Tears pricked her eyes as she walked away. Why was she such a massive waste of space? She would never be anything but a doormat, something for Nathan to pick up and toss aside whenever he wanted...
She slowed as a thought occurred to her. There was one way she could get her own back on the faithless bastard, one thing she could do to scupper him once and for all.
Summoning her courage, she pulled out her battered Nokia and after a moment’s hesitation dialed 999.
30
“Get your hands off me, girl.” It was said with a smile, but the aggression beneath was clear. “I know you want to get in my trousers, but I’m a married man, so get your fucking mitts off me.”
Sanderson didn’t dignify Nathan Price’s outburst with a reply. He’d been effing and blinding since she picked him up, and besides, she wouldn’t put it past him to do a runner. One hand on his cuffs, one hand on his collar—that was the best way to keep hold of him. If she was honest, this was one of the small perks of the job, cutting violent, unpleasant men down to size. She bustled him roughly through the doors, only releasing him when they reached the custody sergeant.
“Got a nice one for you, Harry,” Sanderson said, depositing Price at the front desk. The formalities were soon done and they werebuzzed through to the custody area. As they neared the interrogation suite, DS Lloyd Fortune approached.
“All right, fella, what did they get you for?” Nathan asked with mock sympathy.
Ignoring Price’s racist gibe, Lloyd turned to Sanderson. “I’ll take this charmer off your hands.”
For a moment, Sanderson said nothing. Price was her suspect and, more important, her collar.
“It’s all right—I’ve got it.”
Sanderson should have backed down immediately, of course, but something—pride? anger?—stopped her.
“DI Grace suggested that she and I lead on this one.”
Was this true? Was she being elbowed aside? Whatever the truth of the matter, she couldn’t argue the point with Nathan Price hanging on their every word, visibly enjoying the tension between the two officers.
“Lovers’ tiff?” he offered helpfully. “Like a bit of black, do you?”
“Watch your mouth,” Lloyd barked back, hauling the grinning suspect away toward the custody suite.
Sanderson watched them go. There was prejudice here all right, but it wasn’t just coming from Price. Sanderson was the more experienced, better-qualified officer, with far more investigation hours and convictions under her belt, yet Lloyd Fortune had still been promoted over and above her. He’d only been at Southampton a little over a year—to her four—and already he’d shot past her. She knew the reason why—though of course she could never say it in public. It was political correctness pure and simple and it made her blood boil. Lloyd was keen to justify his promotion, to get a high-profile conviction under his belt, and Sanderson would suffer as a result. She understoodthis; she might even have done the same if she were in his shoes. But was Helen complicit too? She didn’t go in for that kind of thing normally, but had the landscape changed?
Walking back to her desk, Sanderson felt the ground subtly shifting under her feet and she didn’t like it one little bit.
31
“Tell me about your relationship with Pippa Briers.”
Helen sat opposite Nathan Price, flanked by Lloyd Fortune. Now facing a detective inspector, Price had lost a little of his cockiness, the seriousness of the situation finally impressing itself upon him. Helen was keen to press home the advantage.
“What do you want to know?”
Answering a question with a question. Price had never been charged with anything, but Helen didn’t doubt he’d been in a custody suite before.
“How long were you seeing her for?”
“Nine, ten months.”
“Did you live together?”
“On and off. I had a wife at home, so you know...”
He was unrepentant, enjoying his status as a low-rent seducer.
“And how did you get on?”
“Good. She liked a drink, a dance. She was all right.”
