Ridley was stuck behind a ‘car v cyclist’ Road Traffic Collision near Vauxhall and hadn’t moved in over thirty minutes. All around him, irate drivers shouted at their passengers or into their mobiles or at the inconsiderate dead cyclist lying under a white sheet in the road ahead. Ridley was comparatively serene: he was working on his mobile, making lists and planning his day.
When his mobile rang, number withheld, he expected to have a short, one-sided conversation with a PPI salesperson; instead he found himself talking to DCI Louisa Hearst from Gloucester. It seemed that the complaints that Gifford had predicted would hit the DCI’s desk had finally started coming through, and when George Barrowman’s complaint arrived, Hearst had no option but to pick up the phone. Ridley had never met Louisa Hearst, but her reputation for being a man-eating bitch preceded her.
‘Your man is causing problems,’ she told him firmly. ‘We’re a microcosm here, Simon; everyone knows everyone else’s business, so diplomacy’s the key. And your man is not diplomatic.’
Ridley knew that Hearst was referring to Jack as ‘your man’ so that he would feel the weight of responsibility for Jack’s actions, but he didn’t.
‘One of our most prominent residents, George Barrowman,’ she continued, ‘has made an official complaint about your DS Warr, and I have to be seen to be doing something about that. Barrowman is neighbours with ex-prime minister Cameron, so on the one hand he has an inflated perception of his own importance, and on the other hand he may have a point. He says that your man interviewed his disabled son without his permission. Now, I happen to know for a fact that the mother was present, but to a man like Barrowman, that’s like saying “the cat was present”. He’s demanding that you replace your DS with a more experienced officer . . . and that request didn’t land on my desk, by the way, it landed on my boss’s desk. So . . . what do you suggest I do?’
‘What would you like to do, Louisa?’ Ridley had all the time in the world right now, so he was up for an argument if that’s the way the conversation was destined to go.
‘I’d very much like to get Seb from his stable and ride him over to Bledington to meet an unhappily married man I know, but I’m doubtful that’ll happen this side of the weekend. So, for now, I’d like to have your assurance that DS Warr knows what he’s doing.’
‘I trust him with my life,’ Ridley replied evenly.
‘But are you sure you want to trust him with your reputation, Simon?’ she asked pointedly.
‘Absolutely. Jack will get results for you. But I’m afraid he won’t suffer any fools along the way. Is Barrowman a fool?’
‘When threatened. Which I think is all that’s happened here, really. I don’t know the reputation of Jack Warr, but I do know the reputation of Simon Ridley from a mutual friend. So, I’m inclined to trust you.’
‘Sounds like I owe Joe Gifford a pint, in that case. How’s he doing?’
‘The word perfunctory springs to mind.’
For the next hour, Ridley listened to Hearst share her derogatory opinions of every mutual acquaintance they had, and it turned out she was hilarious. Surrounding drivers, who were becoming more irate with every passing minute, stared daggers at Ridley who was sitting there, windows up, laughing his arse off. It was one of the most enjoyable conversations Ridley had ever had with a woman.
*
Over in Chipping Norton, the squad room was a hive of activity and Jack was right at the heart of it, scribbling furiously on the whiteboards. He noted that the height of Maisie’s burglar was now more likely to be around the 5’10” mark, and that one of the men who broke into Mathew’s house was identified as Mediterranean in looks. Gifford doubted Mathew’s reliability as a witness, but Jack had absolute confidence in him. ‘Mathew has an eye for certain details. In this case, one of the burglars lifted his mask and was described as looking like Oberyn Martell.’
‘I don’t know the name,’ Gifford frowned. ‘Does he have a criminal record?’
‘He’s a character from Game of Thrones, sir,’ Jack explained, ignoring Gifford’s look of incomprehension. ‘Mathew is an expert on the subject. If he says that the man looked like Oberyn Martell, then he did. And we also know that one of the men was heavy-set and wore Adidas NMDs, probably R2s because of their red sole, and that the gang is using a quadbike as well as a motorbike. Sir, the case was always going to get messier before it got neater. But everything will fall into place.’
Jack then turned his attention to Bevan and asked if she’d made any progress with finding the submerged horsebox and the owner of the cufflinks. She was disappointed to say that the cufflinks had been a dead end, with no known burglary victim claiming them. And the submerged horsebox containing their eight-month-old dead body was probably, but not definitely, hired from a small-scale livery stable just outside Aldsworth. She’d come to this latest conclusion because, three years ago, the owner had passed away and his children had sold the property almost immediately. It was now a B&B, with all evidence of its previous working life gone without a trace. It was the only place Bevan could find that could possibly have hired out a horsebox and then lost track of the fact that it had never been returned.
‘Fantastic work, Bevan.’ Jack’s upbeat response was a surprise to her seeing as, to her mind, she’d delivered nothing of value. ‘Loose ends are a distraction. So, thank you for tying those up.’
Gifford’s mobile pinged.
‘Here’s another loose end tied up,’ he said, reading the message, then indicating to Jack to follow him to a more private corner of the squad room. ‘I’ve got Barrowman’s credit card statement: one string of pearls, £900. Purchased a couple of weeks ago. The next purchase is a meal for two at The Ivy last Wednesday, and the next purchase is a red satin negligée.’ He gave Jack a sorry smile.
‘So it’s not a pay-off for inside info from a gang of murderous burglars, I’m afraid. It’s a birthday surprise for his secretary in London. Apparently her name is Sherry and she turned twenty-seven last Wednesday.’
*
At that moment, Ridley walked into the squad room.
None of Gifford’s team knew who he was, but they could tell he was a copper, and an important one. Ridley looked seriously in Jack’s direction.
Jack, intrigued by Ridley’s presence, picked up the pace.
‘On top of everything we’ve already discussed, we need to track the high-end items, especially the Barrowmans’ emerald “Barbara Hutton” necklace. They won’t be able to fence it here, so it’ll end up in London. We know this gang is transient, so it makes sense that they come here, stick around long enough to commit these burglaries, then disappear again. This further supports the theory that, as outsiders, they’ll need local knowledge to help them choose their targets.’ Jack then turned to Ridley. ‘You here to see me, sir?’
Ridley’s silent, stern-faced nod suggested that Jack might be in trouble. Since arriving in Chipping Norton, Jack was aware that he’d clashed with Gifford, Oaks, Barrowman and Mrs Fullworth, but none of them mattered a jot to him. Ridley, on the other hand, mattered a great deal.
As Ridley closed Gifford’s office door, Gifford made himself comfortable at Jack’s desk, with the scenic view to his left and his own glass-walled office in front of him. He might not be able to hear the bollocking Jack was about to get, but he’d certainly enjoy watching it.
Ridley got straight down to business. ‘Joe’s boss, DCI Hearst, called me today.’ Jack opened his mouth to defend himself, but Ridley held up a hand to cut him off. ‘Her boss, DCS Lindgarden, has been getting complaints. Hearst has to be seen to be doing her job, as do I. So, just stand there and listen. Gifford is a cowardly old bastard who should have retired years ago. After today, he’ll be able to legitimately tell people like Mr Barrowman that you’ve been reprimanded. I know you can live with that. But don’t change anything, Jack. You’re doing a good job. What’s he doing now?’
Jack’s eyes flicked to Gifford for a split second, then back to Ridley. ‘He’s grinning.’
Ridley frowned. ‘Prick. Your gang’s getting restless, that right?’
‘They’ve severely beaten a young man with autism, and they’ve killed a pet dog. And they’re more than likely connected to a murder committed about eight months ago; probably one of their own. I know it doesn’t sound like much compared to the stuff we get every day in London, but the reason both of the “innocent victim” attacks are so worrying is that neither was necessary. The burglars had the upper hand in both situations. They turned to violence because they wanted to. As for the dead guy in the horsebox, I don’t know; maybe he pocketed the cufflinks and, in return, got what was coming.’
Ridley shared Jack’s concern. ‘Sounds like they’ve got a taste for it. Like a psychopath moving on from killing animals to killing people.’ Ridley slid his hands into his pockets and thought for a second before continuing. ‘Detective Chief Superintendent Lindgarden wants to bring in two DIs from Oxford Robbery to help you.’
Jack’s face tensed and his cheek muscles twitched.
‘Something’s happened out their way, which links them to your case, so they’re coming whether you like it or not. Use them, Jack; this is their world. But if they get in your way, you let me know.’
Just as Ridley walked out of Gifford’s office, Hearst entered the squad room with two men. At the sight of her, Gifford and his team all stood. Jack sighed. Keeping one senior officer off his back was going to be time-consuming enough; three would slow him right down.
Ridley and Hearst shook hands like old friends, even though this was actually the first time they’d met in person. Their one-hour, traffic-jam chat had clearly been a bonding experience. She was petite, with broad shoulders like a swimmer, and an impressively slim waist, and her suit was subtly tailored to set off her athletic figure. After greeting Gifford, she introduced her two companions: the Oxford Robbery boys.
DI Eamonn Lee was a sandy-haired man with stubble, brows and lashes so fair in colour that his face looked hairless. And this made his piercing blue eyes stand out. DI Colin Mason looked exactly like a thicker-set version of President Obama, but with a strong Welsh accent.
While Mason introduced himself with little fuss, Lee practically recounted his entire Robbery CV, as though wanting to make it very clear that he was the most experienced person in the room. This told Jack a lot about both men: confidence whispers, insecurity shouts. ‘It’ll be good to work alongside you, sirs. Your expertise will be very much appreciated,’ he said politely.
‘Thanks, Jack,’ Lee replied in a voice that was deeper than he expected. ‘We lead from the front, so don’t you worry about being left to do all of the legwork. All we ask is that you keep up.’ The last was said through a big, toothy grin. Jack smiled back; he just found this sort of posturing amusing. Jack hoped that Lee was simply nervous about being on someone else’s turf and would ultimately prove to be an asset to the investigation.
Gifford, as obsequious as expected, silently deferred to the Oxford boys without the slightest hint of independence. He invited everyone into his office and then sent a message to Canteen Barbara, asking her to provide the obligatory tea and pastries.
Ridley could see Jack’s disappointment in Gifford, as if he was ashamed to even call him a fellow officer. In a moment alone, Ridley explained a few home truths:
‘You’ve heard Gifford’s mobile pinging all the time?’ Ridley kept his voice low, so that only Jack could hear him. ‘That’s his race results coming through. He used to be a good enough officer, but he got left behind. Now, he’s a gambler. This will be his last case, Jack. Get him through it, so he can retire with his head high and his pension intact.’
Jack felt the pressure of being in a no-win situation and at that moment he wished he’d never volunteered for the bloody Cotswolds job in the first place. He was now stuck between the useless Gifford and two Oxford Robbery guys he knew he didn’t need.
‘You’re all on the same team,’ Ridley soothed. ‘Play nice, at least to their faces – you’re good at that.’ Ridley gave Jack a knowing smile. ‘Go and talk to them. Share information. Then leave them doing all of the cross-referencing and I’ll drive you back to London to recharge your batteries over the weekend.’
‘I won’t leave now, sir, this is my case! Are you sidelining me?’ Jack asked quickly.
Ridley couldn’t believe that he even had to say the words. ‘No, Jack, I’m not sidelining you. It’s the naming ceremony for your firstborn tomorrow.’