‘I appreciate your frankness, Ma’am, and assure you that I shall do all I can to resolve the situation you say my arrival has caused,’ Ed said.
‘I don’t just say it, Ogborne, the situation I’ve described is exactly what your transfer has caused.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘So be it. Come, I’ll introduce you to the CID team.’
‘Just before we do that, Ma’am, may I ask a question?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘My understanding is that my transfer here was linked with promotion from Detective Sergeant to Detective Inspector.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘But you and Sergeant Williams have consistently addressed me as DS Ogborne.’
‘Correct. Until I receive official notification of your new rank, your status here is that of Detective Sergeant. You’ll work under DI Saunders’s direction until he moves to Maidstone.’
‘DI Saunders?’
‘His promotion came through a few days ago.’
With that, Addler swept Ed out of her office and down the corridor. As they passed the desk, Ed thought she caught sight of a smirk on Williams’s face. Clearly everybody in the Station was aware how the Super had decided to play this one. Stay cool, Ed, she reminded herself.
In the Incident Room, Addler’s commanding ‘Good morning’ was met by overlapping responses of ‘Good morning, Ma’am’ from three of the four detectives sitting round the table. The response of the fourth lagged slightly behind those of his colleagues as if caught by surprise that speech was required.
‘Ah … erm … good morning, Ma’am.’ He was a tired-looking man in his early forties with thinning hair and something more than the first signs of a paunch.
He was still speaking when Addler pointed in his direction and said, ‘DS Potts’ followed by ‘DC Eastham, DC Borrowdale, and, of course, DI Saunders.’ After a brief pause, she added, ‘And, as you all know, this is DS Ogborne, duly arrived from the Met. I’ll leave you to bring her up to speed with the missing girl.’ Addler’s parting shot, ‘Let’s get this one cleared up quickly’, was delivered as she turned and left the room.
Saunders looked down the table from his position at the far end and said, ‘The four of us have been here since six. We’ll get some coffee and then go over what we know.’
No smiles, no welcome and no further introductions as they trooped silently en masse down the corridor to the coffee machine. Were they all feeling as uncomfortable with her as she was with them?
Back at the Incident Room, DI Saunders said, ‘Bring your coffee to the table and we’ll get the introductions out of the way.’
Ed sat next to DS Potts, facing Saunders. The DI looked about the same age as Potts but he had no sign of a paunch and his hair had not receded an inch. Ed thought that of the two, in a tight situation, she’d rather have DI Saunders watching her back. At that moment, he cleared his throat and, looking a little uneasy, took charge of the meeting.
‘You’ve heard our names from the Super. Now I’ll introduce you properly to the team.’ He inclined his head towards the sharp dark-haired young man to his left who could have come straight from a barrow in Petticoat Lane. ‘DC Borrowdale. Nat is quick to react and faster on his feet than any of us.’ The DI’s gaze moved to the young woman on his right whose honey-blonde-framed face reminded Ed of a sunny soot-grimed one standing beside an ambulance in the Blitz. ‘DC Eastham. Jenny joined us earlier this year and her memory is proving better than the rest of ours put together.’ Saunders looked across the table at the older man slumped in the chair beside Ed. ‘And DS Michael Potts, born and raised in Canterbury; Mike knows the place and the people like the back of his hand.’
As they were introduced, Borrowdale and Eastham merely nodded in Ed’s direction while Potts managed a grunt. Saunders, if he were aware of the frosty reception, chose to ignore it.
‘I’m DI Brian Saunders, recently promoted and soon moving to the county town, Maidstone. And you are DS Ogborne, Edina Ogborne, recently of the Met.’
Ed cringed. ‘Edina was my grandmother’s name. I prefer Ed, even if it can cause problems for people who don’t know I’m a woman.’
Saunders acknowledged her preference with a nod.
‘You’ve met the Super. As for Canterbury, we’ll arrange a guided tour this evening. Right, let’s press on with the missing girl. Jenny, fill us in on where we’re at.’
The DC didn’t respond immediately so Ed took the opportunity to speak.
‘I know my arrival must have been a surprise, totally unexpected, but that went for me too. I was told nothing of the situation here. Had I known—’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Saunders cut across her and barely paused before adding, ‘So, what have we got, Jenny?’
Feeling firmly put in her place, Ed shifted her attention to the young DC.
Jenny put down her coffee cup and delivered her summary without once looking at her notes.
‘Lucy Naylor, 17 years old, from Hollowmede in Wincheap. The house is down the road from the local primary school. Lucy was reported missing by her parents at 22.57 last night, Friday, 15 June. Her friend, Deborah Shaxted, also 17, of Victoria Road, Wincheap, confirmed that Lucy had spent the evening with her. Lucy left Debbie’s house just after ten to walk home. Unfortunately, she never arrived. Her parents, Rachel and Simon Naylor, contacted Deborah’s parents around ten-thirty; Mrs Shaxted remembered the television news had just finished. Both fathers left their homes and walked between the houses, each taking one of the two routes Lucy would probably have followed to get home. They found no trace of the girl. At that point, Lucy’s father ran home and telephoned the police.’
Saunders interrupted, ‘What about boyfriends? In a case like this …’
‘Lucy’s parents said she didn’t have a boyfriend.’
Jenny took another mouthful of coffee and Nat Borrowdale, who had been visibly itching to speak, seized his chance.
‘Mr and Mrs Shaxted said the same and Debbie confirmed it. She said neither of them has a boyfriend.’
Saunders’s eyes flicked from Eastham to Borrowdale. ‘I assume you got a description and a recent photograph?’
‘We got a good head and shoulders taken three months ago.’ Nat glanced down at his notes. ‘Her parents described her height as five-three to five-four, jaw-length mid-brown hair. She left home last night with a grey-blue cardigan over a white blouse and faded jeans. She was wearing brown flat-heeled shoes.’
‘The Shaxteds gave a similar description and Debbie confirmed the clothes,’ said Jenny. ‘She may be 17 but from the photo I’d say she looks younger and her clothes are rather old-fashioned for a teenager.’
DS Potts, whose eyes had been directed at his cupped hands, raised his head. ‘The photo’s been copied and distributed to the morning shift together with her description.’
‘So, what have we got?’ Saunders began to summarize. ‘Lucy Naylor, a 17-year-old schoolgirl with no known boyfriend, disappeared just after ten yesterday evening sometime during the five to six minutes it would take her to walk from the home of her friend, Debbie Shaxted, on Victoria Road to her own house on Hollowmede.’
‘What’s that stretch like between the two houses?’
Canterbury was Potts’s domain. He immediately roused himself and responded to Ed’s question.
‘Depends which way she went. Debbie said she left the house and turned left. That would give her two routes home, but Debbie said they generally took the pathway that runs from the southern end of