‘I don’t know that Gregory Munro’s murder was sexually motivated. Right now all we’ve got is circumstantial evidence.’
‘But it’s circumstantial evidence there for the taking, Erika. Of course, it’s your call, but you could do yourself a favour and offload it.’
‘Haven’t they got enough to deal with, sir?’
‘Haven’t we all?’ he said, scraping the last of his yoghurt from the pot.
‘This puts me back to square one,’ said Erika, sitting in gloomy silence for a moment. She watched people stream past the glass window, happy in the summer sun.
‘There’s also a superintendent vacancy coming up,’ said Marsh, swallowing.
Erika turned to him. ‘I hope, if you haven’t already done so, sir, that you’ll be putting me forward. I’ve been a DCI rank long enough now and I deserve—’
‘Hang on, hang on, you don’t know where it is,’ said Marsh.
‘I don’t care where it is.’
‘You just said you were starting to feel settled!’
‘I am, but I feel I’ve been overlooked lately. There was a superintendent post last year, it came and went, and you didn’t…’
‘I didn’t think you were ready.’
‘And what gives you the right to make that decision, Paul?’ snapped Erika.
Marsh’s eyebrows popped up above his sunglasses. ‘Erika, you had only just returned to service after sustaining injuries resulting in major surgery, not to mention the trauma of…’
‘I’d also successfully apprehended a killer of four and I handed the Met, on a plate, the leader of a gang of Romanians trafficking Eastern European women to England to work as prostitutes!’
‘Erika, no one has your back more than me, but you need to learn to be tactical. To progress in the force you not only need to be a great copper, you need a bit of political nous. It wouldn’t hurt to work on your relationship with Assistant Commissioner Oakley.’
‘My track record should be enough, and I haven’t got the time or inclination to go on some arse-kissing offensive with top brass.’
‘It’s not about going on an arse-kissing offensive. You just have to be more… user-friendly.’
‘So, where is it, the superintendent position?’
‘Here in the Met, based in New Scotland Yard, working in the Specialist Casework Investigation Team.’
‘You’ll put me forward, yes?’ insisted Erika.
‘Yeah.’
Erika gave him a look.
‘I mean it, I will put you forward,’ repeated Marsh.
‘Thank you. So, even more of a reason for me to steer clear of Gary Wilmslow?’
‘Yes,’ Marsh said, tapping his spoon in the empty pot. ‘Although, for selfish reasons I’d hate to lose you.’
‘I’m sure you’ll get over it,’ said Erika with a wry grin.
Marsh’s phone rang, deep in one of his pockets, and he wiped his mouth and pulled it out. When he answered, it quickly became apparent that it was his wife, Marcie.
‘Shit,’ he said, when he came off the phone. ‘I didn’t see the time. Tonight is date night. Marcie’s mum has got the kids.’
‘Sure, say hi to Marcie. I’ve got to be somewhere too,’ Erika lied.
‘Let’s touch base tomorrow,’ Marsh said. He left, and Erika watched as he came out onto the pavement and hailed a passing taxi. He got in and was already engrossed in his phone as the taxi pulled away.
Everywhere Erika looked people were enjoying the sunshine, walking in pairs, friends or couples. She took a big spoonful of yoghurt and sat back for a moment. She wondered if Marsh had played her, or if the promise of a promotion had been genuine. She thought of the Gregory Munro case, and how she was back to square one.
‘Shit!’ she said, loudly.
A couple of young girls sitting next to her in the window looked at each other and, picking up their frozen yoghurt, moved tables.
14
NIGHT OWL: Hey, Duke.
DUKE: Jeez. You’ve been quiet. I’ve been worried.
NIGHT OWL: Worried?
DUKE: Yeah. I hadn’t heard anything from u. I thought you’d been…
NIGHT OWL: Been what?
DUKE: You know. I don’t want to type it.
NIGHT OWL: Arrested?
DUKE: Shit! Be careful.
NIGHT OWL: We’re encrypted. It’s cool.
DUKE: You never know who’s watching.
NIGHT OWL: You’re paranoid.
DUKE: I can think of worse things to be.