Page 76 of Return Ticket

James, on the other hand, moved as if he was simply passing the time of day. Then he looked at his watch, and whatever he said next had both men turning and stalking off.

James went back to the car and opened the boot, and Gabriella turned in her seat. He looked at her through the window on the rear door, and mouthed “Stay” before he pulled out a box, and did a complicated juggle to close the boot with one hand and keep hold of the box with the other.

Finally, he came round to her door and gave a nod, and she opened it and stepped out.

“What was that?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want them seeing you. They are not nice men, and if things happen the way I’m planning for them to happen, I don’t want them looking your way, for any reason whatsoever.”

She wanted to ask more, but she guessed this was to do with Whetford, and James’s plan to extricate Hartridge and himself from his clutches. The courtyard of New Scotland Yard probably wasn’t the place to ask about it.

“What are their names, in case I bump into them?” She’d rather know, and both had been wearing hats and coats, so she might not recognize them immediately.

“DS Galbraith and his partner, DC Bartholomew.” James led her across the courtyard to a door set in the back. “Never speak to them, and get away from them as fast as you can.”

She was curious as to why there was so much animus between James and the two men, but a few other officers passed them, coming the other way, and she swallowed her questions.

When they got to James’s office, DC Hartridge stepped out of a small room to the left of it, excitement on his face, which morphed into surprise at the sight of her.

“Miss Farnsworth.” He glanced over at James, and she saw he was holding a file in his hands.

“Tanner had another go at her,” James said, and Hartridge’s attention swung back to her.

“You all right?”

Before she could answer, the door at the far end of the corridor opened, and DI Whetford stepped through.

“Why don’t you take Miss Farnsworth’s statement about the incident,” James said to Hartridge. “I need to talk to the boss.”

Hartridge looked so relieved, Gabriella wondered again what on earth was going on here.

Hartridge stepped back into the small room he’d come out of, and inclined his head.

She glanced quickly at James, but his face was stony as he stepped out into the passageway to meet Whetford head on.

She followed Hartridge into the tiny office, and he shut the door behind her.

“What’s going on?” she asked, keeping her voice soft, but Hartridge just shook his head.

She played along, giving him all the details of the incident with Tanner, and even managed to smile with him when she described how she’d gotten him to shock himself.

All the while, she strained to hear what was being said outside, but the drone of voices never got loud enough to make anything out.

Whatever it was, she remembered James saying his job could be on the line, and she felt sick to her stomach that Whetford could win this unspoken battle between them. He had the power to push James out.

She wondered if Ben’s senior, the silk who’d taken on her case, would be interested in representing a DS from the Met. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that, but there was no harm in asking.

chapterthirty

James settledin behind his desk. “I was planning on coming to you a little later, sir,” he said as he set the file Hartridge had given him down in front of him.

“I asked you to give me a daily briefing.” Whetford was spoiling for a fight. James had seen it on his face the moment he’d stepped into the corridor.

“Yes, but I’ve literally just come in from the field. I’d planned to write out the main points before I briefed you, so you had the facts in writing as well, sir.” He pulled a notepad closer and picked up a pen.

Whetford hadn’t taken the seat that was offered to him, and he was prowling the office, looking at the board James had up to one side. Right now, it was clean of any notes. James didn’t want Galbraith or anyone else coming in to read his case notes, and possibly interfere.

“You aren’t very organized, are you?” Whetford said, waving at the board.

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