“How long you been back, DC Brooks?”
“I’m losing my patience.”
“Tell me how long and I’ll get up.”
Charlie paused, then said:
“Two days.”
“Two days,” Sandra repeated, letting the words hang in the air. She hauled her generous frame out of the king-sized bed, refusing the robe that Charlie offered her. She made no attempt to hide her nakedness.
“Two days and you’re keen to make a name for y’self. Prove all those women-hating doubters wrong, eh?”
Charlie eyeballed her, refusing to acknowledge the truth of Sandra’s comments.
“Well, I admire that, Charlie, I do. But don’t fucking do it on my time, eh?”
The bonhomie had disappeared now. Sandra’s snarl was unmistakable.
“Unless you want my lawyers up your pretty backside night and day for the next week, I’d turn around and scurry back to Ceri Harddick, right?”
Sandra was close now, her naked body inches from Charlie’s smart suit. But Charlie didn’t blink, refusing to be intimidated.
“You’re coming to the station, Sandra. Small matter of a double murder that we need your help with. So what’s it going to be? You going to walk out like a lady or be dragged out in cuffs?”
“You don’t learn, do you? You lot never learn.”
Cursing like a grenadier, Sandra stalked off to source some clothes from her walk-in wardrobe. In Sandra’s case crime certainly did pay, as she proved now, subjecting Charlie to an absurd pantomime that involved her choosing, then discarding a number of designer outfits by Prada, Stella McCartney and Diane von Furstenberg... before settling on Armani jeans and a jumper.
“Ready?” Charlie said, trying not to show her irritation.
“Ready,” replied Sandra, her wide smile revealing two gold teeth. “Let the games begin.”
35
“Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“Mind your tone, Helen.”
“Why wasn’t I told about this, ma’am?”
Helen’s sarcasm was poorly disguised, her anger overcoming any restraint. Harwood rose and gently closed her office door, shutting out her eavesdropping secretary.
“You weren’t told,” Harwood continued, “because you weren’t here. McEwan is adept at disappearing, so we had to move quickly. I asked DC Brooks to bring her in and told her that I would explain the situation to you. Which I’m doing now.”
Harwood’s reasonable explanation did nothing to improve Helen’s mood. Was she justified in being so furious at being kept out of the loop or was she just pissed off because it was Charlie? If she was honest, she couldn’t really tell.
“I understand that, ma’am, but if there is information relating to the Alan Matthews murder, then I should be the first to know.”
“You’re right, Helen, and it’s my fault. If you want to blame somebody, blame me.”
Which of course Helen couldn’t do, leaving her not a leg to stand on. But she tried one last time nevertheless:
“McEwan may be involved in the Louszko killing, but I can’t see her connection to Matthews’s murder.”
“We have to keep an open mind, Helen. You said yourself that his killing could be part of a turf war. Perhaps he was the collateral damage. Charlie’s turned up something genuinely interesting and I’d like us to investigate it fully.”
“It doesn’t feel right. This is too elaborate, too personal. It has all the hallmarks of an individual who—”
