Dead Man’s Daughter. Roz Watkins

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      ‘You need to stick to procedure, Meg. No more doing your own thing. Especially when we’re already on the back foot with this bloody stalker fiasco.’

      ‘But someone could have been bleeding to – ’

      ‘There’s no excuse for putting yourself at risk.’

      Christ, was he ever going to let me finish a sentence? I’d noticed that more senior people just talked over him, so they both ended up banging on at the same time, gradually increasing the volume until one of them gave up. I didn’t have the energy.

      ‘And I know your last murder case ended in a relatively good outcome. But, as we’ve discussed, you can’t behave like that again. What if you’d been seriously injured? Or killed?’

      ‘I know. It would have looked bad, wouldn’t it? But I was suspended, so it wouldn’t have been your fault if I’d drowned in a cave or plunged to my death in an old windmill.’

      ‘I’m not sure that’s how the press would have seen it.’

      ‘Good to know it’s my welfare you’re concerned about.’

      Had he even heard me say I couldn’t take on this case?

      ‘You have to stick to the rules,’ Richard said. ‘Follow the evidence. This new case is a good opportunity. Show you can be a team player and do things properly.’

      Clearly not.

      ‘I’m off from next Wednesday,’ I said. ‘It’s best I don’t take on this one.’

      ‘You’re not going away, are you? So you can delay your holiday if necessary.’

      ‘I don’t think I can do that.’

      Richard narrowed his eyes. He knew how important work was to me, almost to the point of it being pathological. Why in God’s name had I not planned a convincing lie about a trip to Africa to save sick lions, or treatment for an obscure and terrifying gynaecological condition? I could feel my pulse quickening at the possibility that he’d work it out.

      ‘I’m trying to be fair here, Meg, but I’m a little confused. We could get Dickinson over from Nottingham, but I’m not sure about your level of commitment to the job if – ’

      ‘I’ll do it,’ I blurted. ‘I’ll delay my time off if necessary.’

      ‘Good. And I’d like you to work with Craig.’

      ‘Craig?’ I said weakly. ‘But . . . ’ I stopped. There was nothing I could say.

      ‘I’m not telling you you’ve only got six months to live, Meg. I’m asking you to work with a perfectly competent sergeant.’

      ‘Actually, Richard – ’

      ‘Right. Let’s do the briefing.’

       *

      The incident room felt hot and muggy, like somewhere you could catch malaria, despite the fact it looked ready to snow outside. A trace of ill-person’s sweat hung in the air, and cops coughed aggressively over one other. But the excitement of dealing with a murder fizzed through the air alongside the winter bugs. I shoved aside my worries about time off and family, and allowed myself to be swept along.

      ‘Are they Jackson Pollocks?’ Jai nodded towards a collection of blood-spatter photographs.

      I frowned, pretending to disapprove of him.

      Richard strode in, took off his jacket, and chucked it at a chair. It missed and fell on the floor. I nearly reached down for it, but realised there were precisely three men nearer to it than me. Why should I dash to pick the damn thing up? Especially given the way he’d just spoken to me. I noticed DC Fiona Redfern twitching too. But neither of us moved.

      Jai retrieved the jacket.

      ‘Thank you, Jai.’ Richard shifted aside to let me into the hot spot. ‘It’s a long way down for me these days.’

      I took a deep breath of the dubious air and stepped forward. ‘Right. The victim is Philip Thornton. Forty-eight-year-old male. Stabbed in the early hours. He was in the house with his ten-year-old daughter. Wife was apparently at her mother’s.’

      Jai yawned inappropriately.

      ‘Am I boring you?’ I said.

      Craig leered. ‘He’s been up late with his new girlfriend.’

      I didn’t know Jai had a girlfriend. I looked at his open face. Would he not have told me? They were all staring at me. I realised I should say something corpse-related. I spoke too loudly. ‘The victim’s carotid artery was cut with a very sharp knife. As far as we can tell, he was asleep and didn’t put up any fight.’

      ‘So, whoever did it went in with the intention of killing him?’ Jai said.

      ‘Looks like it. There was evidence of an intruder in the house.’ I pictured the upturned drawers in the study and bedroom – remembered my feeling that something wasn’t quite right. ‘Possibly.’

      ‘We got into his phone. Very interesting.’ Our allocated digital media person, Emily, was the antithesis of every stereotype about sad geeks. As well as obviously being female, she glistened with Hollywood shine – all advert-white teeth and smooth-skinned perfection. Every time I saw her, I did a double-take, especially when she was surrounded by her dowdy colleagues, like a dahlia amongst dandelions.

      ‘Go on, Emily,’ I said.

      ‘There were missed phone calls and texts between 4.15 a.m. and 4.30 a.m. from a contact called Work. A mobile phone which we’re tracing.’

      Emily clicked something and a list appeared on a screen behind us.

       Call History:

      4.15 a.m. – Work.

       4.16 a.m. – Work

       4.18 a.m. – Work

       4.20 a.m. – Text from ‘Work’: ‘Phil, I need to talk.’

       4.22 a.m. – Text from ‘Work’: ‘Why are you ignoring me? I know Rachel is away. I have to talk to you.’

       4.30 a.m. – Work

       4.33 a.m. – Work

       4.40 a.m. – Work

      ‘Did he reply to any of this?’ I asked.

      ‘Nope. Not at all,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’m off to find out who Work really is.’ She walked off, leaving the room feeling drab in her absence.

      I turned away from the screen. ‘The victim’s wife thought he’d been secretive recently. Which СКАЧАТЬ