Morgan smiled. ‘I do. I don’t like the smell of blood, especially when it’s dried on your clothes and every time you inhale it’s there.’
‘Amy, Morgan is going to be working alongside you for the foreseeable. She’s on a three-month attachment.’
‘I’m so excited to be able to work with you. I always wanted to be a detective.’
Amy glared at Ben. He was doing a great job of upsetting everyone he spoke with today.
‘Morgan, the first job, and probably one of the most important, is to learn where the brew cupboard is. Mine’s a strong coffee, two sugars. Help yourself to whatever. Amy drinks tea by the bucket, strong with no sugar.’
‘Amy, do you want a fresh drink?’
‘No, I’m good thanks, Morgan. I’ll show you where we keep our stuff. And he might be in charge, but he’s capable of making his own drinks, aren’t you, boss?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘So, only make him one if you want one yourself.’
Amy stood up and led Morgan out into the corridor to where the small kitchen was. He gave them a couple of moments then followed.
‘Look, I wanted you out here so I could tell you what’s happening without those two listening.’
‘And what’s that, boss?’
‘Those two are going to be running the investigation: one from HQ, the other from here.’
Amy crossed her arms, a look of anger flashing across her face. ‘What about us?’
‘We’ll do what we usually do, and then feed back to them. It’s complicated, so I’m not going to argue with them. I’m not stupid enough to turn down any extra help when we’re so thin on the ground, but you run everything through me first before you go to them.’
‘Fine by me.’
He looked at Morgan, who looked even more perturbed than she had earlier. ‘Morgan, is that okay with you?’
‘Yes, of course, Sarge. I don’t know what I’m doing though.’
Amy laughed. ‘To be fair neither do we. We’ve been winging it for years. You’ll be fine, as long as you use your common sense.’
‘Ah, well I have that in buckets. Thanks, I’ll give it a go.’
They left Morgan making two mugs of coffee and went back into the office where Claire and Abigail had set themselves up at desks with their laptops.
Seventeen
Morgan followed Amy to the blue room, which was actually painted an unusual shade of pink, and took a seat at the large table. There was a huge television screen, and a camera which kept moving around the room. Abigail, Claire and Wendy filed in, followed by everyone else and took a seat. The room was mirrored on the television screen. Morgan hated seeing herself on camera, she rarely took selfies, so every time it swung around to her she bowed her head, feeling self-conscious. Her hair was frizzy after her shower; there was only a hose in the ladies’ changing rooms to dry your hair with and it didn’t give it the smooth, straightened effect she preferred. Ben came in last, walked straight over to the camera and turned it off. Her shoulders dropped, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
‘No need to scare ourselves with that, it’s bad enough looking at you all in the flesh.’
Laughter filled the room. Amy had her laptop open and was logging herself onto the system.
‘For the benefit of today’s new additions to the team I’ll do a brief introduction.’ He went around the room and let each person speak.
‘This all started yesterday with the report of a suicide out at a house called Lake View, on Easdale Road. PC Brookes was the first officer on scene. It all looked pretty straightforward. I attended and didn’t think anything was untoward. I should have looked closer, but I didn’t. I hold my hands up and the lesson has been learned; no matter how long you’ve been doing this job never take anything at face value.
‘The body was taken to the RLI, where the pathologist wasn’t happy that this was a straightforward suicide. Fast forward to today: unable to trace Olivia Potter’s husband or children despite ANPR markers being placed on his car and the reg being circulated countywide, there were no sightings. Morgan went back to the house this morning and found the grim discovery in the cellar.’
Amy brought up the crime scene photos and slowly clicked through them. Claire sat forward and Abigail let out a small gasp. Morgan didn’t need to look at them: they were forever imprinted in her mind in all their bloody, technicolour glory. Not wanting anyone