‘He wants you out, sarge – you know that, don’t you?’
Bev checked the mirror. ‘A fuckwit like Hainsworth ain’t gonna stop me doing my job, Caz. Whatever way I see fit.’ Bev glanced at Pembers’ profile, clocked half a downturned mouth. Made a change having a woman ride shotgun, but clamming up wasn’t Carol’s normal MO. Though junior in rank, she was a good few years older and normally told Bev straight. Both were well aware Pembers could walk the sergeant’s exams if she’d a mind to, but caring for two kids – three, if you counted her old man – came first.
‘You not with me then, Caz?’ Squinting, Bev pulled the visor down, added the Ray-Bans as backup. They were en route to Rayne’s place. Powell had passed them the interview baton, said he had a meeting or something.
‘There’s ways and ways, sarge.’
She shrugged, took the next left. ‘Meaning?’
‘Telling a bloke like that he’s talking bollocks in front of his buddies? Not a thing I’d recommend.’
Bev sniffed. ‘So he’s the arsehole and I have to zip it?’ She wished the bloody church bells would pipe down. Good job Rayne wasn’t a God-botherer or they’d be turning up at an empty house. She’d not tipped him off about the visit; ignorance is bliss. Nothing to do with catching him on the hop. Amy was in the picture, though.
‘If I were you, I’d just temper it a bit.’
‘Temper? Come on, Caz, tell it like it is.’
‘OK.’ She turned to face her. ‘Quit gobbing off all the time.’
‘That’s more like it.’
They shared a wry smile. Carol unscrewed the cap off a bottle, took a few sips of water. Pembers’ perfume whiffed a bit, though DKNY Woman beat Mac’s Diesel fumes any day. Bev lowered the window, wondered idly if Frankie liked the smell of her chrysanths. If the Italian was round at Rayne’s place, maybe she’d thank Bev in person ’cause she sure as hell hadn’t bothered in last night’s text. What was it again? Yeah. Nice try. Should’ve sent snapdragons. Cheeky mare.
Out of the corner of her eye, she clocked Pembers running through the interview notes. She’d asked Caz to take the lead: a bit of fresh blood might stir Rayne’s memory bank. Bev would chip in as and when from the back seat. As for Stella Rayne, this time they’d try and tackle her separately – divide and rule. Seemed like a plan.
Shame the prison guard hadn’t come up with anything new, though. Bev thought Manning had sounded a tad defensive on the phone. He was adamant he’d heard Tempest right, but adding ‘given the circs’ hadn’t filled Bev with confidence. He had her numbers now, just in case, but she’d not hold her breath.
Caz had certainly been holding her tongue. Probably rehearsing her lines. Bev cut her a quick glance then turned into the lane leading to Rayne’s estate. ‘All set, Caz?’
‘One thing, sarge …’ The pause and something in Pembers’ voice made Bev glance across again. ‘When I said he wants you out, what makes you think I meant Hainsworth?’
‘Powell?’ They’d had their moments, but surely the blond …? She forced a laugh, tried making light of it. ‘Know something I don’t Caz?’
‘They’re all boys together, aren’t they? She smoothed a non-existent crease in her skirt. ‘It’s still a man’s world out there. Watch your back’s all I’m saying.’
Bev frowned, again heard something that rang a faint alarm. ‘Is it, Caz? All you’re saying?’
‘It’s all I’m saying.’ There was a tacit but.
‘Hit me, Caz. I’m a big girl now.’
She shrank inside as Pembers filled her in, gripped the wheel like there was no tomorrow. Apparently a whisper was doing the rounds at the nick that Powell was under orders from on high to keep close tabs. The main concern being that Byford’s death could have caused Bev psychological damage.
‘Nah, took it in my stride, didn’t I?’ She waved an airy arm, thanked God for the sunglasses. ‘’Course it fuck—’
Pembers held up a palm. ‘Lasting serious damage.’
‘Great.’ There was no blood flow in her fingers; she loosened her grip on the wheel. ‘So now I’m some sort of psycho.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ She took another sip, screwed the cap back on. ‘No more than before, anyway.’
Bev flashed a thin smile, knew the dig was good-humoured, well-meant. She had cause to thank the woman. At least she’d been upfront. Unlike Powell, the two-faced shit, monitoring her every move behind her back and not saying a sodding word. It wouldn’t have hurt to drop a subtle hint. ‘You said “main”.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Main concern. I take it there’s more.’ She flexed her fingers to ease the pins and needles.
‘Come on, sarge.’ Carol turned her head away.
‘I know it’s not fair, Caz, but I won’t drop you in it honest.’ And make it snappy. She was about to park the Astra.
Clearly reluctant, she sighed; then: ‘They’re worried about your attitude, lip, insubordination, rubbing people up the wrong way. That kind of thing. You don’t need me telling you, sarge.’
Bolshie Bev. Motormouth. Morriss the maverick. She’d heard them all before. It’s not like she’d morphed into the baddie role since getting back in the saddle. She switched the engine off, sensed Carol’s gaze, couldn’t meet it. If she blinked hard enough, she’d be OK. Blind fury more than anything.
Caz had her hand on the door. ‘I guess the problem now, Bev, is they’re not sure anyone around’s big enough to rein you in.’
Big enough. Ain’t that the truth? Bev snorted as she got out the car. Powell hadn’t even been big enough to admit the wrong man could’ve been charged with Lucy Rayne’s murder. And he queried whether she was up to the job? If it was the last thing she did, she’d prove the bastard wrong.
Assuming after that she’d still want the sodding job.
‘Thanks for telling me, Caz. ’Preciate it.’ She locked the motor, gazed up at the house.
Forewarned is forearmed.