Burnt Paper Sky by Gilly Macmillan Page B

case in point. They could have got the role, but it was my time, my chance. Did I think of turning it down? No. Did I think it was going to be a minefield? Maybe. But the words that were doing cartwheels in my head were these: bring it on. Bring. It. On.
    A big part of the thrill was getting to work with Fraser. She was tough and clever, one of the best. It was well known that she’d grown up on a shitty council estate in Glasgow. As soon as she could leave home, she’d moved as far away as possible so that she could train as a police officer and start a new life. Problem was, while she was a young DC she’d ended up married to a DCI from Scotland Yard who reeked so badly of corruption that even the Met had to get rid of him eventually. In his spare time he’d knocked her about. She’d ended up in the hospital once but her old man was never charged. The police looked after their own in those days, so long as they were white males.
    Her good fortune was that her husband had died before going to trial for corruption. He had a heart attack at the pub. He was dead before he hit the floor. She’d responded by moving to Avon and Somerset as a DS and shooting up the ranks with a combination of astute political play and detective work that was respected for its thoroughness. She was the first woman ever to be made a DCI in Avon and Somerset, and must have been one of the first in England. She wasted no words and her authority was natural. It was the right of someone who’d survived her wilderness years and come out tougher and wiser. She didn’t tolerate whingeing and she didn’t tolerate bullying.
    ‘First job: interview the parents,’ Fraser said.
    ‘Yes, boss. Where are they?’
    ‘At the scene.’
    ‘Is uniform taking them home?’
    ‘Not yet.’ She thought about it, tapped her pen on the desk. ‘We need to be sensitive, that’s paramount, Jim, but I’m inclined to bring them in here. Teas and coffees on our terms.’
    I knew what she meant. When you interview people in their own homes they feel more relaxed, because it’s familiar, but they are also in control.
    ‘Use a rape suite,’ she said. It was a concession to sensitivity. Rape suites are nicer than interview rooms. ‘And anyway,’ she added, ‘we’ll need forensics to visit Mum’s home at least, assuming that’s where the kid spends most of his time, and Dad’s home if we think it’s worth it. They’re both potential scenes.’
    She picked up the phone. It was my cue to leave. But then she put it down again.
    ‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘I was going to ask Annie Rookes to be FLO but she’s tied up. Any ideas?’
    I don’t really know what made me say it so reflexively, but I did, and before I’d had a chance to think. ‘What about Emma Zhang?’
    Fraser looked surprised. ‘Is she experienced enough? This one’s going to be tough whichever way it plays out.’
    ‘I think so, boss. She’s very bright, and she’s done the training.’ It was too late to back down now, and anyway, I thought Emma deserved the chance, and I thought she’d be good at the job. It would be a real step up for her, and there was so much to learn from working with Fraser.
    ‘Zhang it is then,’ Fraser said, picking up the phone again.
    It was only once I’d left her office that I hoped I’d done the right thing, for Emma, and for the case too. The family liaison officer role is a crucial one. They’re there to look after the welfare of the victim’s family, but they’re detectives first and foremost. They watch, they listen, they offer support, but above all they keep an eye out for evidence and then they report back to the investigation. It’s a delicate line to tread. The FLO can make the difference between our success and our failure.
     
    We got an incident room set up, quick sharp. Kenneth Steele House is spot on because it’s been refurbished with CID needs in mind, so we’ve got the facilities we need to run as slick an operation as