other two uniforms, ‘tea break’s over, lads, back on your heads.’
They binned their cups, set out into the rain.
Mike Pierce told them which bars to start in, who to talk to. ‘We’ll familiarise ourselves with the design and have a look around out here. You get the cushy job. You’re inside.’
‘Come with us,’ she said.
‘Maybe later,’ he replied.
Imani and Khan set off. The rain showed no sign of letting up.
‘Should have brought an umbrella,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Khan, ‘then you and the ginger could have stood underneath it together.’
She turned to him. ‘What?’
‘I saw the way you were looking at him. Flirting.’
‘I was not…’
Khan gave another snort, resumed walking. Imani strode along until she had caught up with him.
‘Brennan planned all this, you know.’
‘What?’ she said.
‘This. All this. He planned it. Sending me off down here with you. Punishment. That’s what it is. Punishment. He’s such a prick.’
She knew that all his silent conversations in the car were tumbling out now. ‘Punishment? For what?’
‘We don’t get on,’ said Khan. ‘Not like you two, eh?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘You and Brennan. I saw you. Everyone saw you. Got your feet under the table with the new boss, haven’t you? Sucking up to him. Smiling at him. Bet he doesn’t know you’ve been flirting with the ginger.’
‘What are you on about? That’s absolute bollocks.’
‘No it’s not. I saw it with my own eyes.’
‘The new DI seems like a decent bloke. Give him a chance.’
Khan gave another snort. The subject, apparently, was closed.
They reached the first bar. Music, light was spilling out on to the street. Imani opened the door. ‘After you,’ she said.
Khan, looking like he wanted to hit her, entered.