Page 34 of Making a Killing

‘Seemed competent enough. Only a DI back then, of course. Bit too good-looking for this job, though, if you ask me.’

Tate raises an eyebrow. Maybe there might be a silver lining in all this, after all.

***

Adam Fawley

25 July 2024

11.52

It’s been a while since I’ve been at St Aldate’s, and I get that queasy feeling of everything being just a little smaller than I remembered it. Like going back to your old school. The car park certainly hasn’t got any bigger, that’s for sure, and without my old assigned space I’m forced to leave the car on a meter and run back to avoid being late. Which would be a bit demeaning at the best of times, but in this weather leaves me at a distinctly sweaty disadvantage. I don’t see anyone I know in the lift, which is maybe just as well, at least until I know what I’m doing here. Harrison’s PA welcomes me like a long-lost nephew.

‘Adam! I wasn’t expecting you!’

I risk a wry smile. ‘Neither was I, Maureen.’ I take a step closer and drop my voice. ‘Have you got any idea what all this is about?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I know he spoke to the CC this morning, but he’s playing his cards close to his chest on this one.’

‘OK. Thanks anyway.’

I touch her arm briefly, and then – absurdly, when I think about it later – straighten my tie before knocking on the door.

‘Ah, Adam,’ he says, looking up briefly, then back at his paperwork. ‘Take a seat.’

I pull out one of the chairs. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘You been watching the local news lately or is all that a bit too parochial for Counterterrorism?’

God knows Harrison has deserved enough s-adjectives over the years (self-important, stolid, stubborn and that’s just for starters) but snarky has never been one of them. Not till now, anyway.

I put on the I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about face that gets Alex really riled. ‘I’m sorry, sir?’

He finally puts down his papers and makes eye contact. ‘There’s a case, out near Hescombe.’

I’m frowning now, trying to nail down the bell that’s starting to ring –

‘Gloucestershire,’ he says, watching my face, ‘if your geography is hazy. Shallow grave in woodland, unidentified vic.’

‘Of course – my wife saw something about it on TV this morning. It was Lawrence Kearney fronting it – the Superintendent we liaised with back in 2018 –’

‘– on the Rowan case, yes, I’m aware. Well, it looks like history is repeating itself, albeit somewhat back to front.’

‘I’m not with you, sir.’

‘Back then, it was one of Kearney’s cases come back from the dead; this time, Adam, it’s one of yours.’

***

DS Everett slides a coffee on to Chloe Sargent’s desk, and bends over her shoulder, pretending to be interested in something on the screen.

‘Guess who I just saw going into Harrison’s office,’ she says in a low voice.

Sargent swivels round in her chair and sees her face. ‘Well, if you’re lookingthatpleased about it, I’m going for Tom Hiddleston.’

Ev grins. ‘Bloody hell, I wish. No, but you’re right – I am pleased about it.’

Sargent laughs. ‘So it’s Fawley, right?’

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