given. "Sorry. Was I frothing?"
"A bit."
"As usual. So this new Nies-Kerridge squabble? What's it all about?"
Webberly glanced at his watch. "Another Yorkshire murder being disputed, no less.
They're sending someone down with the data. A priest."
"A priest? Christ - what kind of case is this?"
Webberly shrugged. "Evidently he's the only third party that Nies and Kerridge could agree upon to bring us the information."
"Why's that?"
"Seems he found the body."
Chapter 2
Hillier walkedto the office window. Afternoon sunlight shafted across his face, detailing lines that spoke of too many late nights,highlighting puffy pink flesh that spoke of too much rich food and port. "By God, this is irregular. Has Kerridge gone quite mad?"
"Nies has certainly been claiming that for years."
"But to have the first person on the scene... and not even a member of the force! What can the man be thinking?"
"That a priest is the only person they both can trust." Webberly glanced at his watch again. "He should be here within the hour, in fact. That's why I asked you to come down."
"To hear this priest's story? That's certainly not your style."
Webberly shook his head slowly. He had come to the tricky part. "Not to hear the story. Actually, to hear the plan."
"I'm intrigued." Hillier went to pour himself another sherry and held the bottle towards his friend, who shook his head. He returned to his seat and crossed one leg over the other, careful not to destroy the razor crease in his beautifully tailored trousers. "The plan?" he prompted.
Webberly poked at a stack of files on his desk. "I'd like Lynley on this."
Hillier cocked an eyebrow. "Lynley and Nies for a second go-round? Haven't we had trouble enough in that quarter, Malcolm? Besides, Lynley's not on rota this weekend."
"That can be dealt with." Webberly hesitated. He watched the other man. "You're letting me hang here, David," he said at last.
Hillier smiled. "Forgive me. I was waiting to see how you were going to ask for her."
"Damn you," Webberly cursed softly. "You know me too well by half."
"Let's say I know you're too fair for your own good. Let me advise you on this, Malcolm. Leave Havers where you put her."
Webberly winced and swiped at a nonexistent fly. "It grates on my conscience."
"Don't be a bloody fool. Don't be worse than that - don't be a sentimental fool. Barbara Havers proved herself incapable of getting along with a single DI for her entire tenure in CID.
She's been back in uniform these past eight months and doing a better job there. Leave her."
"I didn't try her with Lynley."
"You didn't try her with the Prince of Wales either! It's not your responsibility to keep moving detective sergeants around until they find a little niche in which they can grow old happily. It's your responsibility to see that the flaming job gets done. And no job got done with Havers on it. Admit it!"
"I think she's learned from the experience."
"Learned what? That being a truculent pigheaded little bitch is not likely to advance her up the ranks?"
Webberly let Hillier's words scathe the air between them. "Well," he said finally, "that was always the problem, wasn't it?"
Hillier recognised the sound of defeat in his friend's voice. That was indeed the problem: advancing through the ranks. God, what an ignorant thing to say. "Forgive me, Malcolm." He quickly finished his sherry, an act that gave him something to do other than look at his brother-in-law's face. "You deserve my job. We both know it, don't we?"
"Don't be absurd."
But Hillier stood. "I'll put a call out for Havers."
Detective Sergeant Barbara Havers tugged the door of the super's office shut, walked stiffly past his secretary, and made her way into the corridor. She was white with rage.
God! God, how dare they! She pushed her way past a clerk, not bothering to stop when the folders he was carrying slipped from his grasp and scattered. She marched right through them. Who did they think they were dealing with? Did they think she was so stupid she couldn't see the ploy? God damn them! God damn them!
She blinked, telling herself that there would be no tears, that she would not cry, that she would not react. The sign LADIES appeared miraculously in front of her and she ducked inside.
No one was present. Here, it was cool.
Had it really been so hot in Webberly's office? Or had it been her outrage? She fumbled at her necktie, jerked it loose, and stumbled over to the basin. The cold water gushed out of