sitting. Sean quickly ejected the disc and searched for an even more recent one. He loaded it into the player and began to watch, not even feeling the pins and needles that spread through his legs. He expected to see more of the same, but suddenly the presenters seemed more distant than ever from each other. The smiles and platitudes were still there, but the warmth had gone – replaced by a sense of tension that he knew few people would have been able to see other than himself. And as the show progressed he noticed that Stokes appeared less than Evans did. Their previous on-screen equality seemed to be diminishing.
Once more he ejected the disc and searched for the most recent he could find, almost fumbling it in his hurry to load the player. Seconds later he was watching yet another episode of the consumer affairs show, only now Stokes was nowhere to be seen, while Evans looked comfortable and relaxed. ‘So where the hell have you gone and why?’ he asked the room before swapping the DVD for the previous one, forwarding it to a scene with Evans and Stokes standing side by side, his finger hovering over the pause button until the perfect moment arrived and he froze the screen. Evans still wore her fake smile, but her eyes betrayed something he recognized only too well –
fear
. In that brief moment Stokes’ smile had deserted him as his eyes flicked towards the victim and Sean saw something else he recognized – hatred and jealousy
.
‘What happened?’ he whispered to himself. ‘What happened between you two?’
He reached for his mobile phone to call Featherstone before stopping himself.
What did he really have? An exchange of looks between two co-presenters. The weakest of hearsay evidence from the victim’s sister.
It was enough to paint a picture in his mind of what may have happened, but he also knew nearly all of his colleagues, including Featherstone, would think he was bordering on insanity. They had their prime suspect: a man who’d followed the victim home, who dressed in combat clothes, carried a knife, liked the
feel
of a handgun and had mental health problems, while all he had was a glance from on his television screen. His attempt to derail what appeared to be a straightforward case would not be appreciated unless he could get the one thing he knew he was lacking. Evidence.
Irrefutable
evidence.
***
Sean watched Benton approach the entrance to the independent television studio. He’d phoned the detective constable the night before and arranged to meet him first thing. He’d told Benton nothing other than the name of the man he wanted to speak to.
Benton took the last mouthful of a bread roll filled with a variety of meats associated with breakfast. ‘You really shouldn’t eat that shit,’ Sean advised him, looking at it in disgust.
‘I’m starving,’ Benton protested. ‘Never get time to sit and eat a decent meal on this investigation. It’s something on the move or nothing.’
‘Better get used to it,’ Sean warned him.
‘Looks that way,’ Benton agreed before changing the subject. ‘How do you even know this … Stokes bloke’s even here this time in the morning?’ he enquired.
‘I made a friend of the security guard,’ Sean answered. ‘He told me Stokes would be here.’
‘Fair enough,’ Benton shrugged and tossed the wrapper from his roll into a bin. ‘Maybe now you can tell me why we need to speak with him. It’s the first time I’ve heard his name mentioned.’
‘Never seen him on TV?’ Sean asked as they entered the building.
‘All those property programmes and rogue trader type bollocks? Nah, not for me,’ he answered.
‘No,’ Sean agreed. ‘I don’t suppose they are. But if you can keep your critical opinions to yourself while we’re talking to him it would be appreciated.’
Benton shrugged again. ‘Fair enough.’
They reached the reception and flashed their warrant cards. ‘DS Corrigan and DC Benton here to see Oscar Stokes,’ he told the
Once more he ejected the disc and searched for the most recent he could find, almost fumbling it in his hurry to load the player. Seconds later he was watching yet another episode of the consumer affairs show, only now Stokes was nowhere to be seen, while Evans looked comfortable and relaxed. ‘So where the hell have you gone and why?’ he asked the room before swapping the DVD for the previous one, forwarding it to a scene with Evans and Stokes standing side by side, his finger hovering over the pause button until the perfect moment arrived and he froze the screen. Evans still wore her fake smile, but her eyes betrayed something he recognized only too well –
fear
. In that brief moment Stokes’ smile had deserted him as his eyes flicked towards the victim and Sean saw something else he recognized – hatred and jealousy
.
‘What happened?’ he whispered to himself. ‘What happened between you two?’
He reached for his mobile phone to call Featherstone before stopping himself.
What did he really have? An exchange of looks between two co-presenters. The weakest of hearsay evidence from the victim’s sister.
It was enough to paint a picture in his mind of what may have happened, but he also knew nearly all of his colleagues, including Featherstone, would think he was bordering on insanity. They had their prime suspect: a man who’d followed the victim home, who dressed in combat clothes, carried a knife, liked the
feel
of a handgun and had mental health problems, while all he had was a glance from on his television screen. His attempt to derail what appeared to be a straightforward case would not be appreciated unless he could get the one thing he knew he was lacking. Evidence.
Irrefutable
evidence.
***
Sean watched Benton approach the entrance to the independent television studio. He’d phoned the detective constable the night before and arranged to meet him first thing. He’d told Benton nothing other than the name of the man he wanted to speak to.
Benton took the last mouthful of a bread roll filled with a variety of meats associated with breakfast. ‘You really shouldn’t eat that shit,’ Sean advised him, looking at it in disgust.
‘I’m starving,’ Benton protested. ‘Never get time to sit and eat a decent meal on this investigation. It’s something on the move or nothing.’
‘Better get used to it,’ Sean warned him.
‘Looks that way,’ Benton agreed before changing the subject. ‘How do you even know this … Stokes bloke’s even here this time in the morning?’ he enquired.
‘I made a friend of the security guard,’ Sean answered. ‘He told me Stokes would be here.’
‘Fair enough,’ Benton shrugged and tossed the wrapper from his roll into a bin. ‘Maybe now you can tell me why we need to speak with him. It’s the first time I’ve heard his name mentioned.’
‘Never seen him on TV?’ Sean asked as they entered the building.
‘All those property programmes and rogue trader type bollocks? Nah, not for me,’ he answered.
‘No,’ Sean agreed. ‘I don’t suppose they are. But if you can keep your critical opinions to yourself while we’re talking to him it would be appreciated.’
Benton shrugged again. ‘Fair enough.’
They reached the reception and flashed their warrant cards. ‘DS Corrigan and DC Benton here to see Oscar Stokes,’ he told the
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