minute.’
He continued to drum on the table while he waited. Finally he heard the voice he recognized so well. ‘Taylor.’
‘Hello, Mark,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s Sean.’ Taylor didn’t respond for a moment. ‘Sean Carter,’ he clarified.
‘Yeah, I know who it is,’ Taylor conceded abruptly. ‘What can I do for you, Sean?’ His voice was level, emotionless. Carter knew him well enough to know that he was waiting to take offence at something, anything, no matter how small.
‘I need your help, Mark.’
‘I’m very busy.’ It was the second time someone had said that to him today.
‘I know, Mark. Look, it won’t take long. It’s about the incident in Newington Park last night. Can I come and see you? I’m just round the corner.’ A silence. ‘Please, it’s important.’
‘OK. But you’ll have to make it quick.’
Twenty minutes later Carter was being escorted to his old friend. It had been a while since he had seen him, but it took only one glance for the features to crystallize in his mind once more. He looked older; his brown eyes were as sharp as ever, only masked now with a glassiness that spoke of a little too much fondness for drink. He’s not a stupid man, Carter reminded himself. Cynical, maybe; jaded, certainly; but don’t underestimate him. And remember: he used to be your friend.
Neither man proffered a hand – they knew it would be an empty gesture. Taylor merely indicated that Carter should pull up a chair and sit down beside his desk.
‘Long time,’ Carter said warmly. The fact that the relationship had cooled over the years gave him no pleasure. ‘Family well?’
Taylor shrugged, but he couldn’t stop himself making a few proud comments. ‘Annabelle’s fine. Still making my life hell, but that’s her job. Samantha wants to be a teacher, more fool her.’
‘I remember when she was a little girl and wanted to be a police officer like her dad.’
‘Yeah, well, we soon talked that out of her. Look, Sean, much as I’d love to sit here and reminisce about the good old days, us proper policemen actually have a bit of work to do, and I’m bloody busy.’
Carter smiled ruefully to himself. ‘Then I won’t take up any more of your time than I have to. I need everything you’ve got on the Newington Park killing last night.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think your suspect is involved with a case I’m investigating.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Taylor scoffed. ‘She was a bum. Homeless. Probably a junkie. Why would the SFO be interested in her?’
‘Do you have a name?’
‘Yes,’ Taylor replied unhelpfully.
‘Well, what is it, Mark?’
‘Why do you need to know?’ Taylor folded his arms and looked stubbornly across the table.
Carter pinched between his eyes in frustration. ‘I can’t tell you, Mark. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Sean,’ Taylor burst out. ‘Why do you always have to be so cloak and dagger?’
‘I’m not being cloak and dagger, Mark. I just can’t tell you at the moment. Now do you want to give me the information I need, or am I going to have to go above your head?’ He hadn’t wanted to make that threat, but Mark was being childish.
Taylor looked at his former friend with undisguised dislike. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you?’
‘No, Mark,’ Carter told him wearily. ‘I wouldn’t. I just need to know what you’ve got.’
Reluctantly Taylor rummaged through a pile of papers, pulled out a copy of the photograph of Frankie and handed it to Carter. ‘Francesca Mills,’ he told him. ‘Nineteen years old. Ran away from home four years ago, hasn’t been heard of since. Mother and stepfather live in Surrey.She’s a housewife, he’s a local sergeant. There’s no other close family that we think she could have gone to, and she hasn’t been in touch with anyone since she disappeared. The stepfather told us they thought she’d gone the same way as her dad.’
Carter looked quizzically at him.
‘Dead,’
He continued to drum on the table while he waited. Finally he heard the voice he recognized so well. ‘Taylor.’
‘Hello, Mark,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s Sean.’ Taylor didn’t respond for a moment. ‘Sean Carter,’ he clarified.
‘Yeah, I know who it is,’ Taylor conceded abruptly. ‘What can I do for you, Sean?’ His voice was level, emotionless. Carter knew him well enough to know that he was waiting to take offence at something, anything, no matter how small.
‘I need your help, Mark.’
‘I’m very busy.’ It was the second time someone had said that to him today.
‘I know, Mark. Look, it won’t take long. It’s about the incident in Newington Park last night. Can I come and see you? I’m just round the corner.’ A silence. ‘Please, it’s important.’
‘OK. But you’ll have to make it quick.’
Twenty minutes later Carter was being escorted to his old friend. It had been a while since he had seen him, but it took only one glance for the features to crystallize in his mind once more. He looked older; his brown eyes were as sharp as ever, only masked now with a glassiness that spoke of a little too much fondness for drink. He’s not a stupid man, Carter reminded himself. Cynical, maybe; jaded, certainly; but don’t underestimate him. And remember: he used to be your friend.
Neither man proffered a hand – they knew it would be an empty gesture. Taylor merely indicated that Carter should pull up a chair and sit down beside his desk.
‘Long time,’ Carter said warmly. The fact that the relationship had cooled over the years gave him no pleasure. ‘Family well?’
Taylor shrugged, but he couldn’t stop himself making a few proud comments. ‘Annabelle’s fine. Still making my life hell, but that’s her job. Samantha wants to be a teacher, more fool her.’
‘I remember when she was a little girl and wanted to be a police officer like her dad.’
‘Yeah, well, we soon talked that out of her. Look, Sean, much as I’d love to sit here and reminisce about the good old days, us proper policemen actually have a bit of work to do, and I’m bloody busy.’
Carter smiled ruefully to himself. ‘Then I won’t take up any more of your time than I have to. I need everything you’ve got on the Newington Park killing last night.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think your suspect is involved with a case I’m investigating.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Taylor scoffed. ‘She was a bum. Homeless. Probably a junkie. Why would the SFO be interested in her?’
‘Do you have a name?’
‘Yes,’ Taylor replied unhelpfully.
‘Well, what is it, Mark?’
‘Why do you need to know?’ Taylor folded his arms and looked stubbornly across the table.
Carter pinched between his eyes in frustration. ‘I can’t tell you, Mark. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Sean,’ Taylor burst out. ‘Why do you always have to be so cloak and dagger?’
‘I’m not being cloak and dagger, Mark. I just can’t tell you at the moment. Now do you want to give me the information I need, or am I going to have to go above your head?’ He hadn’t wanted to make that threat, but Mark was being childish.
Taylor looked at his former friend with undisguised dislike. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you?’
‘No, Mark,’ Carter told him wearily. ‘I wouldn’t. I just need to know what you’ve got.’
Reluctantly Taylor rummaged through a pile of papers, pulled out a copy of the photograph of Frankie and handed it to Carter. ‘Francesca Mills,’ he told him. ‘Nineteen years old. Ran away from home four years ago, hasn’t been heard of since. Mother and stepfather live in Surrey.She’s a housewife, he’s a local sergeant. There’s no other close family that we think she could have gone to, and she hasn’t been in touch with anyone since she disappeared. The stepfather told us they thought she’d gone the same way as her dad.’
Carter looked quizzically at him.
‘Dead,’
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