Lloyd entered the incident room shortly after 7 a.m. with a take-out cup of hot tea with lemon, no milk. She’d planned to get started on her day before the rest of the unit arrived but two of her colleagues had beaten her to it. Detective Sergeants John Young and Nadine Foster were already seated in front of adjoining computer terminals with take-out cups of their own.
Lloyd wished them good morning, trying to mask her disappointment.
Young grunted. Foster nodded. Neither looked up from their screens.
‘Anything new?’
‘See for yourself.’
Lloyd carried her tea over to the whiteboards. There was additional information on the middle and left-hand boards. Most of the fresh data was about the set-up on the Isle of Man, but there were also several photographs of the house where Kate Sutherland had been living and the dead man had been found.
‘What about witnesses?’
There was no reply.
‘Hello? Witnesses?’
‘One neighbour,’ Foster mumbled. ‘If you can call him that. His bungalow is almost half a mile away but he thinks he might have heard a shot.’
Foster was a couple of years younger than Lloyd, a few inches taller, with fine blonde hair and endless legs. She had a varied selection of stylish outfits and a taste for fashionable handbags and jewellery. She was well liked and respected by her peers, more likely to have a Kate Sutherland type of impact on her male co-workers than Lloyd ever would. She was going places, no doubt about it.
‘Time?’
‘Around 1 a.m.’
‘That could fit with time of death.’
‘ If the local coroner’s initial assessment holds. We’re still waiting for her full report.’
Lloyd took a sip from her tea, sneaking a glance at the board on the right. It remained empty aside from the message she’d scrawled in the centre.
‘Pretty embarrassing for you.’
Lloyd turned to find Young smirking at her. His hair was slicked to one side with wet-look gel and he was wearing a dark grey tie over a shirt the same colour. He looked like he should be selling mobile phones in a high-street shop.
Young was the only member of the team Lloyd had history with. Bad history, inevitably.
‘So dramatic,’ he continued. ‘But so embarrassing.’
‘I stand by it.’
‘That’s a shock. You’re full of terrible suggestions.’ He pushed up from his desk, grabbing a cigarette packet and waggling it at Foster. ‘You coming?’
‘Not right now.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He sniffed. ‘I could use some clean air.’
Lloyd let him go, waiting until his footsteps had faded along the corridor before toasting Foster with her cup. ‘Not my biggest fan.’
‘Oh, he really hates you.’ Foster paused, fingers hovering above her keyboard. ‘Care to explain why?’
‘I’m pretty sure he’s already told you. And the rest of the team, for that matter.’
‘Maybe I want to hear your side of it.’
‘An open mind? Really?’
‘So make the most of it. Just know that I probably won’t agree with anything you have to say.’
Chapter Thirteen
Kate woke to find herself curled under a blanket, alone. She levered herself up on her elbow and peered at the note that had been left on the coffee table.
Breakfast next door when you feel like it. Take your time.
Throwing back the blanket, she stumbled through to the bathroom and took a fast shower. The cubicle was cramped and mouldy, the water came out in a frothing dribble, but it was hot and there was complimentary soap in a chalk-paper wrapper and a small tube of shampoo. She washed her hair, so short now that it took barely any time to lather and rinse, and then she stepped out and dried herself with a thin, crusty towel, dressing in fresh underwear and yesterday’s new clothes.
Hanson and Becca were waiting for her across the hall. Kate helped herself to a breakfast roll and a mug of black coffee, then perched on one of the kitchen stools and watched Hanson approach.
His hair was matted and flattened down, his polo shirt
Lloyd wished them good morning, trying to mask her disappointment.
Young grunted. Foster nodded. Neither looked up from their screens.
‘Anything new?’
‘See for yourself.’
Lloyd carried her tea over to the whiteboards. There was additional information on the middle and left-hand boards. Most of the fresh data was about the set-up on the Isle of Man, but there were also several photographs of the house where Kate Sutherland had been living and the dead man had been found.
‘What about witnesses?’
There was no reply.
‘Hello? Witnesses?’
‘One neighbour,’ Foster mumbled. ‘If you can call him that. His bungalow is almost half a mile away but he thinks he might have heard a shot.’
Foster was a couple of years younger than Lloyd, a few inches taller, with fine blonde hair and endless legs. She had a varied selection of stylish outfits and a taste for fashionable handbags and jewellery. She was well liked and respected by her peers, more likely to have a Kate Sutherland type of impact on her male co-workers than Lloyd ever would. She was going places, no doubt about it.
‘Time?’
‘Around 1 a.m.’
‘That could fit with time of death.’
‘ If the local coroner’s initial assessment holds. We’re still waiting for her full report.’
Lloyd took a sip from her tea, sneaking a glance at the board on the right. It remained empty aside from the message she’d scrawled in the centre.
‘Pretty embarrassing for you.’
Lloyd turned to find Young smirking at her. His hair was slicked to one side with wet-look gel and he was wearing a dark grey tie over a shirt the same colour. He looked like he should be selling mobile phones in a high-street shop.
Young was the only member of the team Lloyd had history with. Bad history, inevitably.
‘So dramatic,’ he continued. ‘But so embarrassing.’
‘I stand by it.’
‘That’s a shock. You’re full of terrible suggestions.’ He pushed up from his desk, grabbing a cigarette packet and waggling it at Foster. ‘You coming?’
‘Not right now.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He sniffed. ‘I could use some clean air.’
Lloyd let him go, waiting until his footsteps had faded along the corridor before toasting Foster with her cup. ‘Not my biggest fan.’
‘Oh, he really hates you.’ Foster paused, fingers hovering above her keyboard. ‘Care to explain why?’
‘I’m pretty sure he’s already told you. And the rest of the team, for that matter.’
‘Maybe I want to hear your side of it.’
‘An open mind? Really?’
‘So make the most of it. Just know that I probably won’t agree with anything you have to say.’
Chapter Thirteen
Kate woke to find herself curled under a blanket, alone. She levered herself up on her elbow and peered at the note that had been left on the coffee table.
Breakfast next door when you feel like it. Take your time.
Throwing back the blanket, she stumbled through to the bathroom and took a fast shower. The cubicle was cramped and mouldy, the water came out in a frothing dribble, but it was hot and there was complimentary soap in a chalk-paper wrapper and a small tube of shampoo. She washed her hair, so short now that it took barely any time to lather and rinse, and then she stepped out and dried herself with a thin, crusty towel, dressing in fresh underwear and yesterday’s new clothes.
Hanson and Becca were waiting for her across the hall. Kate helped herself to a breakfast roll and a mug of black coffee, then perched on one of the kitchen stools and watched Hanson approach.
His hair was matted and flattened down, his polo shirt
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