‘“It’ll end soon”?’ Standing hips spread centre front, Powell finger-raked his hair into a Daffy Duck quiff at odds with his stony expression. The hastily arranged extra brief had just kicked off, the latest visual on the whiteboard a copy of the kidnapper’s third message. ‘Still,’ he said. ‘Thank Christ the scrote’s so specific, or we’d really be up crap creek without a stirrer.’
Bev sniffed. It looked to her as if Daisy’s current situation exercised the squad’s thinking a damn sight more than Powell’s shit analogy. She glanced round at the dozen or so detectives present, whose gaze kept straying to the baby’s photograph. The image appeared next to the chilling words, and Daisy’s freeze-framed guileless smile seemed utterly incongruous now.
Carol Pemberton picked at her bottom lip. Goshi’s dark eyes glistened. Mac’s immobile features looked carved out of rock.
Bev held a can of Coke to her forehead. Why the hell didn’t the sun come with a thermostat? Though the windows were wide and the door propped open, the air in there was static and increasingly stale.
Seated near the front, she crossed her legs, brushed her skirt. ‘“She wants to be with Mummy” seems pretty straightforward to me, gaffer.’
‘Yes and no, Morriss.’ Powell walked to a desk, perched on the edge. ‘I grant you, it sounds like he’s not giving the baby back.’
Mealy-mouthed git. ‘As in – he intends killing her?’
‘Sadly, that’s been a risk all along.’
‘Oh, that’s OK then.’
He scowled. ‘Of course it’s not, but this idea about mounting an operation at Green Lodge isn’t going to happen. There’s absolutely nothing to say that’s where they’ll end up.’
She stifled a sigh. If he couldn’t see it for himself, was there any point labouring it?
‘It’s where her mother’s buried, sir.’ Carol sounded considerably calmer, not to mention more civil than Bev. The Pemberton charm offensive.
‘I’m aware of that.’ Powell flapped his shirt front. ‘If you recall, I was there at the time.’
Snark-arse.
‘Well, then,’ Carol said. ‘If the perp says he’s letting her go so she can be with her mother, where else is he going to take her?’
Nice one, Caz.
‘It’s not the point, Pemberton.’
‘What is, then?’ Bev asked.
‘Have you any idea how much an operation like that costs?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not paid to bean-count.’
‘Got that right, Morriss. But somebody has to. Even if we knew exactly where, exactly when, we’re talking … mega-bucks.’
She stifled a snort. Clearly, he’d not crunched the numbers either.
‘See what you mean, gaffer.’ Mouth down, she gave a sage nod. ‘Must be dead difficult, that. Putting a price on a baby’s life.’ Below the belt maybe. But if it was up to her she’d authorize the operation in a heartbeat.
‘Don’t try that guilt-trip shite on me, Morriss. What you’re pushing for is an open-ended surveillance involving God knows how many officers working God know how many hours on what could be the biggest goose chase since … since … the last one.’
‘Come on, gaffer, he’s not gonna try anything in broad daylight, is he?’
‘How should I know? I’m not privy to the inner workings of the nut job’s mind.’
Nut job? When he’d already run Olympic rings round the cops? She spread both palms, softened her voice. ‘It’s all we’ve got, gaffer.’
‘It’s not good enough, Morriss.’
‘Tell me, DCI Powell, have you anything better?’
Bev frowned. Someone else had graduated from charm academy. She swivelled her head, wondered how much the striking-looking woman framed in the doorway had heard. Bev certainly didn’t need to be a detective to realize it was the new boss. And that while Bev had dissed Powell big time, Detective Superintendent Jessica Truss, though subtle, had still taken what sounded like a pop.
‘The sun sets at around ten, first light’s just after four. Six hours is hardly open-ended.’ Long legs crossed at shapely ankles, ring-free fingers laced, Detective Superintendent Truss sat totally at ease in Byford’s executive chair. ‘I’ll get clearance for tonight, then we’ll play it by ear.’
The new boss had wanted a few words after the brief. Bev hadn’t been sure whether she was in for a wrist-slap or a pep talk, but what she’d heard had been music to her ears. ‘Appreciate it, ma’am.’
‘No, don’t get up, sergeant.’ Truss waved her down. ‘People have told me a lot about you.’
Bev gave a mental groan: it wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. She flashed a token smile. ‘You know what they say, don’t bel—’
‘Not all of it good.’ Truss raised a plucked eyebrow. ‘But I like officers who think for themselves and aren’t afraid to voice an opinion.’
‘You’ll love me, then—’
She raised an index finger. ‘When they don’t interrupt and what they say’s worth hearing.’
Truss peeled herself off the chair and rose to a height of around five-ten. With the blonde chignon, porcelain complexion and carved cheek bones, she was the sort of woman who starred in Hitchcock movies, except the classy taupe linen suit and kitten heels were bang on trend.
‘A few things you need to bear in mind.’
Bev closed her gaping mouth and watched Truss walk round, perch on the desk and pick up a white china mug. She was close enough for Bev to catch a hint of Chanel and clock tiny gold specks in caramel-coloured eyes.
‘I’m a good deal older than you and considerably wiser.’ She raised a palm this time. ‘Hear me out. I’ve been where you are, and know it’s the pits being given orders by often misogynistic men, usually only senior in rank, who think giving women a hard time is part of the job description.’
Warm to her? Bev wanted to marry her. Powell, eat your heart out.
‘I don’t include Acting DCI Powell in that category. Clear?’ Ish. Taking a few sips, Truss stared at Bev over the mug’s rim. ‘Sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Clear.’
‘He’s a more than competent detective but tends towards the old school. You have to be smart enough to play the game. And given how long you’ve been in the force, you shouldn’t need me to tell you the rules.’
‘No, ma’am.’ Well, that worked. Speechless, she swallowed.
‘OK, that’s it. End of lecture.’ Truss pushed herself off the desk and stood, waiting for Bev to make eye contact. ‘I only deliver it to detectives I’ll be keeping a close watch on, mainly because I’d hate to lose them.’
Eyebrows knotted, Bev watched her walk back to Byford’s chair. Had she just been given a glowing review or a warning notice? Bloody hell. The woman was harder to read than Sanskrit.
‘Are you still here?’ Truss picked up a pen. ‘Mike Powell’s going to need a hand.’
Bev shot up, made for the door. ‘On it, ma’am.’
‘One more thing, Bev.’ About to exit, she looked back. Truss held her gaze. ‘I know how hard it’ll be for me to follow Bill Byford. I’ll do my best to live up to his legacy.’
‘You in there, sarge?’ Carol Pemberton.
‘Give us a sec.’ Bev blew her nose, chucked the tissue in the bowl. She’d not exactly been hiding in the ladies; apart from dying for a pee, she needed a few minutes after Truss’s lecture to try and get her brain in gear. She’d never before been wrong-footed and kept on her toes at the same time. The woman was way smarter than she looked, and she looked like she’d eat Jeremy Paxman for a light supper. She’d certainly left Bev a stack of questions. Starter for ten: how did Truss know the big man? And did she regard Bev as protégée or pain in the arse? For all Bev knew, Truss could turn out to be her biggest fan or a total bee-atch. Not knowing was a real pisser. She wiped the scowl off her face and flushed the loo.
When she emerged, Carol Pemberton was washing her hands, their gaze met in the mirror. ‘Everything all right, sarge?’
‘Peachy.’ She reached for the soap.
‘You don’t look—’
‘What you make of the new boss, Caz?’
She shrugged. ‘From what I’ve seen, I reckon she’s Chief Constable material.’
Caz was generally pretty astute. Bev nodded, turned her mouth down. ‘Top job, eh?’
Carol got to the paper towels first, handed Bev a few sheets. ‘I don’t know how she does it, sarge. I can hardly keep up and I’ve only got two kids.’
‘What did you say?’ The woman didn’t even wear a wedding ring.
‘She’s got four. Three teenagers and an eighteen-month old baby.’
‘Shit.’
Carol sniffed. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Were you looking for me, by the way?’ Bev held the door.
‘Oh, yeah. The girl you brought in this morning?’ Bev nodded. Verity Parsons.
‘She’s been throwing her toys out the pram. Wants to see you. Like yesterday.’