in?â
âIn about three weeks! Heâs going to fly straight off to see his mum in Jamaica. His flight left â what, half an hour ago.â
Â
Kate leaned her head against the car roof. She didnât want to go, didnât want to leave a case like this. But she had no option. She let herself in slowly. Sheâd not been to see Simon for a bit. What about a nice quiet chat with him while the traffic eased?
He was just opening his
Big Issue
bag when Kate reached Sainsburyâs. She grinned at him, but didnât stop to talk. Sheâd whiz round while it was relatively quiet. He knew, of course, that whatever she shoved in her basket would include stuff for him, but he always seemed pleased to see her for her own sake. At least, that was what she told herself, as she picked up high-protein snacks and the milk chocolate he loved.
As she bought her
Big Issue
, she handed him a couple of folded notes. âIâm after a favour. And it may involve you lubricating a few throats,â she explained as he stared at them. âNot necessarily the cleanest or the youngest throats.â
âGo on.â
âThese warehouse fires â you know we found a body last week.â
âPoor bastard.â
âQuite. Except it was a woman. And we canât get a handle on her. Any chance you could ask the odd question at the hostel?â
He nodded. âI hate it, Kate. Iâd rather be back in my little squat. The coughing. Other folksâ nightmares. I like a bit of privacy.â He smiled, his face suddenly transfigured. âBut Iâm still alive. Thanks to you. And you never know â things might look up.â
If only she could make him a firm offer, hard news for hard cash. âIâm sure they will. Just hang on in there, Simon. Just hang on in there.â
Chapter Seven
Rowley pushed her sandwiches aside and looked quizzically at Kate: âNo, donât apologise. At least, not to me. It seems youâve ruffled the odd feather down at Kings Heath nick. Or at least, one Guljar Singh Grewal has. Acting, Iâd say, with a bit of a push from you.â She gestured Kate to a seat.
âMe, Gaffer?â Kate personified wide-eyed innocence. âNo, all I did was find this womanâs body in the showers. And notice that someone â possibly, just possibly with the intention of making it hard to pinpoint the time of death â had Blu-tackâd the hair-dryers on. So it was nice and cosy in a room Scott of the Antarctic might normally have shivered in. It was actually Guljar who noticed that the centreâs computers were down. And he who checked that no one had got round to reporting the woman missing. It just seemed a bit funny to us, thatâs all.â
âFunny enough to warrant a top-price autopsy instead of a bog-standard one? Itâs upset my opposite number, Kate, thatâs the problem. And he wants me to give you a flea in your ear.â She leant forward, arms on desk, more like a headmistress about to give careers advice than a DI about to give a bollocking.
âAnd are you going to, Gaffer?â
âWell, I asked him a question or two, as it happens. Like had they found out who the lady in question was. And theyâd got no idea. I take it you didnât check her sports bag.â
âI didnât want to tread on anyoneâs toes, Gaffer,â Kate said virtuously. Then she grinned. âBut Guljar did, of course.â
âFair enough. What would you have looked for if you had?â
âCar keys with a helpful fob. House keys ditto. After all, I didnât see a handbag, and she was a bit grown up for a name-tape in her coat.â
âAnything else?â
âAnything to give us an idea who she was.â
âAnd there was nothing?â Rowley shook her head.
âNot even a bus pass!â Why was Rowley banging on about elementary police work? And now she was waving a half-eaten
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