Kiss of Death. Paul Finch

have to talk to us about this bit, Dennis,’ Gemma said. ‘We’re not really interested in the mythology, or how Ranald Ulfskar managed to tie it in with some modern-day Aryan master-race gibberish. What we really want to know is what you saw happen on these awful nights, and what part you played in it.’

      Still, nothing.

      ‘What about the dates?’ Reed said. ‘If you’re genuinely interested in the Viking religion, you must’ve known about the dates …’

      ‘March 21,’ Gemma reminded him. ‘April 30, June 21 … how about today, July 31?’

      He glanced up weakly. ‘Look … I knew they were relevant, yes. But I didn’t know we were going to kill people.’

      ‘OK, let’s go with that?’ she said. ‘Let’s assume that was true the first time. But what about the second, third and fourth?’

      ‘Surely, you didn’t think you were just going to rough these guys up?’ Reed said. ‘Or scare them? How would that have gone down with Odin and Thor?’

      ‘That’s the point,’ Purdham moaned, seemingly deeply troubled. ‘It’s cruel … I know, but you can’t deny the deities. Once you’ve promised something, you’ve gotta deliver …’

      Heck shook his head as he watched.

      ‘Deities?’ said a disbelieving voice. Bob Hunter had come forward to the mirror. ‘Odin and Thor? These twats ripping the piss, or what?’

      ‘Not totally,’ Heck replied. ‘Odinism was a real thing.’

      ‘Wouldn’t have thought there was much call for it in the twenty-first century.’

      ‘Where’ve you been, sir? This is the age of the hate crime.’

      ‘Yeah, but when it comes to white-power nutters, I thought Muslims were the hate figures of the moment.’

      ‘Me too,’ Heck agreed. ‘But I suppose some clowns just can’t get over that slap Sister Mary gave them when they were being cheeky to her all those years ago in Junior School. How are you anyway?’

      ‘I’m good.’

      ‘Congratulations on the promotion.’

      ‘Cheers.’

      DCI Bob Hunter had once been DI Bob Hunter of the Serial Crimes Unit, in which capacity he and Heck had worked together on several enquiries. Ultimately though, Hunter, who had moved to SCU from the Metropolitan Police’s Flying Squad, had adopted a cowboy approach to law enforcement, which its overall commander, Gemma Piper, had never been comfortable with. In due course, after one dispute too many, Hunter had returned to the Met and his beloved FS – or ‘Sweeney’, as it was known among London’s armed robbery community, whom it exclusively tackled – where he had now, much to Heck’s surprise, been promoted.

      ‘Listen, Heck … do you need to be in here?’ Hunter asked, seemingly conscious that several other SCU officers were also present, no doubt earwigging. ‘Or can we step outside for a minute?’

      Heck threw a grudging glance through the mirror at Reed, who again was making headway with the suspect, before shrugging. ‘I don’t think they’ll miss me.’

      ‘Who’s Prince Charming, anyway?’ Hunter asked, noticing the object of his annoyance.

      ‘DI Jack Reed.’ Heck opened the door and moved out into the Custody corridor. ‘Transferred in from Hampshire about three months ago.’

      Hunter followed him out. ‘What did he do down there?’

      ‘I don’t know. Some crap job … probably undeserving of praise.’

      Hunter looked curious. ‘You’re not a fan, then?’

      ‘It’s nothing, I’m just being cynical.’ Heck walked through the Charge Office and tapped out a code on the door connecting to the Custody team’s Refs Room.

      ‘If he’s that bad how did he finish up in SCU?’

      ‘He used to work for Joe Wullerton in the Critical Incident Cadre.’

      Hunter chuckled. ‘Bit of nepotism in the National Crime Group? Never.’

      ‘Nah …’ Heck shook his head glumly. ‘He’s good. I mean, he’s so clean he squeaks when he walks, but I can’t pretend he doesn’t know his job.’

      ‘Well … this is all very interesting, but how about that chat?’

      ‘Yeah, sure.’

      They went into the Refs Room, which currently was empty, and got themselves a coffee from the vending machine in the corner.

      ‘Sounds like everything’s peachy in the Flying Squad,’ Heck said.

      ‘To be honest,’ Hunter replied, ‘when I rejoined, I didn’t think I had much of a future.’

      ‘I always thought it was your natural home.’

      ‘Yeah, but sometimes it isn’t a plan to go back where you started, is it? Not that Gemma bloody Piper left me much choice. No offence, by the way.’

      ‘None taken,’ Heck said.

      It had been well over a decade since he and Gemma had been an item, and had even, briefly, set up home together; they’d been young detective constables at the time, working divisional CID at Bethnal Green. But much fire and water had gone under the bridge since then, not to mention Gemma’s meteoric rise through the ranks. On first arrival at the Serial Crimes Unit, Heck had never expected to find himself subservient to his former girlfriend. They’d worked together ever since, almost eleven years now, but not always cosily.

      ‘The Squad’s been good to me, though, as it’s turned out,’ Hunter added. ‘It always has. I mean, it’s not fucking perfect …’

      ‘Give over, Bob.’ Heck sipped his coffee. ‘What’re you moaning about? There are lads all over the Met who’d kill to get into the Sweeney.’

      ‘How about you, Heck? Are you one of them?’

      Heck snorted. ‘Not in the Met any more, am I?’

      ‘Jesus, so what? You’ve swapped forces at least three times already to my knowledge. And it’s not like NCG’s got a great future.’

      Heck couldn’t deny that. In this age of austerity, the police services of the UK were taking a real hammering. It would only be a matter of time before specialist squads started to feel the pinch as well, and rumours were now rife at Scotland Yard, where the National Crime Group’s HQ was located.

      ‘And the Flying Squad has?’ Heck wondered.

      Hunter barked a laugh. ‘Come off it. We’ve survived everything from machine-gun attacks to corruption charges. A few cutbacks aren’t gonna do for us.’

      ‘Bob …?’ For the first time, Heck wondered where this conversation was leading. ‘Are you offering me a job, or something?’

      ‘You’ve surely heard that we’ve got a vacancy for a new DI?’

      ‘And it’s down to you to find someone to fill it?’

      ‘I’m running Squad North-East now. There have to be some perks.’

      ‘There’s one problem with this. You’re looking for a DI … I’m a DS.’

      ‘Come on, Heck … I think we can make that happen.’

      ‘Just like that?’

      ‘Yeah, just like that.’ Hunter laughed again. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, pal. With your record, you’ve got credit in the bank. Or have you still got this daft, self-defeating ideal about not wanting to join the brass because you’d rather be a soldier?’

      Heck had been offered promotions in the past but