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FIFTY

Over the many years that he and Russell Brigstocke had worked together, Thorne had found himself in countless situations similar to this.

Sitting in the DCI’s office and sharing what he believed to be important insights.

Of course, they’d also had more than a few conversations in that time about cases going nowhere, about brick walls and wild goose chases.

Any time there had been genuine progress, though, when a breakthrough had taken a case in an unexpected direction, Thorne had become used to looking across that desk at his boss and seeing excitement. Resolve . . .

Now, whenever they’d dug deeper into the seemingly bottomless murk of the Alex Brightwell investigation and clawed out yet more evidence of rank corruption and criminality, Thorne saw only a terrible disappointment pass across Brigstocke’s face.

He seemed . . . crushed by each new revelation about the job he loved and to which he’d dedicated nearly thirty years of his life.

Thorne almost wanted to apologise.

This time, rank was a horribly appropriate word.

Brigstocke stared down at his desk, while Thorne and Tanner waited and exchanged glances. Finally, when the DCI looked up at them, it seemed as though, thankfully, he’d found another gear; that he’d summoned just what was needed from a well-stocked reserve of anger and determination.

‘I’ll need to take this higher,’ he said.

Thorne and Tanner looked at each other again, having prepared for this response before coming in. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ Thorne said.

‘Because?’

‘Like we said, we’re talking about a senior officer here. Maybe very senior.’

‘You think the Chief Superintendent might be behind all this?’

‘No.’

‘The Chief Constable, maybe?’

‘Well, I think he might have to resign when it all comes out,’ Tanner said. ‘But I doubt he’s personally involved.’

‘The point is, it could be anybody,’ Thorne said. ‘So can we not just hold fire for a while? Aside from anything else, we do know that someone’s being a bit free and easy with operational intelligence.’

‘And I’m still working to find out who that is,’ Brigstocke said.

‘We need to be careful, Russell, that’s all. Look, I know it’s highly unlikely that you’d inadvertently pass this information directly to the person responsible . . . ’

‘You’re talking lottery odds, Tom.’

‘Yeah, definitely, but even discounting the fact that there’s someone passing on crucial intelligence, there’s always a chance the man we’re after might find out we’re on to him anyway.’

‘Memos getting passed around,’ Tanner said. ‘Meetings and supposedly confidential emails . . . chit-chat at the Freemasons’ Hall.’

‘It’s hard to keep things quiet at the best of times,’ Thorne said.

Brigstocke nodded slowly, making it clear that he took the point. ‘Fine, but at the very least we should bring the CCU up to speed. Talk to Greaves—’ He stopped when he saw the look on Thorne’s face. ‘You don’t think so?’

‘Same argument applies, I reckon,’ Thorne said. ‘In fact, when you think about it, the Counter Corruption Unit’s the perfect place to hide in plain sight. On top of which, I don’t think they’re doing a particularly good job, do you?’

‘Obviously they’re not,’ Tanner said. ‘Or shit like this wouldn’t be happening.’

Most recently, one officer had been accused of sending ‘dickpics’ to female recruits and another of sexually assaulting a member of the public in his car.

Both cases had been investigated by the CCU and passed up to the Independent Office for Police Conduct, but neither had resulted in anything more serious than ‘gross misconduct’ proceedings.

‘What this bloke’s done is definitely gross,’ Thorne said.

‘But I think we’re a long way past misconduct .

We don’t want to see him slapped on the wrist or just dismissed from the force and barred from working in law enforcement.

We don’t want him suspended for eighteen months on full pay, then quietly encouraged to “retire”.

This fucker needs to go down, for a long time. ’

‘OK, I hear you.’ Brigstocke tensed his shoulders then relaxed them again, that shadow of disappointment drifting briefly across his face. ‘Fine, we’ll keep it in-house for the time being, meaning just between us.’

‘I think that’s sensible.’

‘Going back to this leak, though—’

‘It’s someone close to the case,’ Tanner said. ‘Has to be.’

‘Is it possible that whoever’s been leaking information is the same man you think is behind the rapes and the cover-ups? This same senior officer?’

Thorne had been asking himself that very question and couldn’t see how that answer made any sense.

‘Why would he pass information that could help Alex Brightwell when Brightwell’s the one going after the rapists, the men who fitted his brother up?

I mean, we don’t know how much he knew before someone started helping him out, but surely this man wouldn’t want to give Brightwell the advantage.

Not when there’s always the possibility Brightwell could come after him . ’

Tanner nodded. ‘Whoever he is, he’d definitely be on Brightwell’s list.’

‘Top of it, I would have thought,’ Thorne said.

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ Brigstocke fiddled with the troublesome lever on his chair and sat back.

‘You know, I used to think this job had gone down the pan ten years ago,’ he said.

‘When filling in pointless forms and ticking off all the courses you’d been on became more important than solving cases and protecting victims.’

‘And the seminars,’ Thorne said. ‘Don’t forget the seminars.’

Brigstocke managed a half-smile. ‘There was obviously a lot more of that stuff once I became a DCI . . . all the politics, whatever and even back then I was asking myself if I’d done the right thing.

You know, climbing the greasy pole. This , though .

. . ’ He stared over their heads, eyes wide behind the thick glasses, looking all but stunned.

‘It’s no longer a force I recognise and certainly not one I’d want to join any more. ’

‘Unless you were a wannabe rapist,’ Tanner said. ‘Then it’s pretty much tailor-made for you.’

They said nothing for a while. A peal of laughter rang out suddenly in the incident room; someone doing what – to the three in that office – seemed impossible at that moment and finding something to laugh at.

‘Anyway,’ Brigstocke said, eventually. ‘Something a bit nicer.’

‘Which would be anything,’ Thorne said.

‘I’m having a barbecue on Sunday, if you fancy coming. Nothing major, just a bit of a get-together. A few drinks.’

‘A barbecue?’ Thorne looked at Tanner. ‘It’s not exactly barbecue weather.’

‘Bring a coat.’ Brigstocke shuffled papers, looking a little sheepish. ‘It’s my birthday.’

‘How old?’ Tanner asked.

‘Never you mind.’

‘Come on.’

‘Bearing in mind everything we’ve just been discussing, I think I’ll treat that as confidential information.’

‘A big birthday?’

Brigstocke ignored her. ‘It’ll be good to wind down and forget about all this for a few hours. I mean, we won’t , obviously.’

‘Speak for yourself.’ Thorne rubbed his hands together. ‘Give me a decent steak and I can forget just about anything.’

‘I think it’ll just be sausages and a few chicken wings.’

‘Good enough,’ Thorne said.