The vending machine wheezed and returned to rest in its low-power mode. It was still dispensing coffee from the nozzle when Valentine reached in to rescue the flimsy, overloaded plastic cup.
‘Bugger.’
Two concentric drips landed in the middle of his shoe. It wouldn’t have been a problem if he’d worn the black Oxfords, but the favoured option earlier that morning had been the tan brogues. He knelt down to dab the offending area with a handkerchief, something that did nothing for the shoe, except perhaps spread the damage to a wider area and make him grind his back teeth.
‘I don’t expect genuflection on arrival every morning, Bob, but if this is your new thing I’m flattered.’ The chief superintendent descended into bellicose laughter as the lash of her joke reached Valentine.
He rose to face her. ‘The machine’s bust; it sprayed my bloody shoes.’
CS Martin glanced downward. ‘Nasty business, they’ll stain, y’know. Try talcum powder, might lift the moisture out. But on your own time, we’ve got a lot on today.’ She edged past him, shuffling a rolled-up newspaper under her arm as she went. ‘Come into my office, I need to brief you.’
‘But I’ve got the psychologist assessing me, for the promotion board.’
‘Forget that, the paperwork’s already done. My office, right away.’
‘Can you give me five minutes?’
‘Five minutes. And I’m counting.’
Valentine wiped the base of the coffee cup and delivered it back to Dr Carter with an apology for having to leave in a hurry. She seemed resigned, and familiar with the drill, like someone who had grown used to seeing their work being taken less seriously than it ought to be.
On the way past the Murder Squad’s office Valentine peeked round the door and called over DI McCormack. ‘What’s occurring?’
‘Sorry, boss?’ she said.
‘Anything on the wire?’ said Valentine. ‘I just had Dino shout me down the hall in a hurry.’
‘I haven’t heard anything, I’m afraid. I could ask Jim, if you like.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’m on my way in to see her now.’
‘Good luck. Always feels like going on Dragon’s Den to me.’
Valentine smiled. ‘As long as it’s not like The Apprentice. I’ve only just got this job, I don’t want to hear “you’re fired!” quite yet.’
Walking down the hall, the DCI couldn’t resist a glance at his shoes, followed by a grimace at the darkening patch on the pale leather. He wasn’t a superstitious man, despite being the son of a miner with a habit of quoting folklore, but there was something in his programming that occasionally managed to push him that way. Perhaps it was recent events, the sea change that had occurred in him since the stabbing, or the niggling voices that had been with him since.
There had been a row with Clare this morning too, of course, there had to be one of those. Even after the extended holiday to New Zealand, which hadn’t worked, a farce really, that was no more than a sop to his wife’s conscience, but had managed to double his credit card debt. That row wasn’t over either, it had only just begun.
Valentine stood outside the chief super’s office and tried to empty his thoughts. The skin on the back of his neck started prickling – he felt like he was being watched, but when he turned around the hallway was empty. He flushed out the emotion and knocked on the door.
‘Come.’
‘Is now a good time?’ Valentine said.
‘As good a time as any, Bob. In you come.’
Valentine stepped into the office and made his way towards CS Martin’s desk. He settled into the vacant chair and scanned the grey skyline of Ayr in the window behind her. The jagged zigzag of the buildings butted a bleak, cloudless expanse that promised rainfall before the morning’s end. He crossed his legs and felt the muscles in his neck stiffen.
‘Right, so here we are,’ said Martin. She was leaning forward, lacing her fingers and twiddling her thumbs.
‘Yes, that we are.’ Valentine detected a change in mood since he’d met Martin at the vending machine. ‘You mentioned a briefing.’
‘In a minute, Bob.’ The thumbs stopped moving. ‘How did the holiday go?’
‘Fine.’
‘That’s it? Fine?’
‘No, it was good. It was a holiday, what can you say?’
‘Didn’t you go all the bloody way to Australia?’
‘It was New Zealand. It was Clare’s call, I’m not that much of a traveller.’
The chief super pinched her lips. Valentine had told her about his wife’s opposition to him remaining on the force after the stabbing, but she clearly didn’t want to delve into the subject again, not least since he had accepted her offer of a new job. ‘And now you’re back to the grind,’ she said.
‘I am.’
‘Good. Have you touched base with your squad?’
‘Briefly.’
‘And?’
‘DI McCormack seems to be settling in.’
‘I’m not interested in Sylvia settling in, Bob. I should think she would be over the moon with being bumped up to DI. It’s whether or not there’s any tremors I’m interested in.’
‘Tremors?’
‘Yes, y’know, like tremors that might lead to an earthquake.’
Valentine shifted in his chair. ‘Well, DS Donnelly’s nose is obviously going to be a bit out of joint, but he’ll get over it.’
‘He won’t have any choice, Bob.’
‘No.’
‘Certainly not with our workload and the rapidly dwindling pot of resources we have to work with. I need Sylvia to be up to the DI role right away and, if necessary, I want you to spoon-feed her at every step. Do you understand?’
Valentine got the message clearly. ‘You want me to do my new job and also my old job, but bring DS McCormack along for the show.’
‘Not quite how I’d put it, certainly not if HR was in the room, but I suppose we’re on the same page, Bob.’
The CS eased back in her chair and exhaled. She moved from the desk and retrieved a blue folder from the filing cabinet by the window. The sound of the drawer rolling back into place was the high-pitched screech of metal on metal and forced a wince onto her face.
‘That bloody drawer drives me nuts. I swear it’s getting like Communist Russia around here,’ said Martin. ‘We’ll be re-using teabags next . . . Austerity? For everyone but the bastards in Parliament who are writing the rules as they go along.’
Valentine let the CS rant and watched a starling swooping outside the window. Rain was starting to spatter softly on the glass.
‘Right, here we are.’ Martin settled back into her chair and opened the folder; she was flicking pages as she spoke again. ‘I take it you know about the Abbie McGarvie case?’
‘Just what I’ve heard, and what I’ve seen on the news. Missing teenager, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, it’s an interesting case.’
‘Interesting?’
‘Very.’ Martin looked up from the folder. ‘I’ll give you DI Davis’s file, you can take a look for yourself.’
Valentine caught the file as it was flung at him. ‘Why are you giving me this? She’s not been found. Are you telling me you suspect murder?’
‘No, or should that be, I don’t know. There’s some very unusual circumstances surrounding this one. It was the mother who reported the girl missing without the father’s knowledge. The parents have separated and the father has custody. When you get into the file, Bob, you’ll see it’s a total viper’s nest of accusation and counter-accusation. Horrific, almost creepily so, and the kind of details that don’t make for pleasant bedtime reading. Just some of the most vile character assassination going on, and that’s on behalf of both parents as well. Have a shufti at the file and tell me what you think.’
Valentine leaned forward and started to rise. ‘Okay, will do.’
‘No, don’t take it away. I mean just now, Bob . . . Sorry, I should have said, we found a dead girl’s body last night.’