THE THIRD FLOOR OF CHARING Cross Police Station is a large, busy, open-plan space that has also benefited from the refurbishment budget. The walls are painted a modern pale grey, the wood finish on the windows and skirting boards a matt white. Rows of computer monitors light up the interior. DI Andy Rees’s arrest exposed a bent copper within senior police ranks. Archer wonders if a complete facelift can cover up the corruption that has gone before.
Archer allows Quinn to take the lead. They stop at an office where a uniformed sergeant is seated at a desk, piled with files and paperwork.
‘Sergeant Mark Beattie. This is Detective Inspector Grace Archer.’
Beattie, a tall man with a hooked nose and spiky salt-and-pepper hair, shakes Archer’s hand and appraises her with curious eyes buried under bushy grey brows. ‘Welcome, DI Archer.’
‘Mark looks after staffing for investigations as well as managing day-to-day activities for the response teams. He has many more strings to his bow, as you will discover. We’d be lost without him.’
‘I remember your father. He was a fine detective,’ says Beattie.
‘Thank you, Sergeant Beattie.’
‘Call me Mark. Seems like you’ve landed quite a humdinger on your first day. DCI Pierce may want to—’
Quinn interrupts, ‘Yeah, Pierce will want us to sort it out this morning.’
Both men look at Archer and then exchange a look, which quietly vexes her.
‘What does that mean?’ she asks.
At that same moment Quinn looks behind her, with hooded eyes. She turns to see DI Rodney Hicks enter the office. Hicks was thick as thieves with Andy Rees. They worked closely on many investigations and socialised together with their wives and families.
Hicks raises his eyebrows at Archer. ‘Well, if it isn’t Detective Inspector Archer, no less. Come to arrest someone else today?’
‘Give it a rest, Rod,’ says Beattie.
Hicks raises his hand and slaps his temple. ‘Oh wait . . . you’re taking over from Andy. Now I remember.’
Archer grits her teeth, but doesn’t take the bait.
‘Good luck with that,’ grins Hicks and strolls by leaving behind a bitter funk of dry sweat mingled with a sharp budget deodorant.
‘Ignore him,’ says Quinn.
‘I expected it,’ she replies.
Beattie interjects, ‘I’ve pulled together a small team to get you going, ma’am. When DCI Pierce gets back from her meeting we can ask for more resources.’
‘Thank you, Mark. I appreciate your support.’
Archer’s thoughts turn back to Quinn’s comment about Pierce planning to sort this case out. She glances at Hicks, who is watching her from across the office. Archer and Hicks are the only DIs available, for now. Archer suspects she knows what Pierce’s intentions will be.
‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’ she says.
‘Sure,’ replies Quinn.
Archer walks back to the hallway and makes a call.
The phone rings and is picked up. Archer’s ex-colleague, NCA analyst Klara Clark’s husky Yorkshire lilt answers, ‘Klara Clark. How can I help you?’
‘Klara, it’s Grace.’
‘Hey, Grace. How’s the new job?’
‘Five minutes in and I have three corpses.’
‘I’ve been watching it unfold online. Are you taking over the case?’
‘I am. For now, at least.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Listen, Klara. Could you do me a favour and use your magic to find out what you can about this street artist that calls himself Anonymous? He spells it with the “@” sign. Absolutely. Anything you want me to tackle first?’
‘Those cabinets were delivered first thing this morning. See if you can get the name of the delivery company. Let me know as soon as you find out anything, would you?’
‘Will do.’
‘Is Charlie there?’
‘Yes, he’s in his office.’
‘I’d like to talk to him.’
‘Putting you through.’
‘Thanks, Klara.’
The phone beeps and after a moment Archer hears Charlie Bates clearing his throat.
‘Please tell me you don’t want to come back already?’
‘No chance. Guv, I need a favour.’
‘Oh.’
‘I need you to pull some strings.’ Archer brings him up to speed on what has happened so far. ‘I’m in Charing Cross now. I suspect DCI Pierce might want to sideline me from the investigation for the time being. That cannot happen. The only other DI here is Hicks. I know a little about him from the last case involving Rees. He lacks the smarts for this case, boss.’
Quinn appears in the hallway.
‘Tea or coffee?’ he mouths.
‘Excuse me one second, boss,’ Archer says. She shields the mic on her phone. ‘Tea, thanks.’
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk.’
Quinn nods and disappears up the hallway and into the kitchen.
Bates continues, ‘OK. Understood. I’ll see what I can do. By the way, I don’t need to remind you that Clare Pierce plummeted from grace after the arrest of DI Rees. You will need to tread carefully.’
‘I will. Thanks, Charlie.’
‘Good luck and keep me up to date.’
‘Will do.’
Archer joins Quinn in the kitchen as he pours milk into two mugs of hot tea.
‘DCI Pierce has set up an incident room. I thought we’d head there now and brief the team.’
Quinn passes Archer a mug of dark, muddy-looking liquid.
She hesitates before taking it.
‘Not strong enough?’ he asks.
Archer reaches for the milk and drops an extra slosh into the mug. ‘It’s fine now.’
*
The incident room reminds Archer of a broad glass lean-to that has been hastily bolted onto the corner of the third floor. The inside is sparse and functional and comprises a conference table, a widescreen TV monitor and two large portable whiteboards.
Archer hears voices outside the incident room and sees four people from the office bantering with Hicks. The team Mark Beattie assembled, she assumes. Her eyes focus on Hicks. His hair is strawberry blond and wiry, his skin pale with acne scars on both cheeks and he seems to have grown a paunch since she last saw him. He looks her way, with a half-smile. The others stop talking and follow his gaze.
Archer feels her stomach churning and breaks eye contact.
Two of the team enter the incident room and introduce themselves.
‘DS Joely Tozer,’ says the first, a stocky blonde woman with an open, warm smile, ‘and this is DC Os Pike. Just call him Pikey. He prefers that.’
‘Oi! I hate that name,’ replies a young black officer, carrying a laptop. ‘Ma’am,’ he says and sits at the table.
‘Hello.’
Hicks loiters outside the incident room allowing his remaining companions to go ahead of him. The first is a tall, thickset man with a shaven head and a woman with short bobbed hair and a waspish face who introduces herself as DC Marian Phillips. Hicks enters with a detached expression. He leans against the wall in a corner.
The last to arrive is a thin woman with shiny jet-black hair cut severely short and finished with a feathered fringe. Her skin is like ivory, her lips a deep red, her cheekbones like daggers. She walks to the top of the incident room, raptor eyes fixed on Archer. She folds her arms and addresses the room.
‘DI Archer, an update please,’ asks DCI Pierce, with no time for polite introductions.
Archer recounts their findings and doesn’t skimp on the detail.
Os raises his hand. ‘Ma’am, I have an ID on one of the other victims. His name is Stan Buxton. He’s homeless, like Billy Perrin.’
‘Very good, Os,’ says Pierce. ‘Let’s work on the assumption the third victim has the same background. Check if there is a connection between the men. We may have a killer, or killers, targeting the homeless.’
Archer speaks. ‘The killers, whether they are one or more, have promised more will follow. We should assume this means more victims.’
Pierce adds, ‘Find out if any more homeless have been reported missing. We’ll need a court order to have the videos and pictures of the victims taken down from the Internet.’ She looks to the woman with the bobbed hair. ‘Marian, please take care of that. Can you also look into the council records and see if an application was made for the exhibition?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Me and Pikey can handle friends and families, ma’am,’ says Tozer.
‘Stop calling me that, Bulldozer!’
Tozer punches him playfully on the arm.
‘Os, look into the ANPR system and find the details of that van.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Archer’s phone buzzes in her jeans pocket. She removes it and reads a message from Klara containing the name and address of the van owner, and three ANPR shots of a large battered Ford van. Klara’s timing is, as ever, perfect.
‘Are we keeping you, DI Archer?’ asks Pierce.
Archer hears Hicks’s snort.
‘No, ma’am. I have the delivery van registration details from the NCA. Perhaps DS Quinn and I could head there immediately.’
‘The NCA . . .?’
‘The pictures have gone viral. One of their analysts has jumped on the case.’
Archer can almost feel Pierce bristling. ‘Have they now? How fortuitous that you have a direct line.’
Archer holds Pierce’s gaze but doesn’t respond.
‘Go,’ says Pierce.
Archer addresses the thickset officer next to Hicks. ‘What’s your name?’
‘DC Felton,’ he replies, ‘ma’am,’ he adds as an afterthought.
She turns to Hicks, who wears a faux smile. ‘DI Hicks and DC Felton. Could you go to Trafalgar Square and start asking round local businesses, shops, bars, restaurants and check if anyone saw anything early this morning.’
Hicks’s smile disappears from his face.
‘Thank you all,’ says Archer and hurries out of the incident room with Quinn by her side.