call to her mum, the time had been spent going through the Baby Fay case files. Oz was a sight for extremely sore eyes. She was glad she’d made more of a sartorial effort herself this
morning. As usual, Bev was woman in blue; her entire working gear was blue, blue and a touch of blue. But the skirt was new, fitted and knee-length. When she was on her feet.
She casually crossed her legs and, just to show willing, tugged at the rock’s sticky wrapping before taking a lick. “Thought you weren’t back till tomorrow?”
“Pining for you, sarge.” So why was he riffling paperwork? “Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, wasting away I was.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wish. A year ago, maybe...
He grabbed a chair, turned it and straddled. “I saw the story on the news about the missing baby. Hands-on-deck job, isn’t it? Thought I’d get up to speed on the reports.”
She bit off a chunk of rock. “How’d the wedding go? Did the bride blush? Did you lose the ring?”
“Did I what?” Oz winced as she crunched and swallowed.
“Best man always loses the ring.” She flashed a grin. “Traditional, that is. Like the groom’s hangover and the mothers bawling their socks off and...”
He was studying her closely. “What’ve you been up to, Bev?”
“Nothing!” How come he could see right through her?
“You’ve got that glint in your eye. And you’re babbling like a brook. In flood.”
Apart from a word in DC Carol Mansfield’s ear, Bev had intended keeping it quiet. But Oz soon had edited chapter and verse of her midnight recce at the crime scene.
“What’s the guv’s take on it?”
“Ah. That’s a long story, Oz.” She walked round the desk, slipped an arm through his. “Come on, I’ll fill you in. Breakfast’s on me.”
“It’s not the only thing, Sergeant Morriss.” His smile was heart-stopping. “Come here.”
Stay mean, keep ’em keen. “Best not, mate.” She went for coy. “The others’ll be in any time.”
He handed her a virgin-white cotton handkerchief. “Wipe your mouth, sarge. It’s covered in pink gunge.”
They nipped to a greasy spoon just round the corner from the nick. Oz was getting the full works: a verbal update from Bev on both inquiries. It was littered with one-liners and caustic comments but as an up-sum it was fast,
professional and incisive. She did a mean wheat-from-chaff and it beat written reports into a cocked helmet. Oz was digesting details and ingesting eggs: two, soft-boiled. It was sixteen minutes before the guv’s brief and Bev was ploughing her way
through a full English. If an army marched on its stomach, she’d be well ready to join up.
And judging by the WAR posters that had appeared overnight in the streets of south Birmingham, maybe the whole force should consider enlisting. Women Against Rape had plastered almost as many notices as those pasted up by uniform about the missing
baby. Every other lamppost carried signs about the mass protest and candlelit vigil. Those that didn’t showed Zoë Beck’s picture and a plea for information from the public.
Oz broke a yolk with a soldier. “If the baby’s not found soon, the guv’ll have to re-organise the squads, won’t he?”
Bev nodded, took a slurp of tea. “I’m already off Street Watch.” Registering his wide-mouthed surprise, she waved a reassuring fork. “I’m cool with it now. He’s made me SIO on the search.” She dabbed at a
cluster of beans soaking into her shirt. “Anyway...”
“Hold on. If you’re off the case, what were you doing at the scene last night?”
She thought she’d slipped that in but it snagged on Oz’s radar. No point in diversionary tactics now. She leaned in, lowered her voice. “I needed to see it, Oz. I’m off the case but...I can’t just drop it. I want the
bastard behind bars.”
He could barely hear her but was in no doubt how strongly she felt. “We all do, Bev.” He took her hand. “You have to let it go. DI Powell’s...”
“A
morning. As usual, Bev was woman in blue; her entire working gear was blue, blue and a touch of blue. But the skirt was new, fitted and knee-length. When she was on her feet.
She casually crossed her legs and, just to show willing, tugged at the rock’s sticky wrapping before taking a lick. “Thought you weren’t back till tomorrow?”
“Pining for you, sarge.” So why was he riffling paperwork? “Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, wasting away I was.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wish. A year ago, maybe...
He grabbed a chair, turned it and straddled. “I saw the story on the news about the missing baby. Hands-on-deck job, isn’t it? Thought I’d get up to speed on the reports.”
She bit off a chunk of rock. “How’d the wedding go? Did the bride blush? Did you lose the ring?”
“Did I what?” Oz winced as she crunched and swallowed.
“Best man always loses the ring.” She flashed a grin. “Traditional, that is. Like the groom’s hangover and the mothers bawling their socks off and...”
He was studying her closely. “What’ve you been up to, Bev?”
“Nothing!” How come he could see right through her?
“You’ve got that glint in your eye. And you’re babbling like a brook. In flood.”
Apart from a word in DC Carol Mansfield’s ear, Bev had intended keeping it quiet. But Oz soon had edited chapter and verse of her midnight recce at the crime scene.
“What’s the guv’s take on it?”
“Ah. That’s a long story, Oz.” She walked round the desk, slipped an arm through his. “Come on, I’ll fill you in. Breakfast’s on me.”
“It’s not the only thing, Sergeant Morriss.” His smile was heart-stopping. “Come here.”
Stay mean, keep ’em keen. “Best not, mate.” She went for coy. “The others’ll be in any time.”
He handed her a virgin-white cotton handkerchief. “Wipe your mouth, sarge. It’s covered in pink gunge.”
They nipped to a greasy spoon just round the corner from the nick. Oz was getting the full works: a verbal update from Bev on both inquiries. It was littered with one-liners and caustic comments but as an up-sum it was fast,
professional and incisive. She did a mean wheat-from-chaff and it beat written reports into a cocked helmet. Oz was digesting details and ingesting eggs: two, soft-boiled. It was sixteen minutes before the guv’s brief and Bev was ploughing her way
through a full English. If an army marched on its stomach, she’d be well ready to join up.
And judging by the WAR posters that had appeared overnight in the streets of south Birmingham, maybe the whole force should consider enlisting. Women Against Rape had plastered almost as many notices as those pasted up by uniform about the missing
baby. Every other lamppost carried signs about the mass protest and candlelit vigil. Those that didn’t showed Zoë Beck’s picture and a plea for information from the public.
Oz broke a yolk with a soldier. “If the baby’s not found soon, the guv’ll have to re-organise the squads, won’t he?”
Bev nodded, took a slurp of tea. “I’m already off Street Watch.” Registering his wide-mouthed surprise, she waved a reassuring fork. “I’m cool with it now. He’s made me SIO on the search.” She dabbed at a
cluster of beans soaking into her shirt. “Anyway...”
“Hold on. If you’re off the case, what were you doing at the scene last night?”
She thought she’d slipped that in but it snagged on Oz’s radar. No point in diversionary tactics now. She leaned in, lowered her voice. “I needed to see it, Oz. I’m off the case but...I can’t just drop it. I want the
bastard behind bars.”
He could barely hear her but was in no doubt how strongly she felt. “We all do, Bev.” He took her hand. “You have to let it go. DI Powell’s...”
“A
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