wished he could turn down the heat.
“Sergeant Morriss?” The voice on the landline was warm, friendly. It took Bev a couple of seconds to place it. She was at her desk, writing the tenth or eleventh report of the morning. Bliss on a Bic. Not. Months ago, she’d read an article: Sir Ronnie Flanagan, chief inspector of constabulary no less, had worked out that fifty-six million police hours a year went on paperwork. Bev reckoned fifty-five million of them were down to her. Any distraction was welcome. Usually.
“Ms Kendall.” Clipped, cool.
“Anna, please.” Bev heard the smile, ignored a pause for her to respond in kind. “Sorry, sergeant. If you’re busy...?”
“Get to the point, love.” Churlish. Childish. Why was she such a cow to the woman?
“I could call back...”
Exaggerated sigh. “What you want?” Bev doodled on a piece of card: a witch with warty chin, hairy hooked nose.
“I work on features, right?”
Bollock-alert. She blackened a witchy tooth. “And?”
“You’re a female detective fighting crime on the front line.”
“Hold it right there, love.” She was seeing a wall with a fly on it. And herself writhing under a media microscope.
“Come on, Bev, you’re a great role model. I watched the way you handled those kids at Hillside. I’d love to shadow you for a few days. See how a modern day cop copes with the pressures policing the mean streets. Tell it like it really is. You’d be ace, Bev.”
Lick my bum, why don’t you? As for first name terms – in your dreams. “Paperwork and plod, Ms Kendall.”
“Not all the time. And when it is... I’ll say so.” Another pause. Letting the sincerity sink in? “Honest, Bev, I’m not in the habit of making it up as I go along. I’m sick of seeing the police get a bad press. Why not show it from a cop’s point of view for a change?”
Bev knew Kendall was bullshitting, but... “Yeah, OK. I’ll think about it.” It might be worth keeping her sweet. The writer worked alongside Snow, could pick up the odd titbit, pass it on to Bev. It might open newsroom doors without getting a warrant first.
“Fantastic! I’ve already run the idea past the police press office.” Had she indeed? Sharper than she looked then. “I reckon we could get a series out of this. Crime’s so sexy at the moment... when I say sexy... I mean...”
“Don’t worry. I get the drift.” Her lip twitched in a wry smile, picturing Kendall’s unease. Not to mention Powell strutting round in Rocky Horror gear. “Give us your number. I’ll get back soon as.”
She provided three. “Did Matt Snow call by the way? I gave him your card last night.”
“Spoke to him first thing.” No detail. None to give. Not that she would.
“Was he OK?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just that he called in sick this morning. Stomach bug, I think.”
“Did he now?” Keeping Kendall sweet was a no-brainer. She’d just revealed a big fat Snow porkie. Git said the news desk had called him out. She’d keep that up her interview sleeve when the lying rat came in later. The reporter hadn’t shown at Highgate this morning, but had sent her a text with a new ETA.
She glanced at her watch. It was late o’clock. “Gotta dash, Anna.”
“OK. Thanks for your time. Oh and Bev? That comment about the baby? I was completely out of order. You’re only just starting to show, aren’t you? If you’re anything like me, you’re not making a big thing of it yet. I don’t know how you feel, but I was dead scared early on... losing it... you know?”
“Yeah.” She cut the connection, laid a hand on her belly. “Something like that.”
“Talking to yourself, boss.” Mac stood in the doorway.
She scowled. “You ever knock?”
“The DI says you’re nipping out?”
“Couple hours tops.” Powell had OK’d the favour. P’raps she ought to bite her tongue more often. She threw a few bits into her bag. Damn mayo everywhere. “Personal stuff.”
“Fine by me.” He
Brenda Novak
Italo Calvino
C. C. Hunter
ylugin
Mario Puzo
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Toby Neal
Amarinda Jones
Ashley Hunter
Riley Clifford