Page 117 of A Game of Lies

‘So much forthe camera never lies,’ Ffion says. ‘Miles orchestrated every fucking second of that show.’ The DI winces. ‘Every flipping second of it. Sorry about the swearing. I am trying.’

Malik sighs. ‘You are indeed. Manning’s real name won’t be released to the press until he’s charged, but the young woman read some rather damning tweets by a YouTuber …’ Miles looks down at his blotter, where he has jotted down a name.

‘Zee Hart?’

‘That’s the one. She’s been told to delete them or face charges – we don’t want the trial collapsing before it’s started – but it does seem to have flushed out a victim. One wonders how many others there are.’

So Henry had been the#MeToocontestant all along. Miles clearly hadn’t found enough dirt to put into the box of secrets, but whatever he’d dug up had been enough for him to warn Roxy.You can sue the ass off a production company if they don’t protect staff from harassment, she’d told Leo.

And now Henry-aka-Clive would be brought to justice. Murder, attempted murder, and now sexual assault. There’s a certain irony, Ffion thinks, that, in attempting to protect one relatively small secret, he would now face far greater accusations. He’d tried to beat Miles at his own game, but in the end, there were no winners.

‘But I’ve interrupted your apology,’ Malik says. ‘The floor is yours.’

‘It was poor judgement not to have told you Seren was going out with Caleb.’

‘Yes. It was.’ Malik leans back in his chair. ‘There’s no reason you couldn’t have stayed on the case – but when you’re found to be withholding something like that, it gives rise to—’

‘Also, I kept something out of the evidential chain.’ Ffion says it quickly, before she changes her mind. ‘It turned out not to be significant – and I’d put it back by then anyway – but for a few hours I …’ Ffion sighs. ‘You were right, boss. I’m too close. Investigating people I’ve grown up with … it’s hard.’

‘No one ever said the job was easy.’

‘I know.’

‘What you’re admitting is more than a disciplinary offence, Ffion. It’s a job-loser.’ Malik rubs his brow. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

‘Because I want to do better.’ Ffion keeps her gaze level. ‘Because not telling you makes it a secret, and if I’ve learned anything over the last two weeks, it’s not to keep secrets.’

Malik nods slowly.

‘I also came to ask for a fortnight’s leave,’ Ffion says. ‘Starting today. I’m taking Dave to the rescue centre tomorrow and I’m going to need some time to—’

‘Take as much as you need. I hear the mutt was quite the hero.’

Ffion swallows hard. ‘Thanks, boss.’ She stands. ‘And if you need to file a report with Professional Standards, I understand.’

‘How many final warnings have I given you, Ffion?’

‘Um … three?’

Malik scrutinises her. ‘Consider this yourfinalfinal warning.’

‘Thank you.’ Ffion feels a rush of relief.

‘And, Ffion?’

‘Yes?’

‘While you’re on leave, have a good long think about what’s more important: your friends or your job.’ He fixes her with a stern gaze. ‘Play by the rules, or find yourself out of the game. Understood?’

‘Loud and clear,’ Ffion says, as she leaves the DI’s office. Of course she understands. What she has to figure out is whether she wants to be in the game at all.

FIFTY-ONE

THURSDAY | DC GEORGE KENT

DI Malik’s door has been closed all morning, which is a sure sign that something’s going on. George feels a prickle of apprehension as she takes the seat he offers her. Ffion’s on leave for two weeks (I need to see a man about a dog, read her email to George) and this morning, Alun was only in the office for five minutes to pick up his notebook before heading to the training block, muttering darkly about ‘diversity bollocks’.

‘So.’ Malik rests his forearms on his desk. ‘How have you been?’

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