Still Waters by John Harvey Page A

boss,” Jackie said. “This is the way we’d like it to play out.”

    The CID room was empty, save for Lynn worrying away at an electronic typewriter that should have been pensioned off a long time back. Resnick stood in the doorway, wondering how long it would take till she was forced to recognize that he was there.
    â€œThe Family Support Unit,” Lynn said finally. “I went down to see them myself. They’ve given me an interview, Friday. Half-nine. If that’s all right.”
    Resnick nodded. “That’s fine.”
    He went into his office and closed the door. Before he could sit down, the phone rang; it was Suzanne Olds.
    â€œMark Divine,” she said. “He got bail.”
    Resnick breathed a slow sigh of relief.
    â€œThey made a condition of residence, of course.”
    â€œThe flat here in the city?”
    â€œYes. Banned from visiting Derby city center or any nightclub anywhere this side of the trial. Forbidden from contacting or interfering with any of the prosecution’s witnesses. All pretty much what you’d expect.”
    â€œAnd Mark?”
    â€œSaid if they thought they could tell him what he could do with his own time, they had their heads up their arses.”
    â€œHe’ll calm down.”
    â€œMaybe.” She sounded less than confident.
    â€œI’ll call round,” Resnick assured her, “have a word. He’ll see sense in the end.”
    From the tone of her reply, Suzanne Olds didn’t seem convinced.
    Resnick ran the gauntlet of traffic across to Canning Circus and haggled over which kind of mustard to have with a honey roast ham and Emmenthal sandwich, a generously proportioned dill pickle on the side. He was carrying this back into the building as Jack Skelton, shoes shining like there was no tomorrow, came hurrying down the stairs.
    â€œOff to Central, Charlie. Something’s come up with these Serious Crime appointments. Pow-wow with the chief. Ride with me, you can always get yourself a lift back.”
    Sitting next to Skelton in the back of the car, Resnick brought him up to speed on the situation with Divine, and outlined the details of his meeting with Jackie Ferris.
    â€œHuh,” Skelton grunted, “the Yard’ll not be helping us monitor your pal Grabianski and dole out expert advice, without wanting plenty in return.”
    â€œA little information,” Resnick said, not quite believing it. “Some forgery scam they’re interested in. They’ve got the idea Grabianski might lead them to the people involved. Whatever we get out of him, they want us to feed back to them.”
    â€œAnd that’s all?”
    Resnick shrugged. “So far.”
    Skelton took a roll of extra-strong mints from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. “Well, run with it for now. But don’t commit more than we can afford. And watch they don’t give you the run-around. Smart bastards, the lot of ’em. Treat us like country cousins if we give them the chance.”
    Resnick still had his sandwich, more squashed than perhaps was comfortable but the taste would be pretty much the same. When he sat down on the bench across from Peachey Street, the winos who sojourned there daily, dawn to dusk, looked at him askance. He washed it down with a brace of espressos at the Italian coffee stall nearby and talked Aldo into letting him use his phone.
    Just back from work, Hannah’s spirits rose at the sound of his voice.
    There was cucumber and dill soup in the freezer and they ate it with rye bread Resnick had picked up after leaving Aldo’s; later, a mixed salad dressed with honey and olive oil, a chunk of Wensleydale cheese and narrow slices of plum tart. When Hannah went upstairs to work for a while, Resnick called Graham Millington at home and got his wife instead. The sergeant was out for the evening and wouldn’t be back till late; seeing one of his informants, Madeleine thought,