Ambrose shook his head. ‘I’ll get on to it. I’ll get one of the traffic boys to run me back. You going to the house yourself?’
Patterson sighed. ‘I don’t relish it. But their daughter’s dead. They deserve an SIO. I’ll see you back at the ranch.’
Ambrose climbed out and headed towards the police vehicles ranged across the entrance and exit to the pull-in. His boss watched him go. Nothing seemed to daunt Ambrose. He took the weight on his stolid shoulders and ploughed on through whatever their investigations threw at him. Whatever the price of that apparent imperviousness, Patterson would happily have paid it that night.
CHAPTER 2
Carol could tell John Brandon was winding up. His sad blood-hound face was more animated than she’d ever seen it in working hours, and his beloved Maggie was at his side, wearing the indulgent smile Carol had often seen at the family’s dinner table when Brandon had been shaking a subject like a terrier with a rabbit. She swapped her empty glass for a full one from a passing waitress and started to head back to the alcove where she’d left Tony. His expression would have been better suited to a funeral, but she couldn’t claim to have had higher expectations. She was aware he thought events like this were an empty waste of time and for him she supposed they might be. She knew that where she was concerned it was a different matter.
’ It wasn’t catching criminals that made the world go round in modern policing. It was politics, just as it was in any big organisation. Once upon a time, a night like this would have been an excuse for a no-holds-barred piss-up, complete with strippers. These days, it was about contacts, connections, conversations that couldn’t happen in the nick. She didn’t like it any more than Tony, but she had a certain gift for it. If this was what it took to make sure she kept her place in the unofficial hierarchy, she’d grin and bear it.
A hand on her arm made her stop and turn. Detective Constable Paula McIntyre from her team inclined her head towards Carol’s ear. ‘He’s just arrived,’ she said.
Carol didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was. John Brandon’s replacement was known by name and reputation, but because he came from the other end of the country, nobody in Bradfield had much first-hand information about him. There weren’t many officers who transferred from Devon & Cornwall to Bradfield. Why would you want to swap a relatively quiet life in a pretty tourist area for the constant attrition that was policing in a post-industrial northern city with eye-watering rates of violent crime involving guns and knives? Unless of course you were an ambitious copper who thought it would be a good career move to run the country’s fourth-largest police force. Carol imagined the word ‘challenge’ had featured more than once in James Blake’s interview for Chief Constable. Her eyes scanned the room. ‘Where?’
Paula looked over her shoulder. ‘He was giving out to the ACC Crime a minute ago, but he’s moved on. Sorry, chief.’
‘Never mind. Thanks for the tip-off.’ Carol raised her glass in a salute and carried on towards Tony. By the time she’d worked her way through the crowd, her glass was empty again. ‘I need another drink,’ she said, leaning against the wall beside him.
‘That’s your fourth glass,’ he pointed out, not unkindly.
‘Who’s counting?’
‘I am, obviously.’
‘You’re my friend, not my shrink.’ Carol’s voice was icy.
‘That’s why I’m suggesting you might be drinking too much. If I was your shrink, I wouldn’t be nearly so judgemental. I’d be leaving it up to you.’
‘Look, I’m fine, Tony. There was a time after . . . I admit there was a time when I was drinking too much. But I’m back in control again. OK?’
Tony held up his hands, palm out, placatory. ‘Your choice.’
Carol sighed deeply and put her empty glass on the table next to his. He was maddening when he was this reasonable. It wasn’t as if she was the only one who disliked having the fucked-up aspects of her life dragged out into the light of day. See how he likes it. She smiled sweetly. ‘Shall we go outside for a breath of fresh air, then?’
His smile was puzzled. ‘OK, if you want.’
‘I’ve found out some stuff about your father. Let’s go somewhere we can talk properly.’ She watched his smile shift to a rueful grimace. The identity of Tony’s father had only come to light after his death, thanks to his decision to leave his estate to the son he’d never known. Carol knew very well that Tony was at best ambivalent about Edmund Arthur Blythe. He was as keen to talk about his recently discovered father as she was to discuss her putative dependence on alcohol.
‘Touché. Let me get you another drink.’ As he picked up the glasses, his path was blocked by a man who emerged from the press of bodies and stood four square before them.
Carol gave him her routine assessing stare. Years ago, she’d developed the habit of forming mental descriptions of people who crossed her path, assembling a picture in words as if it was destined for a ‘wanted’ poster or a police artist. This man was short for a police officer, burly without being fat. He was neatly barbered, the white line of a side parting dividing the light brown hair. His skin was the ruddy pink and white of a foxhunter from the shires, hazel eyes nested in fine lines that indicated late forties or early fifties. A small bulb of a nose, full lips, and a chin like a ping-pong ball; he had an air of authority that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in an ancient Tory grandee.
She was also well aware that she was coming under the same acute scrutiny. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Jordan,’ he said. A rich baritone with a faint race memory of West Country speech. ‘I’m James Blake. Your new Chief Constable.’ He thrust a hand out for Carol to shake. It was warm, broad and dry as paper.
Just like his smile. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ Carol said. Blake’s eyes never left her face, and she had to break away from his gaze to introduce Tony. ‘This is Dr Tony Hill. He works with us from time to time.’
Blake glanced at Tony and inclined his chin in passing acknowledgement. ‘I wanted to take this opportunity to break the ice. I’m very impressed with what I’ve heard of your work. I’m going to be making changes round here, and your bailiwick is one of my priorities. I’d like to see you tomorrow morning at ten thirty in my office.’
‘Of course,’ Carol said. ‘I look forward to it.’
‘Good. That’s settled, then. Till tomorrow, Chief Inspector.’ He turned and shouldered his way back through the crowd.
‘Extraordinary,’ Tony said. It might have meant any of a dozen things, all of which would have been equally valid. And not all of them insulting.
‘Did he really say “bailiwick”?’
‘Bailiwick,’ Tony said weakly.
‘That drink? I really need it now. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a very nice bottle of Sancerre in the fridge.’
Tony stared after Blake. ‘You know that cliché about being afraid, very afraid? I think this might be a good time to wheel it out.’
The Family Liaison Officer, Shami Patel, explained that she’d recently transferred from the neighbouring West Midlands force, which explained why Patterson didn’t know her. He’d rather have had someone who was familiar with the way he worked. It was always tough to deal with the family of murder victims; their grief made them react in unpredictable and often hostile ways. This case would be doubly difficult. Partly because the sexual homicide of a teenager was an emotional horror in itself. But in this case, there was the added difficulty posed by the time frame.
They sheltered from the rain in Patterson’s car while he briefed her. ‘We’ve got more problems than usual with this case,’ he said.