Kiss of Death. Paul Finch

level; she didn’t even look up. ‘You may find this thing more of a challenge than you think.’

      ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he muttered, leaving the room and half-blundering into Jack Reed outside.

      ‘Sorry, Heck,’ Reed said. ‘My fault. Don’t worry, I wasn’t eavesdropping.’

      Heck had never known such politeness in the police environment as he routinely heard from Reed, especially not from a supervisor to an underling. It surely had its origins in the Officers’ Mess, though Heck had never enquired about the DI’s background, and never would – as that would imply that he was interested in getting to know the guy.

      ‘It’s OK, sir,’ Heck grunted. ‘Nothing to hear anyway.’

      ‘I’ve told you, mate … it’s “Jack”. I don’t do formalities.’

      ‘Yeah, no probs.’

      Gail Honeyford was waiting a few yards along the corridor, picking through the folder’s contents. He stumped towards her. Behind him, he heard Reed tap on Gemma’s door.

      ‘Busy!’ she called out. ‘Unless it’s exceedingly important.’

      ‘It’s me, ma’am,’ Reed replied. ‘Can I come in?’

      Heck was now too far away to hear her muffled response, but whatever it was, Reed went in.

      ‘You don’t look very pleased to see me,’ Gail said, as they walked side by side down to the detectives’ office.

      ‘I’m not displeased.’ Heck tried not to sound tetchy, though it was a struggle. The truth was that he rated Gail as a police officer. How could he not when he owed his life to her? But there were other issues here, which, frankly, he didn’t think he could deal with at this moment. ‘I’m just … surprised.’

      ‘I gave you a heads-up that I was going to try and join SCU,’ she said. ‘Roughly around the same time you said you’d try to give me a leg-up. Just because I didn’t hear anything else from you, that doesn’t mean I didn’t stick with my ambition.’

      ‘In a way, I did give you a leg-up,’ he said. ‘You name-dropped me during your interview.’

      ‘Yeah, funny that. When I reminded DSU Piper that I’d worked with you before and that we got on well together, she said something to the effect of: “Ordinarily, that would be a reason for me not to appoint you.” What do you think she meant by that?’

      ‘She plays games,’ he grunted. ‘Likes to keep us on our toes.’

      ‘I hear they call her “the Lioness”.’

      ‘That’s true.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Muck up this enquiry, and you’ll find out.’

      Gail nodded as she pondered this.

      ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Why did she?’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘She told you that “ordinarily” she wouldn’t have appointed you. What changed her mind?’

      ‘Oh … she also noted that aside from that one case you and me worked together, my career’s been pretty straight-laced and that I’ve had some good results, all of them by the book. She added that she was certain the experience of this, plus the passage of time, would probably ensure that I’ve got over any bad habits I might have picked up from you.’

      ‘Might have picked up from you, Sergeant,’ he corrected her.

      ‘Sorry, yes … Sergeant,’ she agreed primly.

      That was one bad habit she’d dispensed with, he noted. The previous incarnation of Gail had bridled at the merest hint that she was under someone else’s control, especially a male’s. This was explainable by the tough time she’d had with some of the idiot men in her life, but it hadn’t been likely to do her any good in the long run. At the end of the day, rank was rank.

      They went into the detectives’ office – or ‘DO’ as it was known – to find the place reorganised in terms of its furniture. Heck’s own desk had been moved several feet from its south-facing window and turned around ninety degrees. Another desk, previously empty, had been drawn up to face it. It wasn’t hugely inconvenient. All Heck’s electricals were still plugged in and he could still reach his shelves and filing cabinet. But the fact that everything had been shifted around, without his even being consulted, was the last thing he needed on a day like today.

      The bloke responsible was still in the middle of it.

      Approaching his late fifties, DS Eric Fisher had outlived his usefulness to SCU as an outdoors man, and if his age hadn’t been against him, his colossal girth could have done the job on its own. But as an analyst, intelligence officer and now the unit’s official account manager for HOLMES 2 – the latest IT system used by UK police forces for the investigation of serious crime – Fisher was second to none. In case that wasn’t quite enough in this new age of extreme cost-efficiency, Gemma also had him double-hatting as a kind of unofficial office manager – a role he was currently occupying comfortably, as he issued orders to DCs Quinnell, Rawlins, Cunliffe and Finnegan, who, with much clattering of tables and scraping of chair legs, were trying to pair up their own furniture.

      ‘What’s all this?’ Heck demanded.

      Fisher scratched his beard. ‘We’re working Sledgehammer in pairs. Haven’t you heard?’

      ‘Yeah, I heard.’ Heck toed irritably at his desk. ‘But, given the option, I might have wanted to do things slightly differently.’

      ‘Fair enough.’ Fisher pushed his glasses back up his sweat-greased nose. ‘How many permutations of two desks do you want me to go through before you settle on one you like?’

      ‘I’m sure this’ll be all right,’ Gail said, throwing her coat, bag and the Sledgehammer file onto the empty desk facing Heck’s.

      Fisher turned to Heck and arched his caterpillar-thick eyebrows.

      ‘It’ll do for the moment,’ Heck grumbled. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. ‘Everyone … listen up. Meet our newest recruit, DC Gail Honeyford.’

      The rest of the men – and they were exclusively men at present – gathered, grinning, catching as much of an eyeful as they dared in the twenty-first century. A lot had changed in British policing, even during Gail’s relatively short service, but boys would always be boys.

      ‘DS Eric Fisher,’ Heck said, sticking a thumb towards the big man.

      ‘Please to meet you, love,’ Fisher nodded genially, which belied his barbaric appearance.

      ‘DC Gary Quinnell,’ Heck said. ‘He’s our conscience.’

      Quinnell nodded too. Gail nodded back.

      Heck then went through the rest of them: Andy Rawlins, who was short, tubby, balding on top and possessed of a beard as scraggy as Eric Fisher’s – he smiled shyly; Burt Cunliffe, who was squat and solid, with a grey buzz cut and a tan that indicated he’d recently been abroad for his holidays; and Charlie Finnegan, who was lean, with black, slicked hair and an odd foxy look about him.

      ‘There are a few more of us, of course,’ Heck said. ‘Out on the job, scattered around the building. We have actually got a few other women on the plot. You’ve met Gemma. DI Ronni James is on leave. Up to last year, we had DC Shawna McCluskey …’

      ‘Big shoes to fill there, girl,’ Quinnell interrupted; he’d been a particularly close friend of Shawna’s, even more so than Heck.

      ‘Promoted?’ Gail wondered.

      ‘Shot,’ Charlie Finnegan said matter-of-factly. ‘And savagely beaten.’

      Gail glanced at Heck. ‘Fatality? Only I didn’t hear anything