she sat up – ignoring Kennedy’s attempts to stop her – rubbed her eyes and looked around. She coughed, licked her lips and grimaced as she tasted the cement dust that had accreted on them.
‘If you’re trying to kill me for the insurance money, babe,’ she said hoarsely, ‘there isn’t any. Hard to believe, but I’m worth more alive.’
Kennedy hugged her close. ‘Shut up,’ she muttered.
They were like that for a long time, sitting on the edge of the pavement, Izzy leaning awkwardly into Kennedy’s embrace, as the dust settled all around them. A distant siren whooped and then was silent again, maybe their own ambulance, on its way.
‘I like this,’ Izzy murmured, her head pressed tight against Kennedy’s bruised and aching chest. ‘I like this a lot. I should have got the crap beaten out of me ages ago.’
6
Glyn Thornedyke, the security coordinator at Ryegate House, was a sort of corpulent wraith, badly overweight but pale and insubstantial and clearly very unwell. He seemed surprised that his approval was needed for a mass interrogation of the facility’s staff – and in retrospect, Kennedy was sorry that she’d taken the time to ask him. It was already almost ten and her eyes had that itchy feeling that comes with the more serious kinds of tiredness. Giving statements to the police had kept both her and Izzy up until long after midnight. Then other things had kept them up. As a result, Kennedy felt both exhausted and full of urgency – a feeling like she needed to catch a bus that had already left.
‘I’m going to want all the staff files,’ she told Thornedyke. ‘Hard copy or digital, whatever’s quicker.’
‘Yes. Very well.’ Thornedyke cast his eye across the files and papers on his desk as though he suspected that what Kennedy was asking for might turn out to be right there in front of him. She wondered what kind of turf wars he’d already fought with Gassan – the professor had been very keen to claim the overview of site security as part of his own brief. ‘I can certainly provide physical copies. Will you need anything else?’
The tone was balanced between hope and trepidation. Clearly, Thornedyke wanted her to say no and go away.
Kennedy had to disappoint him. ‘Yes, Mr Thornedyke. I’ll also want an office to conduct the interviews in. And someone to feed people through to me. I don’t know anyone’s face or where they work.’
‘I can’t allocate you a room,’ Thornedyke said plaintively. ‘Rooms are booked through the front desk. And if you take someone from my staff, I’ll have a hole in the rota.’
‘Well, how about if I take Ben Rush?’ Kennedy said.
‘The probationer?’
‘Yeah. Him. Would that be a hole you can live with?’
Thornedyke thought about it. ‘I suppose so. Yes. So long as it’s just for one day.’
‘Great. He’ll come and collect the files from you as soon as I’m ready.’
The security coordinator still didn’t look all that happy, but Kennedy left before he could raise any more objections.
Professor Gassan, only too eager to be of assistance – and maybe to demonstrate the size of his new empire – gave her the main boardroom to work out of. The space was about as big as a football field, with a conference table so long and wide it had obviously had to be brought up from the street in sections and assembled like a jigsaw. It was a vanity table, designed to make museum executives feel like they were wheeling and dealing in a serious, corporate world. The deep-pile carpet and thick, pleated curtains were identical shades of oatmeal.
Gassan also approved Kennedy’s loan of Rush for the day, and the gangly boy turned up about fifteen minutes later with an armload of manila folders. He dumped them down on the table and mopped his brow, miming exhaustion.
‘Thanks, Rush. Okay, you’re seconded to me for the day. I hope that’s okay. It’s indoor work with no heavy lifting.’
Rush nodded equably. ‘A change is
‘If you’re trying to kill me for the insurance money, babe,’ she said hoarsely, ‘there isn’t any. Hard to believe, but I’m worth more alive.’
Kennedy hugged her close. ‘Shut up,’ she muttered.
They were like that for a long time, sitting on the edge of the pavement, Izzy leaning awkwardly into Kennedy’s embrace, as the dust settled all around them. A distant siren whooped and then was silent again, maybe their own ambulance, on its way.
‘I like this,’ Izzy murmured, her head pressed tight against Kennedy’s bruised and aching chest. ‘I like this a lot. I should have got the crap beaten out of me ages ago.’
6
Glyn Thornedyke, the security coordinator at Ryegate House, was a sort of corpulent wraith, badly overweight but pale and insubstantial and clearly very unwell. He seemed surprised that his approval was needed for a mass interrogation of the facility’s staff – and in retrospect, Kennedy was sorry that she’d taken the time to ask him. It was already almost ten and her eyes had that itchy feeling that comes with the more serious kinds of tiredness. Giving statements to the police had kept both her and Izzy up until long after midnight. Then other things had kept them up. As a result, Kennedy felt both exhausted and full of urgency – a feeling like she needed to catch a bus that had already left.
‘I’m going to want all the staff files,’ she told Thornedyke. ‘Hard copy or digital, whatever’s quicker.’
‘Yes. Very well.’ Thornedyke cast his eye across the files and papers on his desk as though he suspected that what Kennedy was asking for might turn out to be right there in front of him. She wondered what kind of turf wars he’d already fought with Gassan – the professor had been very keen to claim the overview of site security as part of his own brief. ‘I can certainly provide physical copies. Will you need anything else?’
The tone was balanced between hope and trepidation. Clearly, Thornedyke wanted her to say no and go away.
Kennedy had to disappoint him. ‘Yes, Mr Thornedyke. I’ll also want an office to conduct the interviews in. And someone to feed people through to me. I don’t know anyone’s face or where they work.’
‘I can’t allocate you a room,’ Thornedyke said plaintively. ‘Rooms are booked through the front desk. And if you take someone from my staff, I’ll have a hole in the rota.’
‘Well, how about if I take Ben Rush?’ Kennedy said.
‘The probationer?’
‘Yeah. Him. Would that be a hole you can live with?’
Thornedyke thought about it. ‘I suppose so. Yes. So long as it’s just for one day.’
‘Great. He’ll come and collect the files from you as soon as I’m ready.’
The security coordinator still didn’t look all that happy, but Kennedy left before he could raise any more objections.
Professor Gassan, only too eager to be of assistance – and maybe to demonstrate the size of his new empire – gave her the main boardroom to work out of. The space was about as big as a football field, with a conference table so long and wide it had obviously had to be brought up from the street in sections and assembled like a jigsaw. It was a vanity table, designed to make museum executives feel like they were wheeling and dealing in a serious, corporate world. The deep-pile carpet and thick, pleated curtains were identical shades of oatmeal.
Gassan also approved Kennedy’s loan of Rush for the day, and the gangly boy turned up about fifteen minutes later with an armload of manila folders. He dumped them down on the table and mopped his brow, miming exhaustion.
‘Thanks, Rush. Okay, you’re seconded to me for the day. I hope that’s okay. It’s indoor work with no heavy lifting.’
Rush nodded equably. ‘A change is
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