asked Reid.
'Are you putting yourself forward, Tommy?' Dundas perched on the edge of Reid's desk. His hair and moustache were unnaturally black, and he was rumoured to be dyeing both.
Reid flashed the chief inspector a sarcastic smile. 'You know me, Ronnie. I'm much more a foot-in-the-door man.'
'Arse on a bar stool, more like,' said Dundas. The banter was good natured: the two men had worked together for more than a decade. 'Anyway, Phil Evans has already been assigned.'
'He's well suited,' agreed Reid.
'What about the Met?' asked Wright. 'Have they said who they're sending over yet?'
Dundas shook his head. 'Only numbers. A DCI, two DIs, three DSs and six DCs. Same as us.'
'So when do we move downstairs?' asked Wright.
'Give it a couple of hours. They're still moving desks and getting the phones connected.'
'Time for a pint, then,' said Reid.
Dundas grinned. 'You read my mind,' he said.
The two senior officers looked expectantly at Wright, who sighed mournfully. 'Okay, I suppose so.'
There was a timid knock on the door and Dean Burrow looked up from the papers he was reading. Kristine Ross popped her head around as if she was trying to keep her body concealed from 42 STEPHEN LEATHER him. 'I'm the last one here, Senator,' she said. 'Is there anything you need?'
Burrow took off his reading glasses. 'Any sign ofJody Meacher?' he asked.
'He said he'd be here by seven, Senator.'
Burrow looked at his watch/ It was half past seven. 'Okay, Kristine. You can call it a night.'
She flashed him a nervous smile and closed the door. Burrow toyed with his spectacles. Kristine was obviously still upset at the photograph. He wondered how she'd feel if she knew the real significance of the mutilated corpse. Then she'd really have something to worry about.
He was still daydreaming when there was a second knock on his door, louder and more confident than the first. The door opened wide and Jody Meacher strode in. He was a big man, at least twenty stone, with a waistline that was still expanding. He was balding with a greying beard and cheeks pockmarked with old acne scars. Meacher was one of the smartest men Burrow had ever met, and was a shrewd political operator. In his younger years he'd had his own ambitions of office, but his looks had been an insurmountable barrier and he'd settled for being one of the best spin doctors in the business instead. He'd helped two men get into the Oval Office already, and if everything went to plan, Burrow would be the third.
Meacher glided across the plush blue carpet. He moved majestically, with surprising grace for a man of his size. Burrow Went around his desk to meet him and they shook hands firmly.
'Thanks for coming so quickly, Jody,' said Burrow. He went over to his drinks cabinet and poured two measures of Jack Daniels, each with a single cube of ice. He handed a glass to Meacher and they toasted each other silently. Burrow waved Meacher over to two green leather couches placed at right angles to each other at the far end of the room. While Meacher eased his vast bulk down on to one of the couches, Burrow walked over to his desk and picked up the UPS package and the manila envelope.
'Something's cropped up,' said Burrow, going over to sit on the second couch. He put the package and the envelope on a low oak coffee table.
Meacher watched him with unblinking eyes and the same coldness with which an entomologist might study a beetle. Meacher rarely smiled, and on the few occasions that he did, the expression never looked sincere. To strangers he appeared aloof, hostile even, but Burrow knew that the man's facial expressions often belied his true feelings. It wasn't that he wore a mask, it was as if he simply didn't care how he looked, that his intellect was his only concern.
'I received something in the mail today,' Burrow continued. He opened the flap of the envelope and slid out the Polaroid photograph. He handed it to Meacher.
Meacher's expression didn't change. He studied the
'Are you putting yourself forward, Tommy?' Dundas perched on the edge of Reid's desk. His hair and moustache were unnaturally black, and he was rumoured to be dyeing both.
Reid flashed the chief inspector a sarcastic smile. 'You know me, Ronnie. I'm much more a foot-in-the-door man.'
'Arse on a bar stool, more like,' said Dundas. The banter was good natured: the two men had worked together for more than a decade. 'Anyway, Phil Evans has already been assigned.'
'He's well suited,' agreed Reid.
'What about the Met?' asked Wright. 'Have they said who they're sending over yet?'
Dundas shook his head. 'Only numbers. A DCI, two DIs, three DSs and six DCs. Same as us.'
'So when do we move downstairs?' asked Wright.
'Give it a couple of hours. They're still moving desks and getting the phones connected.'
'Time for a pint, then,' said Reid.
Dundas grinned. 'You read my mind,' he said.
The two senior officers looked expectantly at Wright, who sighed mournfully. 'Okay, I suppose so.'
There was a timid knock on the door and Dean Burrow looked up from the papers he was reading. Kristine Ross popped her head around as if she was trying to keep her body concealed from 42 STEPHEN LEATHER him. 'I'm the last one here, Senator,' she said. 'Is there anything you need?'
Burrow took off his reading glasses. 'Any sign ofJody Meacher?' he asked.
'He said he'd be here by seven, Senator.'
Burrow looked at his watch/ It was half past seven. 'Okay, Kristine. You can call it a night.'
She flashed him a nervous smile and closed the door. Burrow toyed with his spectacles. Kristine was obviously still upset at the photograph. He wondered how she'd feel if she knew the real significance of the mutilated corpse. Then she'd really have something to worry about.
He was still daydreaming when there was a second knock on his door, louder and more confident than the first. The door opened wide and Jody Meacher strode in. He was a big man, at least twenty stone, with a waistline that was still expanding. He was balding with a greying beard and cheeks pockmarked with old acne scars. Meacher was one of the smartest men Burrow had ever met, and was a shrewd political operator. In his younger years he'd had his own ambitions of office, but his looks had been an insurmountable barrier and he'd settled for being one of the best spin doctors in the business instead. He'd helped two men get into the Oval Office already, and if everything went to plan, Burrow would be the third.
Meacher glided across the plush blue carpet. He moved majestically, with surprising grace for a man of his size. Burrow Went around his desk to meet him and they shook hands firmly.
'Thanks for coming so quickly, Jody,' said Burrow. He went over to his drinks cabinet and poured two measures of Jack Daniels, each with a single cube of ice. He handed a glass to Meacher and they toasted each other silently. Burrow waved Meacher over to two green leather couches placed at right angles to each other at the far end of the room. While Meacher eased his vast bulk down on to one of the couches, Burrow walked over to his desk and picked up the UPS package and the manila envelope.
'Something's cropped up,' said Burrow, going over to sit on the second couch. He put the package and the envelope on a low oak coffee table.
Meacher watched him with unblinking eyes and the same coldness with which an entomologist might study a beetle. Meacher rarely smiled, and on the few occasions that he did, the expression never looked sincere. To strangers he appeared aloof, hostile even, but Burrow knew that the man's facial expressions often belied his true feelings. It wasn't that he wore a mask, it was as if he simply didn't care how he looked, that his intellect was his only concern.
'I received something in the mail today,' Burrow continued. He opened the flap of the envelope and slid out the Polaroid photograph. He handed it to Meacher.
Meacher's expression didn't change. He studied the
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