any photos of her.’ Carol frowned, considering. ‘Let’s keep a lid on the connection for now, if we can. Penny Burgess has been sniffing round, but Dr Hill sent her off with a flea in her ear. She talks to any of you, do the same.’ She gave Kevin a direct look, but he was ostentatiously scribbling in his notebook. ‘We’ll get DS Reekie to do the press call, keep MIT out of the picture for now, let the media think this is his. If our killer thinks he’s not caught our attention, it might provoke him into breaking cover.’
‘Or killing again,’ Paula said, shoulders slumped. ‘Because, right now, we’ve got almost nothing you could call a lead.’
‘Any chance we could get Tony to take a look at this?’ Everyone froze at Kevin’s query. Sam stopped fidgeting, Chris stopped taking notes, Stacey stopped tapping on her smartphone and Paula’s expression was fixed at incredulity.
Carol’s mouth tightened as she shook her head. ‘You know as well as I do, we don’t have the budget.’ Her voice was harsher than they were accustomed to.
Kevin flushed, his freckles fading against the scarlet. ‘I just thought … since they’re winding us up anyway, why not? You know? You’re leaving us. What have you got to lose?’
Before Carol could respond to this uncharacteristic defiance, the door to the squad room burst open. On the threshold, hair awry, one shirt tail hanging out, jacket collar askew, stood Tony Hill. He looked around wildly before his gaze settled on Carol. He gulped air, then said, ‘Carol, we need to talk.’
There was no affectionate indulgence in Carol’s glare. ‘I’m in the middle of a murder briefing, Tony,’ she said, her tone chilly.
‘That can wait,’ he said, continuing into the room and letting the door sigh shut behind him. ‘What I have to say can’t.’
10
A n hour earlier, Tony Hill had been sitting in his favourite armchair, his games console controller in his hands, thumbs dancing over buttons as he whiled away the time until it was reasonable to expect Piers Lambert to be at his Home Office desk. The warbling trill of his phone broke into his concentration and his car spun off the road in a scream of brakes and a screech of tyres. He scowled at the handset on the table beside him. The best chance he’d had in ages to breach the final set of levels and now it was gone. He dropped the controller and grabbed the phone, noticing as he did so that it was late enough to call Piers. Just as soon as he’d dealt with whoever was on the phone.
‘Hello?’ There was no welcome in his greeting.
‘Is that you, Tony?’ The voice sounded like a Tory cabinet minister – posh with the edges deliberately rubbed off. A man more superstitious than Tony would have freaked out. Tony simply held the phone a few inches from his face and frowned before returning it to his ear.
‘Piers? Is that really you?’
‘Well spotted, Tony. You don’t usually cotton on so quickly.’
‘That’s because you’re not usually in the forefront of my mind, Piers.’
‘And I am today? I’d take that as a compliment if I knew less about the way your mind works. Why am I on your mind?’
There was no specific reason why being on the receiving end of a call from Piers Lambert should have unsettled Tony. But in his experience, when senior mandarins made their own phone calls, it was never the harbinger of joy. ‘You first,’ he said. ‘It’s your phone bill.’
‘I’m afraid I have some rather troubling news,’ Lambert said.
Uh-oh.
When men like Lambert used words like ‘rather troubling’, most people would reach straight for ‘nightmarish’, ‘devastating’, or ‘hellish’. ‘What’s that, then?’
‘It’s to do with Jacko Vance.’
Tony hadn’t heard the name for years, but still it held the power to make him feel ill. Jacko Vance was a psychopathic charmer without a trace of conscience. That made him far from unique in Tony’s experience of the dark side of human
‘Or killing again,’ Paula said, shoulders slumped. ‘Because, right now, we’ve got almost nothing you could call a lead.’
‘Any chance we could get Tony to take a look at this?’ Everyone froze at Kevin’s query. Sam stopped fidgeting, Chris stopped taking notes, Stacey stopped tapping on her smartphone and Paula’s expression was fixed at incredulity.
Carol’s mouth tightened as she shook her head. ‘You know as well as I do, we don’t have the budget.’ Her voice was harsher than they were accustomed to.
Kevin flushed, his freckles fading against the scarlet. ‘I just thought … since they’re winding us up anyway, why not? You know? You’re leaving us. What have you got to lose?’
Before Carol could respond to this uncharacteristic defiance, the door to the squad room burst open. On the threshold, hair awry, one shirt tail hanging out, jacket collar askew, stood Tony Hill. He looked around wildly before his gaze settled on Carol. He gulped air, then said, ‘Carol, we need to talk.’
There was no affectionate indulgence in Carol’s glare. ‘I’m in the middle of a murder briefing, Tony,’ she said, her tone chilly.
‘That can wait,’ he said, continuing into the room and letting the door sigh shut behind him. ‘What I have to say can’t.’
10
A n hour earlier, Tony Hill had been sitting in his favourite armchair, his games console controller in his hands, thumbs dancing over buttons as he whiled away the time until it was reasonable to expect Piers Lambert to be at his Home Office desk. The warbling trill of his phone broke into his concentration and his car spun off the road in a scream of brakes and a screech of tyres. He scowled at the handset on the table beside him. The best chance he’d had in ages to breach the final set of levels and now it was gone. He dropped the controller and grabbed the phone, noticing as he did so that it was late enough to call Piers. Just as soon as he’d dealt with whoever was on the phone.
‘Hello?’ There was no welcome in his greeting.
‘Is that you, Tony?’ The voice sounded like a Tory cabinet minister – posh with the edges deliberately rubbed off. A man more superstitious than Tony would have freaked out. Tony simply held the phone a few inches from his face and frowned before returning it to his ear.
‘Piers? Is that really you?’
‘Well spotted, Tony. You don’t usually cotton on so quickly.’
‘That’s because you’re not usually in the forefront of my mind, Piers.’
‘And I am today? I’d take that as a compliment if I knew less about the way your mind works. Why am I on your mind?’
There was no specific reason why being on the receiving end of a call from Piers Lambert should have unsettled Tony. But in his experience, when senior mandarins made their own phone calls, it was never the harbinger of joy. ‘You first,’ he said. ‘It’s your phone bill.’
‘I’m afraid I have some rather troubling news,’ Lambert said.
Uh-oh.
When men like Lambert used words like ‘rather troubling’, most people would reach straight for ‘nightmarish’, ‘devastating’, or ‘hellish’. ‘What’s that, then?’
‘It’s to do with Jacko Vance.’
Tony hadn’t heard the name for years, but still it held the power to make him feel ill. Jacko Vance was a psychopathic charmer without a trace of conscience. That made him far from unique in Tony’s experience of the dark side of human
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