Post Mortem by Kate London Page B

malicious comms drop because Mehenni wouldn’t accept responsibility for the crim dam.’
    Another Bloody Mary had appeared in front of her. Furtively someone passed Sergeant Thompson’s card under the table for her to sign. She saw written, Never liked you and added her own inevitable insult: Good riddance to bad rubbish .
    She glanced across at the other officers. Thompson had been given a plastic cock and it was being passed around, in and out of trouser flies. The team was like a pack of dogs, each fitting in as best they could, neither sweet-natured nor nasty, just a member of the group. She longed to merge herself in this identity and pull the sledge with the others. They were a breed apart, mysteriously but somehow unavoidably tainted by their labour. If you were one of them, it was best to be truly one of them.
    Hadley was talking. ‘I wanted to ask you about the complaint.’
    It was a weary subject and she didn’t want to get drawn in, but she was tired and it was easier to stay here than to make the effortto join in with the others. All that cock business would be really trying. Her fatigue was compounded by the increasing effect of alcohol. Perhaps she should give up and go home to her bed, but, she told herself, it would look bad to leave so early. Besides, as she barely admitted, even though it was silly, she couldn’t help herself waiting, hoping. She glanced around the room. She could not see Shaw.
    Hadley muttered into his beer, ‘I’ve got a board coming up.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜It’s for training school. If I get it, it’ll take me off the streets.’
    â€˜You gonna be a shiny arse?’
    â€˜All right, Cagney, give me a break. I’m too old for early turn and freezing crime scenes. Only three more years to go and then I’m off.’
    She glanced at her watch. If Shaw didn’t turn up, she would give up and leave in five minutes. Then she saw him, standing at the bar. He was away from the main crowd, talking to one of the skippers. He glanced over to her and made a drinking gesture. She tapped her glass and gave a thumbs-up. There, in spite of herself, was that involuntary hope again, that excitement that was almost physical and had nothing to do with anything she had dared to even think through.
    Hadley was still speaking. ‘If you could just say you were in the room the whole time . . . Say it’s not true what she’s claiming.’
    Arif gestured to her to come and join him in some dancing. He had somehow got hold of a feather boa. She waved back at him. Later . The evening’s prospects were improving.
    â€˜But Hadley, I wasn’t there . . .’
    â€˜It’s not bloody true what she’s saying – I’ll tell you exactly what happened and you just repeat it in a statement. Then it’ll be resolved locally. Otherwise it’ll take bloody ages. The bloody inspector could have knocked it on the head, but he’s got an eye on promotion.’
    â€˜That doesn’t sound like the guv’nor.’
    â€˜I didn’t mean our guv’nor. I meant Inspector Grosz. It wasn’t passed to Shaw, was it? He wasn’t allowed to deal.’
    She remembered vaguely the mention of a solicitor at the front desk. Perhaps he’d insisted on a different, independent inspector.
    â€˜Hadley, it’ll all get sorted . . .’
    â€˜But too late for the board.’
    She couldn’t see what the fuss was about. He could survive three more years of crime scenes, surely? This was the bit where cops were supposed to keep their head down and bide their time in anticipation of the handshake.
    A Bloody Mary was placed on the table in front of her. The guv’nor joined them, taking a seat opposite her. She took a sip of her drink, trying not to betray her pleasure in his arrival. She had to work out how to enjoy rather than suffer these five minutes of his company.
    â€˜All