Read Online The Truth Will Out by Jane Isaac - Free Book Online

her notes from her briefcase. She gathered his testiness was due to her being out of the office. Jenkins was certainly no fan of her preference for the hands-on approach to interviewing witnesses. He preferred his DCIs to manage an investigation from a desk where they collated evidence, read witness statements taken by DCs and barked orders at their team. Losing her inspector to sick leave had only bolstered him further. He’d amped up the pressure these past few months, but she’d fought it every inch of the way. The matriarchal approach just wasn’t Helen’s style and it vexed Jenkins intensely.
    Striking in appearance, his dark eyebrows and lashes contrasted with a full head of combed back, grey hair. But Helen had noticed a marked difference in him since he’d been passed over for promotion the previous year. His eyebrows hung deeper over his eyes, the frown marks more prominent in his forehead. He’d always been a private man, lacking humour (unless it was of his own making) but he emerged even more driven, focusing heavily on targets and public relations.
    “Sir?”
    He adjusted his position and she caught a brief whiff of his aftershave. “So, where are we?”
    Helen flipped open her notes. In the short time they had worked together she’d grown accustomed to his not reading her situation reports, although he cursed like hell if they weren’t emailed to him at the appropriate time. She sat back in her chair and gave him a brief overview of the case.
    “We’re building up a picture of Naomi’s life at the moment,” she said as she finished up and closed her notebook, “particularly her last hours. And we’ve circulated Jules Paton’s details nationally in an effort to locate him.”
    “Right. What are we doing about the informant?”
    “The phone used by the informant isn’t traceable on our systems and we can’t site it either as it’s seemingly off at the moment. The quality of the recording isn’t great, but we’re playing it to everyone that knew Naomi. Hopefully, somebody will be able to identify the voice.”
    Jenkins nodded slowly and stared across at the wall for a moment, tapping his chin with his right forefingers, another habit of his.
    Helen glanced past him into the incident room. She could see one of her officers calling across the room to somebody, another on the phone, others clicking at keyboards, rustling through filing cabinets. It never ceased to amaze her how a thin plasterboard wall could enable her to cut the sounds and movements from her mind.
    Her eyes rested on a soft toy rat that hung over the white board listing the job allocations for that morning - somebody’s joke at Pemberton’s expense. It was incredible how quickly, when it came to humorous incidents, word got around. The jokes had started at briefing this morning: ‘I hear there’s a rat in the camp. I think I smell a rat, sergeant… ’
    “Okay. That all seems in order,” Jenkins said and abruptly stood. “Let me know of any developments as soon as they occur.”
    “Certainly, sir.”
    He turned as he reached the door. “Don’t forget our meeting with MOCT at eleven thirty in the conference room.”
    Helen stifled a groan. It hadn’t slipped her mind that Midlands Organised Crime Team, or MOCT, were coming down to assist in their cold case shooting investigations, or that the introductory meeting had been arranged for that morning. “I was going to send Pemberton on that one, sir. It’ll be a good developmental move… ”
    “He’s at Memington Hall.”
    Her jaw tightened. “I realise that. I’ve got the autopsy at twelve.”
    “Delegate.” He turned his head to the office behind him where Spencer was on the phone, waving his arms about vigorously. “Send him.”
    “Sir, I strongly… ”
    “I need you there,” he said, enunciating every syllable. “You can use the press conference afterwards to appeal for witnesses to the current case. Let’s play this one down as an argument between