the DCI from Major Crime, Bill and even Media Services (why not, after all?). I suggested that this was a very worrying trend and that, even if there was no actual crime, it was a symptom of the dysfunctional communities that we were supposed to be trying to repair. The DCI deleted the email without opening it. Media Services opened it, then deleted it. Bill didn’t even open his.
Bill was the senior analyst. Thanks to the last round of cutbacks we had to share him with the East Division, where he’d always been the one in charge. Although he claimed to be ‘always on the end of the phone if need be’, we’d only seen him once or twice in the six months since he’d been our senior. It was supposed to be a sign of our self-sufficiency, that we were left to get on with things the same way we always had – but in truth he liked the easy life, and travelling the twenty miles or so to a town centre police station where he wouldn’t be able to park was a bit beyond him.
Until Thursday I didn’t have a chance to work on them, the bodies. I had other work to do, a profile on another sex offender, this one about to be released after a long sentence. It was all about managing risk. I looked at his offending history, the places he’d lived, his associates, his family, his current situation, trying to find a pattern to determine if he was likely to prove a danger. No pressure, then – we’re only talking about the most unimaginable hurt coming into innocent young lives.
Kate was off, too, which made things even more stressful. I was monitoring her list of tasks as well as my own.
I was so absorbed that I didn’t even notice anyone was behind me until a hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped a mile.
‘Sorry,’ he said, laughing like a big kid. It was Andy Frost. ‘Didn’t mean to make you jump.’
‘That’s OK. Sir.’
‘Stop with the “sir”, Annabel. I’ve told you before.’
‘I know. Force of habit.’
‘I got your email,’ he said, perching on the edge of Kate’s desk. ‘Do you think you could have a look at the list of bodies in a bit more detail? Do me some sort of comparative case analysis?’
‘Of course. It would probably be a bit basic, though. Don’t forget they’re only on incident logs; they’re not crime reports. Some of the ones I looked at were incredibly brief.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, pondering. ‘I did mention it in the Force Tactical. Major Crime weren’t remotely interested, of course, but then I’m not really surprised. They’ve got a lot on at the moment. But Alan Robson showed an interest, I said I’d get him a bit more detail.’
‘Alan Robson? The head of Crime Reduction?’
Andy nodded. ‘Yes – he was moved over from Tac Ops last month.’
‘He’s probably looking to build his promotion portfolio.’
‘Even so, it’s better than nothing. You might well have something here, and of course, as you said, it’s a community issue, which is what’s got his attention. And if we end up needing to do something with Social Services, or Age UK, or whoever, he’d be your man to sort that lot out.’
I gave him a smile. ‘I’d best crack on with it, then.’
I went home via the supermarket and then Mum’s house, to deliver the groceries she’d asked for yesterday. She’d already phoned again this afternoon: she had forgotten to tell me some of the things she needed, and didn’t want to be without them for the weekend, even though I usually did a shop for her on Sunday morning. When I let myself into her house the telly was on, loud, as it always was, and if it hadn’t been for her grunt in reply to my hello I would have assumed she hadn’t realised I was there. I put her food away in the fridge and put a frozen shepherd’s pie in the microwave to thaw, and turned the oven on to warm up. While the microwave was whirring away I washed and dried last night’s dinner plate and this morning’s cereal bowl and put them away in the cupboard.
My stomach growled at the smell of meat and gravy emanating from the microwave. When it pinged I put the plastic dish on to a baking tray and shoved it into the oven, setting the timer.
‘It’ll be done in twenty minutes or so,’ I said. ‘You