Hannah opened her eyes again. Bethany Friend wasn’t a quitter. She’d kept writing, despite years of nothing but rejection slips. Suicide made no sense at all.
Ben was right. Someone had murdered her.
‘Sorted the new lad out?’ Les Bryant asked.
Hannah stood next to him in the cafeteria queue as he asked the girl at the counter for an all-day breakfast, only to be told it was no longer on the menu (‘ACC’s orders, Les. All part of the new healthy-eating culture.’). She pointed to a glossy wall poster which showed a smiling group of models posing as police officers, as glamorous as they were ethnically diverse, beside a caption that proclaimed EAT YOUR WAY TO FITNESS and extolled the virtues of parsnips and pomegranates. The message was likely to induce a coronary in Les, if his crimson cheeks were any guide. With a muttered curse, he settled for a double helping of Shredded Wheat and a filter coffee into which he deposited two heaped spoonfuls of sugar.
‘He isn’t a happy bunny. Neither am I, come to that.’ Hannah bought a bowl of muesli, a slice of melon and an organic cranberry juice, more to provoke Les than because she was addicted to fruit. ‘Bloody Lauren sent him to Cold Cases as though it’s the naughty corner.’
They didn’t have any trouble finding a table. A virus was sweeping the county and a lot of people had called in sick. Les slurped some coffee and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘It will be all right as long as you show him who’s boss. If you don’t, he’ll trample all over you.’
‘Thanks for those words of encouragement.’
‘Listen, I had a bellyful of management before I retired. I know it’s a pile of shit. But you’re in charge, not me. Better get on with it.’
Les was a veteran of countless major inquiries in his native Yorkshire. He’d been persuaded out of retirement to lend his experience to the newly formed Cold Case Review Team. After his wife left him, he had no incentive to go back home. Six months ago, he’d bought a bungalow in Staveley, and even though a thirty-year pension meant he didn’t need the money, he’d signed an extended contract. Given Nick Lowther’s emigration, Bob Swindell’s move to Lancashire, and Gul Khan’s decision to leave and join the family retail business, Les’s presence in the team gave Hannah much-needed continuity. Cold cases were never solved overnight, and staff turnover coupled with budget cutbacks made the task even tougher.
Les muttered, ‘Watch out, there’s an ACPO about.’
Hannah glanced across the cafeteria and spotted Lauren Self. The ACC was working the room like a politician, moving from table to table, and wishing everyone a happy New Year. She didn’t need to seek votes, so she must be ticking off her list of resolutions. Their eyes met, and Lauren sashayed over to join them.
‘Hannah! And Les!’ Lauren made a show of shaking their hands. Her grip was cool and firm, her skin lightly tanned. ‘All the very best for the next twelve months. Did you both have a good break? Hope you avoided this wretched bug that’s going round. We were in the Caribbean, and we only flew back into Manchester yesterday morning. I’m still adjusting to the thirty-degree drop in temperature.’
You’d never have guessed it from the brightness of her eyes and the spring in her step. Hannah couldn’t help wondering if Lauren wasn’t quite human. If she were a visitor from a distant galaxy, it might explain her lack of empathy with traditional police work. She sought to cover it up with a ceaseless flow of jargon culled from the Ministry of Justice’s guide to doublespeak, but the robotic zeal defied any disguise. Hannah fantasised about shooting at her and watching her evaporate, or turn back into an alien life form. But Lauren was so thick-skinned that a bullet was sure to bounce off her impenetrable hide.
‘You’ll remember this is Greg Wharf’s first day with us, ma’am.’ Hannah noticed the rictus of disdain. Further proof that she saw Cold Cases as a dumping ground for people she wasn’t allowed to sack. Maybe they should be rechristened Hopeless Cases. ‘I’ve briefed him about Bethany Friend.’
A frown disrupted Lauren’s efficiently organised features.
‘You still think there is mileage in looking into her death?’
‘There’s more to be found out, I’m sure of it.’
‘Even though we don’t have DNA?’
Lauren worshipped DNA evidence. To hear her talk, you’d never believe any crime could have been solved before the discovery of that magical double helix.
‘Time has passed,’ Hannah said. ‘People who were reluctant to talk at the time of the original inquiry may have changed allegiances and be more willing to open up. I’ve briefed Maggie Eyre to trace people who gave statements to the original inquiry team. Some of them are still around, but others have moved on. Les here has his hands full with our existing caseload, but Greg and I will talk to some of the key witnesses.’
Lauren tutted. ‘You’ll recall our chat before Christmas? We need a few more outcomes if I’m to persuade the Police Authority to maintain your team’s funding at its present level. No guarantees, Hannah.’
Les Bryant feigned to choke on his Shredded Wheat. The ACC gave him a pitying glance before turning her attention back to Hannah.
‘Pressure on resources is growing all the time. Money is tight and next year’s allocations will come up for review soon. I need positive news to report. Otherwise…’
She shook her head, as if mourning a lost cause. So much for the cheery optimism of the start-of-year rallying call that her spin doctors had put out on the staff intranet.
‘Bethany’s mother is dying, she never understood what happened to her daughter and she deserves closure.’
‘We’re not a charity.’ Uh-oh. The public-funds card. ‘This is taxpayers’ money we are spending. At a time when government revenues have fallen off a cliff.’
Time for Hannah to play her ace. ‘I had a word with a freelance journalist who writes occasional features for the Sunday broadsheets. If we could get a result in the case, he’d run it as a major story.’
Lauren leant forward. Had she been a bitch, Hannah thought, she would have wagged her tail. Come to think of it…
‘Seriously?’
Not really. Hannah had bumped into the man at Stuart Wagg’s party. He was drunk and talkative and was keen to show off. Their conversation had lasted less than three minutes and she doubted he’d remember it if and when he sobered up.
‘Of course,’ Hannah murmured, ‘I appreciate that favourable publicity isn’t the be-all and end-all.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Lauren said. ‘However, I’ll be absolutely honest with you…’
Les shot Hannah a glance which said there’s a first time for everything…
‘Ma’am?’
‘A few columns of positive coverage in the media wouldn’t harm. The chair of the Police Authority is up for re-election in May. He’d welcome a few supportive headlines.’
‘Reviving the inquiry might be money well spent, then?’ Hannah kept her face straight.
‘I think so.’ Lauren was judicious. Weighing the pros and cons with care and objectivity before coming down on the side of self-interest. ‘We need to reach out to the wider community in a very public manner. Good media relations are integral to what we do.’
‘Of course.’
‘That’s settled, then. Keep me informed, Hannah. And bear in mind that solving a cold case doesn’t equate to admitting the force got anything wrong in the past.’
‘I printed off the attachment to my email.’ DC Maggie Eyre thrust a couple of sheets of paper into Hannah’s hand. ‘The witness details you asked for.’
‘Thanks.’ Hannah waved Maggie into a chair as her gaze travelled down the list. ‘You’ve been busy.’
‘Six years is a long time. So far I’ve traced half the people who were interviewed after Bethany’s body was discovered. Most of them still live in the area.’