Knife Edge by Fergus McNeill

there had been any choice in the matter. ‘As you may know, there have recently been one or two unfortunate instances involving the press, and I thought it prudent to get everyone together and set out our position.’
    His smile, such as it was, faded and his face relaxed into its natural deep-lined expression of distaste and disapproval.
    ‘This week saw another newspaper feature that portrayed Avon and Somerset Constabulary in a bad light.’ He got up and paced slowly out from behind the table, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘That’s the third in less than a month.’
    Sitting at the back of the room, Harland turned to Mendel and shot him a weary glance. Mendel returned a brief smile.
    ‘It is clear to me,’ Blake continued, shaking his head slightly, ‘that the press are getting some of their information from
inside
the service. That we are fuelling this fire, so to speak.’
    There was a murmur in the room. Blake held up a hand.
    ‘Not from anyone here in Portishead, I’m sure. We run a tight ship.’ He gave them another thin smile. ‘No, I’d like to think that we in this division know better than that.’
    He hesitated, as though evaluating that last statement, then turned to face the room.
    ‘The last two pieces were written by a journalist called Peter Baraclough.’ He paused, as though to underline the name. ‘Suffice to say, if he approaches any of you, you speak to me, not to him.’
    He glanced quickly around the room, each instance of eye contact making his words binding, before moving back to his chair.
    ‘I strongly suggest that we’re all particularly careful over the coming weeks,’ he said as he sat down. ‘No cock-ups, no talking out of school,
no
journalists.’
    He waited for a long moment, then smiled at them once more, as though he wondered what they were all still doing here.
    ‘That will be all, thank you.’
    There was a general scraping of chairs as everyone got to their feet and started to file out. Mendel shook his head and leaned across to Harland.
    ‘Tight ship, eh? Someone upstairs must be leaning on Blake to make him call a meeting like that.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ Harland mused. ‘But you know what he’s like.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Mendel said. ‘This sort of thing could make him look bad, and he won’t have that.’
    ‘He won’t,’ Harland agreed. ‘But he’s smart, and if he keeps things steady while other divisions get caught talking? Well, it makes him look good by comparison.’
    ‘Politics, Graham?’ Mendel grinned at him. ‘Surely not.’
    They got to their feet and were moving towards the door when a voice halted them.
    ‘Graham? And James?’ The Superintendent was beckoning them to the front of the room. ‘If I might just trouble you for a moment?’
    Harland twisted his face into a calm expression and followed Mendel back into the room, stepping between the chairs as they approached the table.
    ‘Take a seat,’ Blake said agreeably. He looked at each of them for a moment, then leaned forward. ‘I thought we might have a quick word about that business in Avonmouth …’
    Harland sighed quietly as he sat down beside Mendel. That business in Avonmouth – a series of arson attacks on empty industrial buildings along the St Andrews Road – had looked promising at first, with several strong witness statements that narrowed the field down nicely. But in recent weeks progress had slowed and it was looking less and less certain that they’d get it over the line. He’d hoped he could avoid Blake until he had something more encouraging to report, but of course Blake wasn’t in the mood to wait.
    ‘I think I forwarded you a report a couple of days ago—’ Harland began. It was tiresome, but without any new leads all he could do was restate the work they’d done so far.
    ‘I read it,’ Blake interrupted him. ‘I was rather hoping to get an update on what’s been happening since then.’
    Harland sank slightly deeper into his chair as his progress