‘Yo, go for it,’ Carol muttered under her breath.
‘Haven’t you left it a bit late? Hasn’t the murderer had a head start because you wouldn’t acknowledge he was a serial killer?’ a voice from the rear of the pack shouted angrily.
Brandon squared his shoulders and looked stern. ‘We’re policemen, not clairvoyants. We don’t theorize ahead of the evidence. Rest assured, we will be doing everything within our power to bring this killer to justice as swiftly as is humanly possible.’
‘Will you be using a psychological profiler?’ It was Penny Burgess again. Tom Cross shot Tony a look of pure hatred.
Brandon smiled. ‘That’s all for now, ladies and gentlemen. There will be a statement later from the force press office. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a lot of work to do.’ He nodded benevolently towards the press, then he turned away, taking Cross firmly by the elbow. They walked back towards the alley, Cross’s back rigid with fury. Carol and Tony followed a few paces behind. As they went, Penny Burgess’s voice rang out behind them. ‘Inspector Jordan? Who’s the new boy?’
‘God, that woman doesn’t miss a trick,’ Carol muttered.
‘I’d better keep out of her way, then,’ Tony remarked. ‘Me ending up front-page news could be a serious health hazard.’
Carol stopped in her tracks. ‘You mean the killer could target you?’
Tony grinned. ‘No. I mean your Chief Constable would have an apoplexy.’
The irresistible urge to mirror his smile hit Carol. This man was unlike any Home Office Jobsworth she’d ever encountered. Not only did he have a sense of humour, he didn’t mind being indiscreet. And close up, he definitely fell into the category her friend Lucy described as ‘a bit chewy’. He was showing signs of being the first interesting man she’d met in the Job for a very long time. ‘You could be right,’ was all she said, managing to sound noncommittal enough for her words not to be held against her.
They reached the corner of the alley in time to see Tom Cross round on Brandon. ‘With respect, sir, you just contradicted everything I’ve been telling them buggers since this sideshow started.’
‘It’s time for a different approach, Tom,’ Brandon said coolly.
‘So why not discuss it with me instead of making me look a dickhead in front of that mob? Not to mention my own men.’ Cross leaned forward belligerently. His hand strayed upwards, index finger pointed, as if he were going to stab Brandon in the chest with it. But common sense careerism prevailed, and the hand dropped back by his side.
‘You think if I’d had you in my office and suggested a different approach I’d have got one?’ There was steel beneath the mildness in Brandon’s voice, and Cross recognized it.
His lower jaw jutted. ‘At the end of the day, operational decisions are down to me,’ he said. Beneath the belligerence, Tony pictured a small boy, an aggressive bully resenting the adults who still had the power to sort him out.
‘But I’m the ACC Crime and the buck stops with me. I make the policy decisions, and I’ve just made one that happens to impact on your sphere of operations. From now on, this is one single major incident enquiry. Is that clear, Tom? Or do you want to take it further?’ For the first time, Carol saw for herself how John Brandon had climbed so far up the greasy pole. The threat in his voice was no empty posturing. He was clearly prepared to do whatever it took to achieve his ends, and he acted with all the assurance of a man used to winning. There was nowhere left for Tom Cross to go.
Cross rounded on Carol. ‘Have you got nothing better to do, Inspector?’
‘I’m waiting to make my report, sir,’ she said. ‘You told me to wait for you after the press conference.’
‘Before you get into that … Tom, let me introduce you to Dr Tony Hill,’ Brandon said, motioning Tony to come forward.
‘We’ve met,’ Cross said, sullen as a schoolboy.
‘Dr Hill has agreed to work closely with us in this investigation. He’s got more experience in profiling serial offenders than just about anybody else in the country. He’s also agreed to keep his involvement under wraps.’
Tony gave a self-deprecating, diplomatic smile. ‘That’s right. The last thing I want is to turn your enquiry into a sideshow. If there’s any credit going when we nail this bastard, I want it to go to your team. They’ll be the ones doing the work, after all.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ Cross muttered. ‘I don’t want you under our feet, getting in the road.’
‘None of us want that, Tom,’ Brandon said. ‘That’s why I’ve asked Carol to act as liaison officer between Tony and us.’
‘I can’t afford to lose a senior officer at a time like this,’ Cross protested.
‘You’re not losing her,’ Brandon said. ‘You’re gaining an officer with a unique overview of all the cases. Could prove invaluable, Tom.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I better be off. The Chief’s going to want a briefing on this one. Keep me posted, Tom.’ Brandon sketched a wave and stepped back into the street and out of sight.
Cross pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up. ‘You know your trouble, Inspector?’ he said. ‘You’re not as smart as you like to think you are. One step out of line, lady, and I’ll have your guts for a jock strap.’ He took a deep drag of his cigarette and leaned forward to blow smoke in Carol’s direction. The gesture was ruined by the gust of wind that snatched the smoke away before it reached her. Looking disgusted, Cross turned on his heel and marched back to the scene of the crime.
‘You meet a nice class of person in this job,’ Carol said.
‘At least I know now which way the wind blows,’ Tony replied. As he spoke, he felt a drop of rain on his face.
‘Oh shit,’ Carol said. ‘That’s all we need. Look, can we meet tomorrow? I can grab the files tonight and skim them beforehand. Then you can get stuck in.’
‘Fine. My office, ten o’clock?’
‘Perfect. How do I find you?’
Tony gave Carol directions, then watched as she hurried back down the alley. An interesting woman. And attractive too, most men would agree to that. There were times when he almost wished he could find an uncomplicated response in himself. But he’d long since gone beyond the point where he would allow himself to be attracted to a woman like Carol Jordan.
It was after seven when Carol finally made it back to headquarters. When she rang John Brandon’s extension, she was pleasantly surprised to find him still at his desk. ‘Come on up,’ he told her.
She was even more surprised when she walked through his secretary’s door and found him pouring two steaming mugs from the coffee maker. ‘Milk and sugar?’ he asked her.
‘Neither,’ she said. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘I gave up smoking five years ago,’ Brandon confided. ‘Now it’s only the caffeine that holds me together. Come through.’
Carol walked into his office, fired with curiosity. She’d never been across the threshold before. The decor was regulation cream paint, the furniture identical to Cross’s office, except that here the wood was gleaming, free from scuffs, scratches, cigarette burns and the telltale rings left by hot cups. Unlike most senior officers, Brandon hadn’t decorated his walls with police photographs and his framed commendations. Instead, he’d chosen half a dozen reproductions of turn-of-the-century paintings of Bradfield street scenes. Colourful yet moody, often rain-soaked, they mirrored the spectacular view from the seventhfloor window. The only item in the room that ran true to expectation was the photograph of his wife and children on the desk. Even that was no posed, studio shot, but an enlargement of a holiday snap on board a sailboat. Deduction: