night’s débacle. Water wasn’t the only commodity that had gone down
the drain: it had cost a packet to police Thread Street.
“You know what this place is like. It’s full of comedians. Everyone’s going round humming ‘Swinging in the Rain’ and Vince Hanlon’s running a limerick
competition.”
“Shame they’ve got nothing better to do.” She folded her arms and crossed her legs, mentally working on a first line.
“We’ve all got something better to do.” The reminder was unnecessary; everyone knew it was forty-eight hours since the discovery of Michelle’s body. He sighed. There were
smudges under his eyes. She wondered how much sleep he’d had. Probably as little as she’d had.
“Is there a link, Bev? Is Hawes playing sick games?”
She had no answers. She’d lain awake, running through the night’s highlights but reaching few conclusions. The dummy had to be a warning and it had to be Charlie Hawes. But was there
a connection with Michelle’s murder? And did it have anything to do with her own attacker? The guy could have kicked the shit out of her. So why hadn’t he? She was still smarting and
not just from the cuts, but she couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Talking of games, I got roped in to a spot of footie last night.”
A raised eyebrow asked for more. Bev passed him the statement she’d worked on in the early hours. She’d underplayed it but as she watched him read, she thought the pen in his hand
was about to snap. She’d felt the same as she’d written it. She’d gone over the incident again and again, but it was like trying to catch bubbles. She’d come up with
snatched impressions, vague smells and a voice as featureless as the face she hadn’t seen. Stale tobacco, heady scent and a rustling sensation weren’t going to make Crimewatch. In the witness stakes she was a non-starter and her anger added to the humiliation she still felt. At home, after a medicinal brandy or three, she’d even toyed, briefly, with the crazy idea
of not reporting it at all. Ridiculous, of course. Apart from anything else, there was the missing mobile and ID to report. The stolen ID had come as a bit of a shock.
“This is bad news, Bev.”
She shrugged. “Wrong time, wrong place.”
“Wrong answer.” He jabbed the pen at her. “You can’t possibly imagine this is unconnected to the inquiry.” He gave her what Bev’s mum would call an
old-fashioned look. “This was down to Hawes. It has to be.”
“I don’t see it, guv.”
“Get an eye test, then.” He threw the pen on the desk. It seemed a touch over the top. “Within hours of getting out there, looking for the man, you’re attacked in the
street and threatened at knife-point. Strikes me he had more luck tracking you down than —”
The look on her face stopped him in his tracks. She rearranged it into something less incredulous but still regarded his outburst as unbelievably unfair. It was one thing to get pinned down by
some unknown assailant, but then to get it in the neck from the old man… True, there were a few seconds last night when she’d thought Hawes was the joker playing piggy-back, but on
reflection, Charlie’d never get his own hands dirty. Equally true, the man had a whole herd of heavies for the crap, but on balance she’d convinced herself it was a
run-of-the-mill-mugging. Or maybe, she didn’t want to believe that Hawes had been so close, so very close, and she hadn’t done a fucking thing about it. She’d been there, so didn’t like it.
“I kinda think I’d be on a hospital trolley by now if Charlie’d had a hand in it.”
“It’s not funny.” He reread the notes, shaking his head.
No, really, I’m fine, guv. Don’t fuss. She’d have balled her fists but the palms still stung.
“Forensics?” he asked without looking up.
“In hand.” The scarf and her coat were on their way to the labs. They’d get the full treatment but she didn’t hold out much hope. The
the drain: it had cost a packet to police Thread Street.
“You know what this place is like. It’s full of comedians. Everyone’s going round humming ‘Swinging in the Rain’ and Vince Hanlon’s running a limerick
competition.”
“Shame they’ve got nothing better to do.” She folded her arms and crossed her legs, mentally working on a first line.
“We’ve all got something better to do.” The reminder was unnecessary; everyone knew it was forty-eight hours since the discovery of Michelle’s body. He sighed. There were
smudges under his eyes. She wondered how much sleep he’d had. Probably as little as she’d had.
“Is there a link, Bev? Is Hawes playing sick games?”
She had no answers. She’d lain awake, running through the night’s highlights but reaching few conclusions. The dummy had to be a warning and it had to be Charlie Hawes. But was there
a connection with Michelle’s murder? And did it have anything to do with her own attacker? The guy could have kicked the shit out of her. So why hadn’t he? She was still smarting and
not just from the cuts, but she couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Talking of games, I got roped in to a spot of footie last night.”
A raised eyebrow asked for more. Bev passed him the statement she’d worked on in the early hours. She’d underplayed it but as she watched him read, she thought the pen in his hand
was about to snap. She’d felt the same as she’d written it. She’d gone over the incident again and again, but it was like trying to catch bubbles. She’d come up with
snatched impressions, vague smells and a voice as featureless as the face she hadn’t seen. Stale tobacco, heady scent and a rustling sensation weren’t going to make Crimewatch. In the witness stakes she was a non-starter and her anger added to the humiliation she still felt. At home, after a medicinal brandy or three, she’d even toyed, briefly, with the crazy idea
of not reporting it at all. Ridiculous, of course. Apart from anything else, there was the missing mobile and ID to report. The stolen ID had come as a bit of a shock.
“This is bad news, Bev.”
She shrugged. “Wrong time, wrong place.”
“Wrong answer.” He jabbed the pen at her. “You can’t possibly imagine this is unconnected to the inquiry.” He gave her what Bev’s mum would call an
old-fashioned look. “This was down to Hawes. It has to be.”
“I don’t see it, guv.”
“Get an eye test, then.” He threw the pen on the desk. It seemed a touch over the top. “Within hours of getting out there, looking for the man, you’re attacked in the
street and threatened at knife-point. Strikes me he had more luck tracking you down than —”
The look on her face stopped him in his tracks. She rearranged it into something less incredulous but still regarded his outburst as unbelievably unfair. It was one thing to get pinned down by
some unknown assailant, but then to get it in the neck from the old man… True, there were a few seconds last night when she’d thought Hawes was the joker playing piggy-back, but on
reflection, Charlie’d never get his own hands dirty. Equally true, the man had a whole herd of heavies for the crap, but on balance she’d convinced herself it was a
run-of-the-mill-mugging. Or maybe, she didn’t want to believe that Hawes had been so close, so very close, and she hadn’t done a fucking thing about it. She’d been there, so didn’t like it.
“I kinda think I’d be on a hospital trolley by now if Charlie’d had a hand in it.”
“It’s not funny.” He reread the notes, shaking his head.
No, really, I’m fine, guv. Don’t fuss. She’d have balled her fists but the palms still stung.
“Forensics?” he asked without looking up.
“In hand.” The scarf and her coat were on their way to the labs. They’d get the full treatment but she didn’t hold out much hope. The
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