Deptford, once a thriving dockland, had gone through various incarnations in its past. In the present post-industrial era it had become an urban waste, and even though at the same time it had developed a lively arts and cultural scene, crime and poverty were rampant behind its colourful façade. As a result, though things had improved a little since the dawn of the twenty-first century, there was still an aura of ‘Fort Apache’ about Deptford Green nick, and this was reflected inside as well as out. Even by normal London standards, it was an extraordinarily busy police station. Both uniform and plain clothes officers tended to scramble about its cramped rabbit-warren of passages and rooms as though in a ‘life or death’ hurry. There was a constant trilling of telephones and barking of orders. The custody suite was never less than full of prisoners waiting to be processed.
Of course, Sunday morning could be an exception. Even the bleakest corners of the inner city tended to be quiet in the soporific hours following the weekly Saturday night booze-fest.
For this reason, when Heck drove in just after ten that morning, he was surprised to see several more cars parked up than usual, and one in particular – a white BMW Coupe. He stood looking at it for a moment, before going wearily in through the personnel door. The first person he met on entering was Paula Clark, his civilian admin assistant. She was a short, buxom lady, a local lass – bleached-blonde and busty, very much in the Barbara Windsor mould – who’d been loaned to him from local CID Admin.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said, surprised to see her at the weekend.
Paula appeared to be on her way out. She was carrying her coat and a handbag under one arm, and a bundle of reports, which she presumably intended to type up at home, under the other. She didn’t smile when she saw him – not that she smiled very much – though on this particular occasion she looked even more irate than usual.
‘I had to come in and sort some papers out because you weren’t answering your phone,’ she said.
He filched his mobile from his jacket pocket and saw that it was dead. ‘Bastard thing’s on the blink again.’
‘Superintendent Piper’s here,’ she added.
‘I know. I’ve just seen her car outside. What does she want?’
‘You.’ Paula gave him a long, meaningful look, then bustled past on her spike-heels and exited the building.
Heck ascended to the second floor via the back stairs. The office he currently worked from was located in what he was sure was the most under-used and least accessible corner of the building. Local officers here still referred to it as ‘the spare parade room’ even though Heck had now occupied it for over two years.
He headed down the corridor towards it, only stopping when he saw that the door was already open and the tall shape of Detective Inspector Des Palliser standing there. Palliser was fifty-five now and a hard-bitten cop of many years’ experience, though his lean, grizzled appearance – he was leathery skinned and had sported a scraggy grey beard and moustache for as long as Heck could remember – belied a genial personality. He spotted Heck immediately and beckoned. Heck slouched on towards him, in no hurry. There was someone else in the office, pacing around behind Palliser. By the statuesque shape, pearl blouse, tight black skirt and mass of tawny hair (she wasn’t known as ‘the Lioness’ for nothing), he knew it was Detective Superintendent Gemma Piper. Not atypically, she had a pile of documents in her hand and was discarding them irritably, one after another, as she read speedily through them.
‘Morning at last,’ Palliser said, when Heck reached him.
Heck didn’t say anything. He’d just spotted a notice that someone had hung on the outside of the office door, which read:
WDFA Squad
(We Do Fuck All)
He could have done without that at a time like this, he thought.
Detective Superintendent Piper was now regarding him from the other side of the room. Locks of hair, which she tended to wear up during the day, had come loose and hung to either shoulder, making her look rather fetching. But she was pale in the cheek and her steel-blue eyes blazed.
‘Do you know we’ve been waiting nearly two hours?’ she said.
‘Er … no, I didn’t.’
‘What do you think you’re playing at, Heck?’ she demanded. Heck was six foot, but Superintendent Piper wasn’t a great deal shorter than him; even if she had been, her force of personality was colossal. She stalked the room in anger. ‘You think I want to spend my Sunday mornings sifting through your chaotic trash?’
‘My phone’s not working.’
‘Well get one that does!’
‘I will … if I can include it on my expenses.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘You what?’
‘I’ve worn it out on this job, so if I have to buy another one …’
‘Are you deliberately winding me up?’
‘No, it’s just that …’
‘Because I’m not in the mood.’
‘I can see that.’
She jabbed a finger at him. ‘And don’t smart-mouth me either.’
‘An apology might be in order, Heck,’ Palliser said. ‘You have kept us waiting.’
‘I know, sorry. But I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘That’s plainly obvious,’ Superintendent Piper replied, gesturing at the piles of disorderly documentation stacked between the computer terminals, at the unwashed coffee mugs, at the overflowing in-trays. ‘Look at this place; it’s like a bomb site. And while we’re on the subject …’ She crossed the room and snatched the notice from the outside of the door. ‘What’s this supposed to be?’
Heck gave a wry smile. ‘Wouldn’t be a normal day without one of these appearing.’
‘You been rubbing people up the wrong way?’
‘I don’t get close enough to rub anyone up any way,’ he said. ‘Not anymore. I’m pretty sure it was one of this nick’s detectives who tipped off Bobby Ballamara that his daughter’s disappearance is being treated as part of a series. Don’t see how else he could have found out. He’s made my life hell ever since.’
‘Have you got proof of that?’ Palliser asked, looking shocked.
‘Course I haven’t.’
‘And in the meantime, what does this mean?’ Superintendent Piper asked, still brandishing the notice.
Heck shrugged. ‘You know what Division are like – they don’t think anyone works as hard as they do. According to them, I’m on a very cushy number here.’
‘Unfortunately, they’re not the only ones who think that.’ There was a brief silence. Superintendent Piper suddenly looked awkward, uncomfortable.
‘Oh,’ Heck replied. ‘So that’s how it is?’
‘You must’ve known something like this was coming,’ Palliser said.
‘Rumblings at the Yard, are there?’
‘Your comparative-case-analysis didn’t have the desired effect,’ Palliser explained.
Heck slumped into a chair, making no effort to disguise his irritation. ‘Three bloody weeks I worked on that.’
‘The effort was clearly there,’ Superintendent Piper said, sitting opposite. ‘But that’s all. Considering the time put in, the evidence is too thin. How long have you been on this case now?’
‘Two years, four months.’
‘And ground gained –