to tell you,’ the Chief Super was saying. ‘Now, are there any questions?’ he added, with exaggerated politeness.
‘Do you think there’s a link between the killing of Max Quincey and the 1985 Jack in the Box murders?’
The speaker was Arabella Carrington, the crime reporter for the Daily Mail. She was young and ambitious, and she let you know it. Her trademark panda eyes and hair curling down her back made every head turn whenever she entered a room. Von’s mouth tightened. They’d locked horns before, and Von rarely emerged victorious. Arabella was quick-witted, always several steps ahead, and Von had learnt the hard way that arguingwith her was like trying to nail fluff to the wall. She’d never understood what had lured Arabella to journalism. She would have earned far more as a barrister.
‘We’re ruling nothing out at this stage,’ the Chief Super said. ‘DCI Valenti is examining that case for possible connections.’
‘Is the DCI reopening the old case?’ a man at the back asked.
Von opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the Chief Super. ‘We’re doing nothing of the sort.’
‘Why not?’
‘We haven’t the manpower to waste on cold cases.’
‘ Waste ?’ Arabella said with a quick smile. ‘Do you use that word, Chief Superintendent, because the victims were male prostitutes?’
‘That’s a preposterous suggestion. We treat all our victims with equal respect.’
Von had seen this before. The Chief Super lost control of the situation too easily. She could never understand why a man of his experience gave consideration to every question or comment, instead of side-stepping, as a politician would, or simply refusing to answer. If she’d had the nerve, she’d have suggested he go on one of the Met’s training courses.
Arabella pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘ Equal respect? But some are more equal than others, Chief Superintendent? Isn’t that it?’ she added coyly.
‘Miss Carrington,’ Von said, not giving the Chief Super the chance to reply, ‘the senior investigating officer put a huge effort into trying to solve that case, but there was simply no hard forensic evidence. Cases of that nature are almost impossible to solve after such a long period of time. However, if we do find a material link to the Jack in the Box murders, we will re-open the case.’ She raised her hand, and the hubbub died down. ‘But I’m sure you’ll understand that the bulk of our effort must go into this current investigation.’
Arabella raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. ‘Because he’s the Chief Superintendent’s brother?’
Von looked directly at her. ‘Because he’s a member of the public, like yourself. I’m sure the readers of the Daily Mail will be relieved to hear that.’ She addressed the room. ‘We’re asking for every assistance from the public. If anyone was near the scene of the crime on the evening of September 12th, we urge them to come forward.’
‘And can you tell us, Chief Inspector, whether Max Quincey picked up rent boys?’ Arabella said, smirking.
A ripple of interest ran through the room.
‘I won’t answer questions like that.’
‘Could he have been killed because he was a homosexual?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is that why you’re not answering my questions?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is that no comment on he was killed by a homosexual, or no comment on no comment?’
‘It’s just no comment.’ Von gathered up her papers. ‘Now, you must excuse us, we’ve a murder investigation to run. Press releases will be issued from this office in the usual way.’
She rose, ignoring the cries of protest, and left the room, the Chief Super following.
In the corridor, he rounded on her. ‘Do that again, Yvonne, and you’ll be out of the force so quickly, you won’t know what’s hit you.’
‘Excuse me, sir?’
He thrust his face into hers. ‘Don’t ever take over from me like that again.’
‘I thought it the best course of
‘Do you think there’s a link between the killing of Max Quincey and the 1985 Jack in the Box murders?’
The speaker was Arabella Carrington, the crime reporter for the Daily Mail. She was young and ambitious, and she let you know it. Her trademark panda eyes and hair curling down her back made every head turn whenever she entered a room. Von’s mouth tightened. They’d locked horns before, and Von rarely emerged victorious. Arabella was quick-witted, always several steps ahead, and Von had learnt the hard way that arguingwith her was like trying to nail fluff to the wall. She’d never understood what had lured Arabella to journalism. She would have earned far more as a barrister.
‘We’re ruling nothing out at this stage,’ the Chief Super said. ‘DCI Valenti is examining that case for possible connections.’
‘Is the DCI reopening the old case?’ a man at the back asked.
Von opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the Chief Super. ‘We’re doing nothing of the sort.’
‘Why not?’
‘We haven’t the manpower to waste on cold cases.’
‘ Waste ?’ Arabella said with a quick smile. ‘Do you use that word, Chief Superintendent, because the victims were male prostitutes?’
‘That’s a preposterous suggestion. We treat all our victims with equal respect.’
Von had seen this before. The Chief Super lost control of the situation too easily. She could never understand why a man of his experience gave consideration to every question or comment, instead of side-stepping, as a politician would, or simply refusing to answer. If she’d had the nerve, she’d have suggested he go on one of the Met’s training courses.
Arabella pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘ Equal respect? But some are more equal than others, Chief Superintendent? Isn’t that it?’ she added coyly.
‘Miss Carrington,’ Von said, not giving the Chief Super the chance to reply, ‘the senior investigating officer put a huge effort into trying to solve that case, but there was simply no hard forensic evidence. Cases of that nature are almost impossible to solve after such a long period of time. However, if we do find a material link to the Jack in the Box murders, we will re-open the case.’ She raised her hand, and the hubbub died down. ‘But I’m sure you’ll understand that the bulk of our effort must go into this current investigation.’
Arabella raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. ‘Because he’s the Chief Superintendent’s brother?’
Von looked directly at her. ‘Because he’s a member of the public, like yourself. I’m sure the readers of the Daily Mail will be relieved to hear that.’ She addressed the room. ‘We’re asking for every assistance from the public. If anyone was near the scene of the crime on the evening of September 12th, we urge them to come forward.’
‘And can you tell us, Chief Inspector, whether Max Quincey picked up rent boys?’ Arabella said, smirking.
A ripple of interest ran through the room.
‘I won’t answer questions like that.’
‘Could he have been killed because he was a homosexual?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is that why you’re not answering my questions?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is that no comment on he was killed by a homosexual, or no comment on no comment?’
‘It’s just no comment.’ Von gathered up her papers. ‘Now, you must excuse us, we’ve a murder investigation to run. Press releases will be issued from this office in the usual way.’
She rose, ignoring the cries of protest, and left the room, the Chief Super following.
In the corridor, he rounded on her. ‘Do that again, Yvonne, and you’ll be out of the force so quickly, you won’t know what’s hit you.’
‘Excuse me, sir?’
He thrust his face into hers. ‘Don’t ever take over from me like that again.’
‘I thought it the best course of
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