her to dress less for a night clubbing and more for a serious job, especially when the clinging and revealing clothes she favoured clungtoo tight and revealed rather too much forty-year-old flesh.
‘It’s just courtesy, really, ma’am,’ the younger woman said. ‘But with DCS Henson off sick and likely to be for some time, we thought you ought to know what we’re up to.’
Fran nodded her thanks. ‘Which is?’
‘We’ve picked up a guy with a long history of domestic violence. And other things.’
There was clearly a story here. ‘Sit down and tell me all about it. Coffee?’
‘No thanks. Not a lot to tell, guv. We’ve had our eye on him for some time in connection with the death of a prostitute in Ashford. We knew we’d get him eventually. There was some CCTV footage of a hooded man and plenty of DNA at the scene.’
‘But it’s one thing to have DNA, another to find out who it belongs to,’ Fran nodded.
‘Quite. Anyway, uniform got called to a domestic – quite a serious one, in fact – and as a result of the gob-swab they did on him then we’ve got him for the murder of the tom.’
Fran tried not to wince at the term she loathed. ‘How serious was the domestic?’
‘She died. We think it was accidental – I mean, if you really enjoy knocking a woman about, why spoil your hobby by killing the punch ball?’
Fran wasn’t entirely happy with Pearce’s cynical tone, but said nothing. Everyone dealt with their anger in their own way, and if that was Pearce’s so be it. So she asked, ‘Do we have any other unsolved murders on our books? Going back however long your man – did you tell me his name, by the way? – has been in the district?’
‘Dale Drury. Aged thirty-seven. Lives in Stanhope.’
‘Part of Ashford.’
‘Right. And not the loveliest. It’ll be better without him, anyway. He’s been this close to an ASBO a couple of times, and he’s only been there four years.’
‘Lovely man. OK. Do all that’s needful, Joanne, and call on me if there are problems. And do talk to him about any other crimes he might want to come clean about, won’t you?’
‘Any in particular, guv?’
However decent Pearce might be, Fran drew the line at confessing an illogical desire to find Drury had killed Janine Roper. ‘Any unsolved murders, crimes of violence, whatever. Our clear-up rates could do with a bit of a boost. Or even any another force might still have on their books. Let’s be Good Samaritans, shall we?’
Her jacket now on, and her bag in her hand, the last thing Fran wanted was another call. She had half a mind to pretend the office was empty, and let it ring on, but knew she would have to meet Pat’s eye if she did. So with strong reluctance she did her duty, bracing herself for a last-minute summons from Gates.
‘Harman,’ she declared, in her flattest, do-not-interrupt-my-thought-processes voice.
‘Fran?’ It was a woman’s voice at the other end.
‘Paula?’ Fran sat down, hard. Pact were going to give up on the Rectory, weren’t they?
‘Yes. Paula Farmer. We’ve got a tiny problem, Fran. No, nothing to panic about. It’s just that we – look, this may be fanciful, but we’ve an idea someone’s watching the house.’
‘Watching the Rectory? But it’s miles from anywhere! Why on earth?’
‘Oh, lots of good reasons. Stealing to order for one. You’ve still got wonderful original fireplaces and other features
in situ
. And our equipment’s worth a bit too. Would you mind if we took a few security precautions?’
‘Do whatever it takes, Paula.’
‘It’ll cost a bit to do it properly. We have our contacts, of course. But if you’ve people in mind you’d rather call on…’
‘How soon could you mobilise your people?’
‘As soon as we end this call.’
‘Please – just get on to it.’ Before she’d reached the end of the sentence the phone was dead.
‘It simply could have been Paula being ultra efficient, of course,’ Mark
‘It’s just courtesy, really, ma’am,’ the younger woman said. ‘But with DCS Henson off sick and likely to be for some time, we thought you ought to know what we’re up to.’
Fran nodded her thanks. ‘Which is?’
‘We’ve picked up a guy with a long history of domestic violence. And other things.’
There was clearly a story here. ‘Sit down and tell me all about it. Coffee?’
‘No thanks. Not a lot to tell, guv. We’ve had our eye on him for some time in connection with the death of a prostitute in Ashford. We knew we’d get him eventually. There was some CCTV footage of a hooded man and plenty of DNA at the scene.’
‘But it’s one thing to have DNA, another to find out who it belongs to,’ Fran nodded.
‘Quite. Anyway, uniform got called to a domestic – quite a serious one, in fact – and as a result of the gob-swab they did on him then we’ve got him for the murder of the tom.’
Fran tried not to wince at the term she loathed. ‘How serious was the domestic?’
‘She died. We think it was accidental – I mean, if you really enjoy knocking a woman about, why spoil your hobby by killing the punch ball?’
Fran wasn’t entirely happy with Pearce’s cynical tone, but said nothing. Everyone dealt with their anger in their own way, and if that was Pearce’s so be it. So she asked, ‘Do we have any other unsolved murders on our books? Going back however long your man – did you tell me his name, by the way? – has been in the district?’
‘Dale Drury. Aged thirty-seven. Lives in Stanhope.’
‘Part of Ashford.’
‘Right. And not the loveliest. It’ll be better without him, anyway. He’s been this close to an ASBO a couple of times, and he’s only been there four years.’
‘Lovely man. OK. Do all that’s needful, Joanne, and call on me if there are problems. And do talk to him about any other crimes he might want to come clean about, won’t you?’
‘Any in particular, guv?’
However decent Pearce might be, Fran drew the line at confessing an illogical desire to find Drury had killed Janine Roper. ‘Any unsolved murders, crimes of violence, whatever. Our clear-up rates could do with a bit of a boost. Or even any another force might still have on their books. Let’s be Good Samaritans, shall we?’
Her jacket now on, and her bag in her hand, the last thing Fran wanted was another call. She had half a mind to pretend the office was empty, and let it ring on, but knew she would have to meet Pat’s eye if she did. So with strong reluctance she did her duty, bracing herself for a last-minute summons from Gates.
‘Harman,’ she declared, in her flattest, do-not-interrupt-my-thought-processes voice.
‘Fran?’ It was a woman’s voice at the other end.
‘Paula?’ Fran sat down, hard. Pact were going to give up on the Rectory, weren’t they?
‘Yes. Paula Farmer. We’ve got a tiny problem, Fran. No, nothing to panic about. It’s just that we – look, this may be fanciful, but we’ve an idea someone’s watching the house.’
‘Watching the Rectory? But it’s miles from anywhere! Why on earth?’
‘Oh, lots of good reasons. Stealing to order for one. You’ve still got wonderful original fireplaces and other features
in situ
. And our equipment’s worth a bit too. Would you mind if we took a few security precautions?’
‘Do whatever it takes, Paula.’
‘It’ll cost a bit to do it properly. We have our contacts, of course. But if you’ve people in mind you’d rather call on…’
‘How soon could you mobilise your people?’
‘As soon as we end this call.’
‘Please – just get on to it.’ Before she’d reached the end of the sentence the phone was dead.
‘It simply could have been Paula being ultra efficient, of course,’ Mark
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