‘Your mam was on TV again last night.’
‘That right? Don’t tell me they’ve finally caught up with her. Corruption? Fraud? Something like that, I’m guessing.’
DCI Stuart Jennings regarded her for a moment. ‘You really don’t like her, do you?’
‘Funnily enough we get on okay when we’re together. As long as we avoid discussing virtually any subject under the sun. But at a distance – no, I really don’t like her.’
‘She’s always struck me as a game old bird.’
Game old bird. As always, Annie felt that Jennings’ language was designed to rile her. But she’d decided to allow anything he said or did to wash right over her. He wasn’t worth the grief. ‘Mum’s lively enough,’ she conceded. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’ Quite what sort of thing this might be was left hanging in the air. ‘What was she on this time?’
‘Newsnight. The challenges of contemporary policing.’
‘Of course. Let me guess what she said. The service is still bloated and inefficient, and the cuts to our funding haven’t been anything like deep enough?’
‘Not in quite so many words.’
‘I’m guessing she said it in rather more words. But that’s what it would have amounted to.’
Jennings looked uncomfortable, as if he’d strayed into a discussion he’d rather have avoided. ‘Something like that, anyway. A lot of stuff about how it was better in her day.’
‘She only retired five years ago. And nobody ever talks about why she retired.’ Annie knew that Jennings wouldn’t risk responding to that one. ‘Anyway, I’m old enough to remember when right-wingers were in favour of the police. Even ones as rabid as my mother.’
They were sitting in Jennings’ office. The whole place was supposed to be open-plan, but Jennings, typically, had already managed to commandeer a room of his own. That was fine by Annie if it helped keep Jennings out of her hair. He’d transferred over here a month or so back as part of what was being referred to as the ‘regionalisation agenda’. Yet another initiative, she assumed, that would require them to do more with ever-reducing resources. Her mother would approve.
At first she’d been suspicious of Jennings’ blunt manner, but she’d quickly realised it was at least partly an act. She hadn’t yet worked out quite how much of an act, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. No doubt he was equally wary of her background. Perhaps that was why she’d been so keen to emphasise her dislike for her mother. Though it never took much to prompt that particular response.
For the moment, she and Jennings were warily circling round each other, each trying to work out the other’s characteristics and motivations. She imagined they’d settle down soon enough, particularly once they were faced with some real work challenges. He was still finding his feet, and she was happy to help him do so.
She glanced around the office. So far he’d left it fairly unadorned, with nothing beyond a couple of family photographs – his wife, his two children – to add a personal touch. In her experience, managers who were keen to appropriate an office of their own generally went to some lengths to mark their territory – a few carefully chosen books, a quirky souvenir from some international conference, one or two certificates or commendations. Annie found this faintly risible. She didn’t know whether Jennings agreed, or whether he just hadn’t yet got around to importing whatever junk he might possess.
‘Anyway,’ he said, breaking into her chain of thought, ‘I just wanted to check that everything’s under control. Any support you need from me at this stage?’
That was a positive sign, she supposed. The new enquiry was one of the more intriguing to come their way in some months. Jennings, as Senior Investigating Officer, had seemed happy to delegate the day-to-day management of the case to her. It was perhaps intended as a test, an opportunity to see how well she could cope with the pressures of a relatively complex enquiry. She’d even wondered if she was being set up to fail. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But so far Jennings had been both supportive and unobtrusive.
‘It’s all going in the right direction,’ she said. ‘We had a kick-off session this morning, so things are moving. I’ve had the usual problems drumming up the necessary resources, but we’re getting there.’
‘If you need me to turn the thumbscrews on anyone, just let me know. This is potentially a big one.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she said. ‘But we’re pretty much there. If anyone who’s promised us doesn’t come across, I’ll let you know. The main difficulty is that everyone’s running on empty for staff. Especially for experienced officers.’
‘As long as you’ve got what you need.’
‘I’ll tell you if we run into any issues.’
‘How’s it going at the scene?’
‘The CSIs have nearly done. Later today, they reckon. I was planning to have a drive over once we’re done here. Get a feel for the place. Tim’s been running a tight ship, but then he always does.’ Tim Sturgeon was the designated crime scene manager who had been allocated to the case. He had a reputation for thoroughness bordering on the obsessive.
‘Still can’t quite believe it was you and Zoe who stumbled across the body,’ Jennings said. ‘Now that’s what I call dedication. Generating business even at the weekend.’
‘Pretty unpleasant business. Throat cut. Multiple incisions on the body. Some unpleasant mutilation. Almost ritualistic, the CSI thought.’
‘Some of those CSIs have too much imagination.’
In Annie’s experience, the opposite was generally true. Most of the CSIs she dealt with kept their imaginations firmly tamped down, focusing only on facts and evidence. That, and the blackest forms of gallows humour. ‘Maybe. But a naked body spreadeagled on a prehistoric stone cairn in the middle of the Peak District makes a change from the usual knife crime.’
‘As long as it keeps you happy.’
She gazed at him for a moment, trying to work out if this was another jibe. She’d spent her career dealing with snide comments, usually muttered within her earshot but too quietly to challenge. Sometimes she thought she’d become oversensitive. At other times, as now, she wondered if she wasn’t anything like sensitive enough. ‘I’m not likely to be bored, anyway.’
‘I’ll let you get on then. Keep me posted.’ Jennings’ demeanour indicated that the meeting was over. She pushed herself to her feet.
Jennings had already moved on to his next task, tapping fluently away on the keyboard at his workstation. From this angle, his raw-boned features and swept-back greying hair made him look older than his forty-odd years, she thought.
Without looking up from his computer screen, Jennings said, ‘And if you should run into your mam any time soon, tell her from me she’s talking bollocks.’
She hesitated, wanting to rise to the bait. Then she took a breath and allowed him a cool smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I always do.’