Tim had heard of the DCI. Carol Jordan had a reputation for cracking cases that, if she’d been a Met detective, would have given her legendary status. But Bradfield and gender combined to relegate her to the level of an operator who was owed respect. But the case notes that had been emailed to him overnight had not impressed him much. When you stripped out all the meaningless background noise from friends and family, there really wasn’t much substance. No wonder they needed his help.
He descended from the first-class carriage he’d insisted on so he could have some privacy with the files and looked for his driver. A bored-looking uniform was deep in conversation with a railway staff member, paying no heed to Tim or the other passengers. Shouldering his rucksack, Tim marched down the platform and tapped the constable on his shoulder. ‘I’m Tim Parker,’ he said.
The officer’s face was blank but his voice held a faint note of sarcasm. ‘That’s very nice, sir. I’m PC Mitchell. Is there something I can help you with?’
‘Are you not my driver?’
The cop and the railway worker exchanged an amused smile. ‘I’m a British Transport Police officer,’ he said. Tim finally registered the man’s insignia and felt deeply foolish. ‘I don’t drive anybody except my wife,’ the officer continued. ‘If you’re expecting someone to meet you, I suggest you go over there.’ He pointed to a large hanging sign that read, Meeting Point. A uniformed constable was standing beneath it with a sign. Even from this distance, it was possible to make out Tim’s name. Though not his rank.
Cross and embarrassed, he muttered something and walked away. At least he managed to make it to police HQ without making even more of an arse of himself. The driver knew nothing about the case or about the MIT. She didn’t even know where their office was. Her job was done when he was delivered to reception. He had to sit and kick his heels for another ten minutes before anyone arrived to fetch him. He’d expected Jordan herself to come down and greet him, but she’d sent some DC with a sharp suit and a definite touch of attitude. He hoped DC Evans wasn’t Jordan’s idea of impressive.
The MIT squad room was a pleasant surprise. Cleaner, neater and better decorated than any CID office he’d ever been in. Probably something to do with having a woman boss. He knew that wasn’t an appropriate thought, and he wouldn’t have spoken it, but he reckoned it was likely to be the truth. One corner was inhabited by an ICT station. He could hear the sound of keys being rapidly struck but all he could see was the back of six monitors arranged like a barricade. He’d never seen anything so specialised in a mainstream operation. Another half-dozen desks dotted the room, apparently at random. None of them was occupied. Whiteboards covered with crime-scene photos and scrawled notes lined one wall. One for Daniel Morrison and one for Seth Viner.
‘The guv’nor’s in her office,’ Sam said abruptly, leading him down to the far end of the room where a glass-walled room had its blinds drawn. ‘Everybody else is out working.’ He opened the door and followed Tim in.
His first impression of Carol Jordan was that she looked like most SIOs in the midst of a double murder - sleep-deprived, depressed and desperate. Her blonde hair had a dishevelled look, there were shadows visible under her eyes through the light cast of make-up, and there were two half-empty coffee cups on the desk. But when he looked closer, he realised that the hair was deliberately shaggy and her eyes had a sparkle of energy. Her tailored shirt was crisp and clean, and the make-up was free from smudges. Tim congratulated himself on seeing past the first impression to the woman beneath. He held out a hand. ‘DS Tim Parker,’ he said. ‘Call me Tim.’
Carol looked faintly amused but shook his hand. ‘DCI Jordan. Call me ma’am. Or chief. Or even guv.’
So that was how it was going to be. Put the new boy in his place, never mind that he’s here to pull you out of the shit and make you look good. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down. ‘I’ve had a preliminary pass through the material you emailed me,’ he said. ‘The first thing I want is to see the crime scenes.’
‘That’s going to be a bit difficult,’ Carol said. ‘Because we don’t know where the crimes took place. We can take you to the body dumps, if you like,’ she added, apparently helpfully.
‘That’s what I meant,’ Tim said, starting to feel seriously annoyed now. ‘I’d also like to talk to the families.’
‘That’s not going to be quite as straightforward as we would like. Daniel Morrison’s mother collapsed and died yesterday at the identification. His father’s in meltdown and medicated from here to Christmas,’ Carol said. ‘But I expect we can arrange for you to talk to Seth’s mums. I’ll organise a uniform to drive you round.’
‘It would be easier if I went with one of your team,’ he said. ‘Then I can ask questions as they come up.’
‘I’m sure it would be easier for you, but we’re at full stretch here. My team is very small and very specialised. I can’t spare a detective to ferry you around. DC Evans here will be your liaison, you can call him with any questions.’
‘Do me a favour and save them up so you can ask them in a bunch,’ Sam said. ‘I’m already juggling two cases.’
By now, Tim was thoroughly pissed off with both of them. ‘I understood I’d be working directly with you, ma’am.’
‘I can’t help that,’ Carol said sweetly. ‘You’ll have access to me when it’s necessary, but Sam knows what’s going on. Except when he doesn’t and then he knows who does.’
‘We hope,’ Sam added.
‘I’m not used to—’
‘As I understand it, you’re not used to anything,’ Carol said. ‘I’m sure you checked us out before you came up here, Tim. Because I did the same thing. And I know this is your first time in the field.’
‘That doesn’t mean—’
‘No, it doesn’t mean you don’t have valuable insights to offer us. But you’re here on our terms, not yours. I run the game here, not you. Are we clear on that?’
He felt like an impotent ten-year-old being ticked off by his mother. Which was really unfair because this woman definitely wasn’t old enough to be his mother. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. Even to his own ears it sounded insincere.
‘So when will you have something for me?’
‘Since I’ve already had a chance to digest so much of the investigative material, I should have a prelim for you later today.’ Now he was on familiar territory, he could feel his confidence overpowering his anger.
‘Let’s say five o’clock back here, unless you hear otherwise. Sam, fix Tim up with a driver. Where do you want to work? We’ve booked you a hotel room. You can work there, or we can find you a desk somewhere in the building. It’s up to you.’
He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d presumed he would be here, at the nerve centre of the operation. ‘What about here?’
Carol looked surprised. ‘Sure. I don’t see why not. I just thought you’d prefer . . . There’s a couple of spare desks. I’ll see you later.’
She’d turned back to her computer monitor before he and Sam had left the room. ‘She seemed surprised I want to work here,’ Tim said, following Sam to a desk in the furthest corner of the room.
‘The profiler we usually work with always writes his profiles in his own office,’ Sam said, off hand. ‘He can’t think in here, he says. Too chaotic.’
‘Who do you usually work with?’ Tim asked.
‘Dr Hill. Tony Hill.’
The freaky little fuck who thought Tim needed more empathy. Great. ‘I know him,’ he said.