Fever of the Bone by Val McDermid Page A

friends.’ Carol stood up. ‘Nice job, Sam. And we’re going to need as many of those as we can muster over the next three months.’ Their expressions ranged from bewilderment to resignation. ‘Our new Chief Constable thinks MIT is too much of a luxury. That we don’t earn our keep because anybody can deliver results in the cold cases we work on when we’re not totally occupied with live jobs. That our talents should be at the service of the whole CID across the piece.’
    The immediate response was a tangle of exclamations, none of them offering Blake’s position a shred of support. Their voices died away, leaving Sam’s, ‘Twat,’ to bring up the tail.
    Carol shook her head. ‘Not helpful, Sam. I don’t want to go back to being part of a routine CID squad any more than any of you do. I like working with you all, and I like the way we structure our investigations. I like that we can be creative and innovative. But not everybody appreciates that.’
    ‘That’s the trouble with working for an organisation that rewards respect for the pecking order. They don’t like legitimised individualism,’ Paula said. ‘Misfit outfits like us, we’re always going to be in the firing line.’
    ‘You’d think they’d appreciate our clear-up rate,’ Kevin complained.
    ‘Not when it makes them look less efficient,’ Carol said. ‘OK. We have three months to demonstrate that MIT is the most effective vehicle to achieve the things we do best. I know you all give a hundred per cent on every inquiry we take on, but I need you to find something extra to help me justify our existence.’
    They exchanged looks. Kevin stood up, pushing his chair back. ‘Never mind the drinks, guv. Better get cracking, hadn’t we?’
     
     
     
CHAPTER 6
     
     
    The rain was still teeming when Alvin Ambrose arrived to pick up his boss from the post mortem on Jennifer Maidment. Any chance of garnering trace evidence from the crime scene was long gone. The only source of physical information about Jennifer’s fate was the girl’s body itself. DI Patterson trotted to the car, head down and shoulders hunched against the sharp sting of the rain, and threw himself into the passenger seat. His face was scrunched up in disgust, blue eyes almost invisible between lids swollen from lack of sleep. Ambrose wasn’t sure if the disgust was because of the weather or the autopsy. He nodded to the coffee carton in the cup holder. ‘Skinny latte,’ he said. Not that Patterson needed anything to make him skinnier.
    Patterson shuddered. ‘Thanks, Alvin, but I’ve not got the stomach for it. You have it.’
    ‘How did it go?’ Ambrose asked, easing the car towards the car park exit.
    Patterson yanked on his seat belt and stabbed it into its slot. ‘It’s never good, is it? Especially when it’s a kid.’
    Ambrose knew better than to press for more. Patterson would take a few moments to compose himself, assemble his thoughts, then he’d share what he thought his bagman ought to know. They reached the main road and Ambrose paused. ‘Where to?’
    Patterson considered, never one to leap to judgement. ‘Anything new come in while I’ve been in there?’
    There had been plenty, a ragbag of bits and pieces signifying not a lot. Stuff that was going nowhere, bits and pieces that officers way down the totem pole would have eliminated by teatime. One of Ambrose’s roles in their partnership was to sift through what came in and decide what was worth Patterson’s attention. It was a responsibility he’d been apprehensive about when Patterson had first picked him out for his bagman, but he’d soon learned he had judgement worth trusting. That Patterson had known this ahead of him only cemented Ambrose’s respect for his boss. ‘Nothing that needs your attention, ‘ Ambrose said.
    Patterson sighed, his hollow cheeks puffing in and out. ‘Let’s go and see the parents, then.’
    Ambrose turned into the traffic and summoned up a mental map of the best