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She clears her throat. ‘Is he bringing his own team, boss?’
Which – as they all know – is code for ‘Am I off the case?’ Because this Adam Fawley is hardly going to bother hauling a bunch of cannon-fodder DCs all the way up here, but he may well bring his own DS.
Tate turns to her. ‘I don’t know. I’ve told you everything Kearney told me. But until we hear to the contrary, you, Holloway and Bell should assume you will be seconded to that investigation. And if it turns out there is a link to the Ellie Harben case after all,as I just raised with DSU Kearney, well, we’ll all have a lot of fun getting back together and comparing notes, won’t we. And in the meantime, you, Holloway, cando your job.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘Who knows, you might beat all the odds and actually manage to solve the bloody thing, so DCI Fawley can sod off back to Oxford where he belongs.’
A moment later the door bangs shut behind her, leaving only a vague waft of coffee and the slight depletion of oxygen that always follows in her wake. Most of the officers go back to their desks, leaving Bradley, Holloway and Bell standing awkwardly like an Abba tribute band that’s missing a limb.
‘So what do we do now?’ says Bell.
‘Like she said,’ offers Bradley. ‘Our job.’
‘And you’re the one to tell us what that is, are you?’
Bradley gives him a steady look. ‘Well, the last time I looked neither of you were a DS, so pending theDCI ex machinafrom Thames Valley, the answer would appear to be yes.’
Holloway’s eyes narrow; he doesn’t even know what language that was, but he knows when he’s beat. ‘OK, then, what do you want us to do?’
‘I have, as it happens, been compiling a small list.’ Which she produces, with perhaps the hint of a flourish. ‘You, Holloway, are going to continue the house-to-house in Hescombe, taking Bell with you. That should keep you out of trouble.’
Bell rolls his eyes. ‘Notagain.’
‘Yes,again. I, meanwhile, will follow up on the Crone Oak and any possible connections to occult and/or New Age practice. It’s a right royal P in the A but we need to cover it off.’
‘I don’t know, Sarge,’ quips Holloway, raising his voice and looking round the room for an audience. ‘Sounds like it’s right up your alley. I mean, you’ve already got the cat, right? All you need now is a broomstick.’
‘Careful,’ she says, returning him a long cool stare, ‘or I might just turn you back into a handsome prince.’
It takes him a moment to work that one out and by the time he does it’s too late: everyone else is already laughing.
‘Fine,’ he mutters, stamping back to his desk. ‘Absolutely fucking totallyfine.’
Behind him, someone makes aribbitnoise.
***
‘Message for you, sir. You were on the phone so I took it down for you.’
It’s been three months now, and Quinn still hasn’t tired of that ‘sir’. The red-haired PC at the door knows that better than anyone: the new Acting Inspector is known to be a bit touchy on occasion, but slathering on the ‘sirs’ usually puts him in a good mood. Even when he’s being interrupted at one of his ‘surgeries’. It’s Summertown today, so it’s a litany of first-world problems: loud music on Port Meadow, diesel pollution on the canal and, most dearly beloved of all, the new traffic system, dire consequences thereof.
‘What sort of message, Chingford? I’ve got a queue of people waiting outside.’
‘From St Aldate’s. They want you up there as soon as. To see a DCI Fawley?’
Quinn sits back. ‘Fawley? Are you sure?’
‘Definitely. It was Superintendent Harrison’s PA who called. She even spelled it for me.’
Quinn starts tapping his fingers on the table, which PC Chingford is not alone in realizing doesn’t always bode well.
‘And she didn’t say what it was about?’
‘No, sir. Just that you were to clear your diary for today and get back to St Aldate’s.’
Which doesn’t bode well either.
Quinn gets to his feet and smooths the front of his uniform. If there’s shit in the offing he might as well find out sooner rather than later.
‘OK, Chingford, can you hold the fort here? Explain I’ve been called away on urgent business and just take down details of what the issue is. Tell them we’ll be in touch.’