Blood Work by Mark Pearson

is appropriate for you to take the lead on this
investigation. Which is why I have instructed
Detective Inspector Skinner to coordinate with the
prison authorities and their internal investigation.'
    'With respect, sir, Norrell said he would only speak
to me.'
    The superintendent frowned. 'I don't think he is in
any condition to speak to anyone just now.'
    'Convenient timing.'
    Superintendent Napier sighed. 'Concentrate on this
dead woman on the common, Delaney. Any
movement on identifying her?'
    'Nothing yet, but we're working on it. She doesn't
match anyone on the missing persons' register.'
    'I want a tight lid, Delaney. I've already had the
press wanting details.'
    'Maybe it would help, sir. Someone probably
knows her.'
    'We speak to the press when I say. We clear on
that, Inspector?'
    'Sir.'
    Delaney turned to leave, pausing at the door as the
superintendent called him back.
    'One more thing, Delaney.'
    'Sir?'
    'I am well aware what happened between you and
my predecessor. Diane Campbell argued very
strongly for bringing you back into the fold. I think
you should know that I had grave misgivings but
allowed myself to be persuaded by her. I hope you
are not going to let me down.'
    'Just let me do my job, sir. That's all I ask.'
    The superintendent stood and picked up the file,
nodding a dismissal to Delaney. 'Go and do it then.'
    Delaney shut the door behind him. Napier walked
across to a filing cabinet and put the folder in the top
drawer. He looked at himself in the mirror and
smoothed his hair with the flat of his hand. He kept
himself in very good condition. A punishing fitness
schedule, good bone structure and clear, ebony skin
made him look younger than his fifty-two years, but
the white hair above his ears told the true story. As
he looked at his temples critically, he considered, yet
again, dyeing his hair, but then discounted it, as he
always did. Gravitas was far more becoming in a
career policeman than vanity. And George Napier
was nothing if not ambitious.
    He sat back behind his desk and thought about the
surly policeman who had just left his office. He
wasn't sure there was a place for people like him in
the force any more, but time would tell: Jack Delaney
could be a help or a hindrance to him. And most of
the people who had spoken to the superintendent
said Delaney was a first-rate detective with good
instincts and a great success rate. If his foot danced a
little outside the touchline now and again that was
fine by him, as long as he didn't drop the ball. But if
he did lose it in the tackle, if he became more of a
liability than an asset, then George Napier was going
to come down on him like an All Blacks front line.
Guaranteed.
    Delaney paused at the drinks cooler filling a cup as
DI Jimmy Skinner approached. Delaney was still considered
tall, at six feet, but Jimmy Skinner had a good
few inches on him. He was a lot thinner, though, and
pale-faced from too many nights playing Internet
poker. His wife had left him the previous January
because he had refused to walk away from an online
game at midnight to hear Big Ben chime the New
Year in and kiss her on the final bong. He had felt
quite justified, however, as he was holding two aces
with a third on the flop. But his wife didn't see it that
way, and now he had even more time on his hands.
'You've simply got to know when to hold them,
know when to fold them,' he had told his divorce
lawyer, who had told him that it was his balls his
wife was holding, fiscally speaking, and that she was
going to cut them off. Which she proceeded to do,
leaving Skinner a fiscal soprano.
    Skinner helped himself to a cup of water and
looked at Delaney. 'You spoke to the new big cheese
then?'
    Delaney drank his water in a long gulp almost
feeling the liquid rehydrating his veins. 'Yup.'
    'What do you make of him?'
    'Remember the old joke about how to become a
policeman?'
    'Grow a tit on your head and paint it