Cut Dead by Mark Sennen

appointment a year later, Walsh informed the team the investigation was being scaled back. And he got a cheer when he mentioned Wilson was being investigated for professional misconduct with a female patient and that Devon and Cornwall Police were seeing if they could recover any of the fees they’d paid.
    ‘I would quite like to deliver a personal message to Wilson,’ Hardin said, interrupting Savage’s thoughts. ‘F-off. He’d like that, being a psychologist. Unfortunately it looks as if we’ve got to get all cuddly with the man instead. Fox is adamant. We’ve got to “move with the times” apparently. Wilson failed before because he wasn’t given enough assistance. I’m hearing words like “bygones”, “hatchet” and “bury”.’
    ‘You’re saying we’re being forced to use him?’
    ‘Not officially, not on the payroll, but yes. You might know that Wilson has worked with the FBI over in the States. According to the CC he’s got the experience we need to crack the case. Personally I think he doesn’t want to rock the boat. Profiling is good PR and Fox believes it would be better to have Wilson on board rather than having the man trying to capsize us with snide remarks in the media.’
    ‘I haven’t heard much good about Wilson,’ Savage said, ‘but it makes sense to at least talk to him, doesn’t it?’
    ‘No,’ Hardin said. ‘It bloody doesn’t. And seeing as how close you were to DCI Walsh I’d have thought you were the last person who’d want to do that, but if you want to consult with Wilson then be my guest. I’ll mark you down as his liaison officer. Apparently he’s up in London on Home Office business. Back Tuesday evening. I’ll pencil you in to meet with him Wednesday, shall I?’
    Savage opened her mouth to say she hadn’t meant for her to consult with Wilson, but Hardin had already pulled out his phone and a couple of swipes later the task was.
    The improving weather had brought out a trickle of walkers, but otherwise nothing disturbed the empty streets of Princetown. The little settlement at the heart of the moor was not much more than a bunch of houses hugging a T-junction, the buildings clinging to the throughways as if letting go would mean they would vanish into the wilderness. With the incredible scenery right on the doorstep, the town should have been the South West’s equivalent of Windermere. For some reason it wasn’t and the place was one of the most deprived in Devon. Without the prison as a source of employment it was doubtful if there would be a reason for anyone to remain.
    Enders turned off the road and into the prison car park, pulling up in an empty bay alongside a minibus.
    ‘Grim,’ Riley said. ‘Can’t say I would enjoy being banged up here, the place is a ghost town.’
    ‘You wouldn’t be worrying about nightlife, sir, and think of the views from your cell window.’
    ‘Well, at least I would be looking out. From here the place looks like some northern mill.’
    The grey granite buildings with their tall chimneys did resemble a factory from the nineteenth century. The sunshine washed the stone with a golden glow, but failed to warm the atmosphere. Riley could only imagine what kind of hell the place would be in bad weather, with mist and rain swirling round the satanic structures.
    They got out of the car and walked to reception, where they introduced themselves to a prison officer who was all smiles. Riley wondered if he was as friendly to people who arrived in the back of a van.
    ‘You here about Devlyn?’ the officer said, taking a second glance at Riley’s tracksuit as he prepared visitor’s badges for them. ‘We’re all very worried. His wife is distraught. Nice man. Straight, honest, prisoners relate to him well.’ He shook his head. ‘Barry will take you up to see the Governor.’
    A large man with a severe haircut appeared and he beckoned them along a corridor, unlocking the first of a number of gates which took them along more