The Advent Killer by Alastair Gunn

pleasure?’
    ‘Business, sort of.’
    ‘Me, too. Mega busy, always on the run. No time for any of that homemaking or
romance
nonsense.’ He was well into his stride now, so no answer was required. ‘Eurozone investments are my thing. You know, buy low and all that. Terrible what’s happened to the Europeans, but there are still people out there with money to spend. There’s plenty still to be made, too, if you know how.’
    Hawkins nodded, giving an internal eye-roll. Maybe she should have accepted the cigarette.
    ‘And the perks? Scandalous, really, not that I’m complaining, you understand.’
    ‘Of course not.’ She watched him not-so-surreptitiously pull his sleeve up to reveal a huge Omega wristwatch.
    ‘Adaptation’s the key. I assist my investors in every way possible, sometimes ethically, sometimes not quite so much.’ He snorted. ‘But that’s where the
real
money is, and in the midst of chaos, who’s ever going to know?’
    ‘Well, I’ve got some friends who might be interested, actually.’
    ‘Really?’ Casanova leaned in close. ‘But are
you
interested, Antonia?’
    ‘Well, I generally deal with homicide’ – Hawkins produced her badge, watching his face fall – ‘but I could ring the fraud squad. Do you have a business card?’
    ‘I, er …’ Casanova shot off his chair. ‘I think they just called my flight.’
    Hawkins almost laughed out loud as David Hilton took off across the terminal, nearly knocking over John Barclay, who was returning from the service desk.
    ‘Who was that?’ her trainee asked, coughing wetly as he sat down.
    ‘Casanova. He thought I’d be impressed by the size of his embezzlement. Turns out I wasn’t his type.’
    ‘Shame.’ Barclay smiled. ‘I thought you’d scrubbed up pretty well this morning, Ma’am.’
    ‘Thanks.’ She gave him a sideways glance, gauging the young detective. Some months before, Hawkins had given several lectures to a class Barclay had taken in preparationfor his Detective exams earlier in the year. Always eager to learn, he’d often stayed behind to discuss a variety of subjects. Following her final talk, however, John had made an awkward attempt at asking her to dinner. Unfortunately, her refusal had been just as uncomfortably delivered, and she was glad they hadn’t seen each other for some time afterwards.
    Despite this, Barclay had requested assignment to her team immediately after his six-month post-graduation placement. She’d been moderately flattered, but still suspected his motivation had more to do with an adolescent crush than professional esteem, especially considering the regular compliments he paid to her and no one else. He liked her shoes, her necklace, her hair.
    Barclay had joined them two months ago, quickly proving himself to be a competent and intelligent trainee. He had never repeated his invitation to dinner, though, and she didn’t want to encourage it.
    ‘So,’ she said, ‘is Anderton’s flight on time?’
    ‘No delays, ma’am. Do you think he’ll actually be on the plane?’
    ‘The intelligent ones hardly ever run, especially if they have a face as recognizable as his. He’ll understand that disappearing would just make him look guilty.’
    Despite her statement, Hawkins was still surprised they’d found Charles Anderton so fast: a remarkably modest amount of arm-twisting over the phone to his office the previous afternoon had traced him to a cultural integration seminar in Scotland.
    Hawkins had spoken to him personally, and he’d agreed to catch the first flight home. Their conversation had beenshort, but Anderton’s tone had suggested he already knew the considerable depth of the shit he was due to land in.
    ‘So why carry on working?’ Barclay asked with a wry smile. ‘Is he staying at full-pelt to mitigate his grief, or doing overtime to pay the hit man?’
    She shrugged. The hired-gun theory would explain the consistent lack of sexual abuse or traces at the scenes. And,