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EIGHT

Thorne waited no more than five minutes after Brigstocke had wound the briefing up before knocking on his door. The knock was not a request, because he didn’t bother waiting to be invited in, and nobody could have described it as polite. It was, in Thorne’s head at least, a warning.

‘What can I do for you?’ Brigstocke was seated at his desk while the man Thorne was really there to see was sitting opposite him.

They might have been discussing the weather or the increase in petrol prices, because it certainly didn’t seem confrontational; not as confrontational as Thorne had hoped, anyway.

Walker looked at him, waiting.

Thorne said nothing, doubting himself suddenly, wondering if he had quite as much credit in the bank with his boss as he thought he did.

‘I know it’s a bit beneath your pay grade,’ Walker said. A thin smile appeared suddenly, like a crack in plaster. ‘But if you’ve come with the offer of coffee, I take it black with no sugar.’

Thorne opened his mouth, then closed it again and swallowed. For a few seconds he considered leaving well alone, telling himself that, on this occasion, discretion might well be the better part of valour.

Then he remembered that he didn’t have a great deal of either.

‘What do you want , Tom?’

‘I wanted to tell DCI Walker that there’s really no need to let anyone know he thinks he should be running this investigation.’

‘Is that right?’ Walker said. ‘Thanks for the heads-up.’

Thorne stayed focused on Brigstocke. ‘No need, because it was written all over his face in the briefing. A face which, now I come to think about it, didn’t so much look like a smacked arse as one that’s had seven shades of shit thrashed out of it.’

Now, Walker turned to Brigstocke. He held out his arms and shook his head, as if to ask his fellow DCI if he was really going to allow one of his detectives to talk to a senior officer like this.

‘But more importantly, there’s no need because there really isn’t any point.’

‘Oh, is there not?’

‘No, because DCI Brigstocke has already approved the investigation’s command structure with officers who’ve got a few more pips on their shoulders than anyone in this room.’ He turned to look at Walker. ‘It’s a done deal. Sir.’ Back to Brigstocke. ‘Isn’t it, sir?’

‘It is as far as I’m concerned,’ Brigstocke said.

Walker got to his feet and when he started to talk – his voice raised a little, but not too much – there was a good deal of pointing. ‘Whether it’s done or not, it’s certainly not the right deal. Those three dead officers . . . all four of those officers were based at my station.’

‘Yes, but they were seconded on to an operation that I was running,’ Thorne said. ‘I spoke to them while they were ingesting the arsenic that killed them. I as good as watched them being murdered and I’m going to be part of the team that catches the man responsible.’

‘Your operation, but my officers. That should count for something.’

‘What, you’re going to tell me you’re thick as thieves with all the uniforms based at your station?

I know how all that works, because I know exactly how many of the uniforms in this place are pally with plainclothes.

It’s still “suits” and “lids” however much we try and pretend it isn’t.

It’s still the glory hunters poncing about up here and the men and women at the sharp end, strapping on stab vests a couple of floors down.

You come marching in here with all this “blue brotherhood” crap and I’m betting you didn’t even know all those dead coppers’ names until a couple of days ago—’

‘ Tom . . . ’ Now Brigstocke was on his feet.

Walker was statue-still and unblinking. To anyone else he might simply have appeared stunned, but Thorne saw only a predator waiting for its prey to get near enough before it strikes.

He had said his piece and tried to look calm as he walked towards the door, even if he was anything but.

He said, ‘I’ll see if I can get that coffee organised for you.’

Half an hour later, Thorne emerged from the Gents to find Walker waiting for him. A little nonplussed, he gave a cursory nod and moved to walk past, but the DCI stepped to block his way.

‘What you said to me before, that was out of order.’

‘I don’t think it was.’ Thorne stood waiting for Walker to move. ‘Look, if you think I’m going to apologise you’ll be stood there a while.’

‘Oh, I’m damn sure you won’t.’

‘Right, then.’

‘Even if, from what I’ve heard about you over the years, you’ve got plenty to be sorry about.’

Thorne shrugged, hoping his not-giving-a-toss smile looked genuine.

‘Listen, dob me in to HR if you’re feeling all offended or emotionally abused or whatever.

Send a strongly worded email to the Chief Constable.

I really don’t care. What I do care about is what’s best for this investigation, so that’s why I said what I said—’

Walker stepped towards him. ‘What you said was wrong, though, and you need to know that. What you were suggesting. I knew every one of those officers. I know the names of all their kids. I’ve had dinner with Asim Hussain’s family and I’ve been out drinking with Catherine and Chris plenty of times.

I was at Kazia Bobak’s wedding, for pity’s sake. ’

Thorne tried not to look as taken aback as he was. ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ He couldn’t think of much else to say and knew that now he probably should express some degree of regret for his outburst in Brigstocke’s office, but he simply didn’t have it in him. He said, ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

Not an apology, but it was meant.

Walker nodded, staring, and when Thorne moved to leave he did not step aside. ‘It’s a shame, because yeah, I’ve heard some iffy things about you, but I’ve heard one or two good things as well. Even so, I’m very glad you’re not on my team.’

‘Well, at least we’re on the same page,’ Thorne said.

‘I feel for Russell, I really do,’ Walker said. ‘Because honestly, I can’t think of anything worse than being your DCI.’ Then that thin smile appeared again. ‘Although, having said that, being your girlfriend doesn’t tend to end up very well either, does it?’