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‘Spitting nails,’ says Quinn, leaning forward towards the phone.
We can hear Gis’s grim laugh. ‘Well, no surprises there, then. Did she say anything useful?’
‘She wants to talk to her lawyer before she speaks to us again. The prison are going to call us tomorrow about setting up another meet.’
***
Tony Asante turns into the South Mercia Police HQ car park and switches off his engine. The contrast with his usual working environment is stark. St Aldate’s has its charm, but it’s crowded, too hot in summer, icy in winter, and no longer – in a phrase Asante would never use – ‘fit for purpose’. And as for Kidlington, where he’s been based since he joined Major Crimes, that has all the personality of a 1970s cereal box. Maybe it’s just as well it’s tucked so far behind the main road. This place, by contrast, is out and proud. A big blue and glass swoop of a building that dominates the – admittedly rather nondescript – surroundings. He sits in the car a few moments, watching the human traffic in and out. No one notices him, because he took a pool car and it’s about as anonymous as you can get without painting it the colour of the road. But anonymous is just how Asante likes it.
He gets out, straightens his jacket and walks up to the steps.
***
It’s gone eight and Morris is now the only one left in the office, but he doesn’t care. It’s not as if he has anything more pressing to do. He’d been planning to finish a new post for the blog heruns onBritain’s Strangest Unsolved Murders(for which, needless to say, he uses a different name) but that’s going to have to wait. Because it turns out there was indeed something the original investigation missed – someonethey missed. Even if most of the Cowley Road grooming gang were in prison by the summer of 2016, there were others in their circle who were never charged. Including Azeem Rahija, younger brother of Yasir Rahija and cousin of Sunni Rahija, the two ringleaders. He was only seventeen at the time, there was no evidence against him that would have survived in court and he’d never been in trouble with the law. But that was then.
Morris stares at the screen, drumming his fingers on the desk without even realizing he’s doing it. The face that stares out at him looks a lot younger than twenty-five – the curly hair, the almost childlike chubbiness. But appearances can be deceptive on occasion and this is one of them. Azeem Rahija now has a conviction for possession of child pornography, though it’s clear the police thought there was more to it than just that. But that’s not what caught Morris’s eye. It’s the first name on the list of ‘Known Associates’ at the end of the file.
Jamie Northam.
***
It’s sheer chance that Marcia Tate happens to be passing through the entrance lobby when Asante checks in. She’d have noticed him anyway, purely for the looks. So her interest is piqued, and all the more so when she catches the words ‘Thames Valley’.
She hesitates a moment – good idea, or not? – then turns on her heel and walks back to the desk.
‘I couldn’t help hearing,’ she says with a full-wattage smile, ‘DCI Fawley, is it? Marcia Tate. I’m the DI on the Hescombe case.’
He turns to her. ‘I’m afraid DCI Fawley won’t be here until tomorrow.’ He extends a hand. ‘DS Anthony Asante, ma’am.’
She sees no need to tone down the smile. ‘Pleased to meet you. Tony – is it? And please don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel a hundred years old.’
A smile from him now. ‘Sure. And Tony’s fine.’
‘So you’re the advance party, are you? Checking out the lie of the land?’
His smile broadens, just a little. ‘You could say that. I thought it would be useful to brief myself on the state of play before the boss arrives. Meet the team.’
‘In that case, you’re out of luck – I sent most of them off early. They’ve been working all hours this week. Cases like this, they’re hell on the home life. As I’m sure your wife knows.’
‘Well, luckily I don’t have one of those. Lucky for her, anyway.’
She hesitates a moment, but then, what the hell, why not? It may even be useful.
‘Look, why don’t I brief you over a drink? I can access any of the files you want to see on my phone.’
A beat, then two, then another smile.
‘Why not. I’m staying at the Premier Inn. Maybe I could drop the bag?’
‘Perfect. There’s a half-decent bar we can walk to from there.’
‘Sounds good.’
She laughs. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. I only saidhalfdecent.’
Neither of them register the woman who comes out of the lift a few moments later. Asante, because he doesn’t know anyone here so why would he, and Tate because she’s far too preoccupied to notice.
But Triona Bradley definitely does.