thrilled, I can tell you.
“Yes, Hawaiian. Mancini clearly had April with her in the house, because the same source confirms purchases of such typically childish foods as Coco Pops and Nesquik banana milk.”
He knows he sounds idiotic, so he glares angrily at us as he says it. He can’t tear himself away from his written notes, though, and on he plows.
“Sources whom we take to be reliable and who have confirmed Janet Mancini’s presence in the neighborhood; all agree that they did not see April Mancini with her at the time. We are for the moment presuming that April was present in the house but not inclined or not permitted to go out.”
He’s got another few pages of notes to get through, but none of us can bear much more of it and Jackson steps in to rescue things.
“Anything else is up on Groove. Familiarize yourself with it all. Short summary: We have no reports of anyone other than the two Mancinis at the house. No reports of April Mancini being seen outside at any time. No reliable reports of any regular visitors, or irregular ones for that matter. Curtains always closed, lights off—no electricity, remember. No music. The place was quiet.
“So, we have to shift resources to other lines of inquiry. CCTV. The nearest cameras—the nearest working cameras—were five hundred and seven hundred yards away. It’s fairly likely that one of these picked up Janet Mancini at some point over the last few weeks. We need to see if she was with anyone at the time. Jon Breakell—where are you, Jon? There—you’ll take the lead on that.”
Because I feel on the fringe of the inquiry and want to make myself more central, I lift my hand. Jackson doesn’t notice me, so I butt in.
“There’s CCTV at the convenience shop too, sir. Maybe they’ll have footage.”
There’s a short exchange of conversation up at the front. Apparently someone’s already noticed the shop’s CCTV, and getting access to their footage is already on an action list somewhere.
“Okay. Meanwhile, Janet. We need to dig into her past. There’s a good chance she knew her killer, so we need to locate the people she knew and how she knew them. If she was working as a prostitute and was killed by one of her punters, then it’s a fair bet that this wasn’t the first time they’d had sex together.
“And let’s not forget our anonymous female caller, the one who tipped us off about the house. That caller is still out there. There’s been plenty of media, she knows we want to talk to her, but she hasn’t come in yet. Anything that can lead us to her is also valuable.
“So. Tasks for today …”
Jackson starts listing tasks and responsibilities, and the Incident Room begins to break up. No breakthroughs yet, no easy victory. No one’s concerned yet, and there’s a general assumption that the killer will be found and jailed. All the same, it’s hard not to notice that we remain completely in the dark about who might have killed the Mancinis. Sooner or later, this optimism will demand fuel to keep it burning.
I head downstairs for the print room but am interrupted by a knot of officers round the coffee machine, where Merv Rogers is being honored for his wit.
“Pineapple,” he is saying. “Adding fruit to a dish which is basically savory. That’s not right, is it?”
I squeeze round them. They don’t make way for me or seek to include me in their banter. That’s partly because I’m physically small. Partly because I’m junior. Partly because I’m a girl. And partly because people think I’m odd.
I go down to the print room, where the ever-so-slightly-Polish print manager, Tomasz Kowalczyk, is bustling around in charge of his papery domain.
“ Dzień dobry, Tomasz,” I tell him.
“ Dzień dobry, Fiona. How can I help you today?”
“You shouldn’t say that. It makes you sound like you’re about to offer me fries.”
At least Tomasz likes me. I’m here for some photos, and I show him the ones I want from the
“Yes, Hawaiian. Mancini clearly had April with her in the house, because the same source confirms purchases of such typically childish foods as Coco Pops and Nesquik banana milk.”
He knows he sounds idiotic, so he glares angrily at us as he says it. He can’t tear himself away from his written notes, though, and on he plows.
“Sources whom we take to be reliable and who have confirmed Janet Mancini’s presence in the neighborhood; all agree that they did not see April Mancini with her at the time. We are for the moment presuming that April was present in the house but not inclined or not permitted to go out.”
He’s got another few pages of notes to get through, but none of us can bear much more of it and Jackson steps in to rescue things.
“Anything else is up on Groove. Familiarize yourself with it all. Short summary: We have no reports of anyone other than the two Mancinis at the house. No reports of April Mancini being seen outside at any time. No reliable reports of any regular visitors, or irregular ones for that matter. Curtains always closed, lights off—no electricity, remember. No music. The place was quiet.
“So, we have to shift resources to other lines of inquiry. CCTV. The nearest cameras—the nearest working cameras—were five hundred and seven hundred yards away. It’s fairly likely that one of these picked up Janet Mancini at some point over the last few weeks. We need to see if she was with anyone at the time. Jon Breakell—where are you, Jon? There—you’ll take the lead on that.”
Because I feel on the fringe of the inquiry and want to make myself more central, I lift my hand. Jackson doesn’t notice me, so I butt in.
“There’s CCTV at the convenience shop too, sir. Maybe they’ll have footage.”
There’s a short exchange of conversation up at the front. Apparently someone’s already noticed the shop’s CCTV, and getting access to their footage is already on an action list somewhere.
“Okay. Meanwhile, Janet. We need to dig into her past. There’s a good chance she knew her killer, so we need to locate the people she knew and how she knew them. If she was working as a prostitute and was killed by one of her punters, then it’s a fair bet that this wasn’t the first time they’d had sex together.
“And let’s not forget our anonymous female caller, the one who tipped us off about the house. That caller is still out there. There’s been plenty of media, she knows we want to talk to her, but she hasn’t come in yet. Anything that can lead us to her is also valuable.
“So. Tasks for today …”
Jackson starts listing tasks and responsibilities, and the Incident Room begins to break up. No breakthroughs yet, no easy victory. No one’s concerned yet, and there’s a general assumption that the killer will be found and jailed. All the same, it’s hard not to notice that we remain completely in the dark about who might have killed the Mancinis. Sooner or later, this optimism will demand fuel to keep it burning.
I head downstairs for the print room but am interrupted by a knot of officers round the coffee machine, where Merv Rogers is being honored for his wit.
“Pineapple,” he is saying. “Adding fruit to a dish which is basically savory. That’s not right, is it?”
I squeeze round them. They don’t make way for me or seek to include me in their banter. That’s partly because I’m physically small. Partly because I’m junior. Partly because I’m a girl. And partly because people think I’m odd.
I go down to the print room, where the ever-so-slightly-Polish print manager, Tomasz Kowalczyk, is bustling around in charge of his papery domain.
“ Dzień dobry, Tomasz,” I tell him.
“ Dzień dobry, Fiona. How can I help you today?”
“You shouldn’t say that. It makes you sound like you’re about to offer me fries.”
At least Tomasz likes me. I’m here for some photos, and I show him the ones I want from the
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