Elizabeth George - In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner

“Yeah. She's writing-”

Lynley cut in. “Didn't you tell me she was going through Maiden's past arrests?”

“She was doing, yeah.”

“Have you completed that search, Havers?” Lynley asked.

Barbara blew out a breath. Lie or truth? she wondered. A lie would serve her immediate purposes, but it would sink her ship at the end of the day. “Winston suggested I trek out to Battersea,” she told Lynley. “I was just about to go back to CRIS, when he showed up with the information on the girl. I was thinking, sir, that her working for Upman doesn't make sense when you look at the fact that she'd dropped out of law college and had another job in London that she'd apparendy taken leave from for some reason, if she even had another job at all, because we've yet to check that out. And anyway, if there's a lover, as you've said, and if she was getting herself ready to be supported by him, why the hell would she be spending a summer working in the Peaks?”

“You need to get back on CRIS” was Lynley's reply. “I've had a word with Maiden and he's given us some possibilities to look into from his time with SO 10. Take down these names and deal with them, Havers.” He began reciting, spelling when necessary. There were fifteen names in all.

When she had them, Barbara said, “But, sir, don't you think that this Terry Cole business-”

What he thought, Lynley interrupted, was that as an SO 10 officer, Andrew Maiden would have overturned rocks and uncovered slugs, worms, and insects from all walks of life. He could have struck up an acquaintance during his time in undercover who had proved fatal years later. Thus, once Barbara was done looking for the obvious vengeance seekers, she was to read the files again for a more subtle connection: like a disappointed snout whose efforts hadn't been sufficiently rewarded by the police.

“But don't you think-”

“I've told you what I think, Barbara. I've given you an assignment. I'd like you to get on with it.”

Barbara got the message. She said, “Sir,” in reply, a polite affirmative. She nodded to Nkata and left the office. But she took no more than two steps from the doorway,

“Get on to the financial management firm” Lynley said. “I'm going to have a look at the girl's car. If we can find that pager and if the lover's phoned in, the number will put us on to him.”

“Right,” Winston said, and rang off.

Barbara slid back into Lynley's office, sidling along the wall casually as if she'd never had an order to do anything else. “So who is it who told her in Islington that he'd see her dead before he'd let her do it? The lover? Her dad? Britton? Cole? Upman? Or someone we haven't got on to yet? And what's the it anyway, when it's at home? Settling in to be some heavy punter's fluffy bit on the side? Going for the dosh with a bit of blackmail against the lover-that's always nice, isn't it? Having it off with more than one man? What d'you think?”

Nkata looked up from his notebook as she spoke. His glance went beyond her to the corridor, where she'd remained in mild defiance of Lynley's instructions to her. He said, “Barb…” in a monitory fashion. You heard the guv's order remained unsaid.

Barbara said breezily, “There may even be more at MKR Financial Management. Nicola could have been a bird who fancied a regular bonk when she wasn't getting it from the boyfriend in the Peaks and when the London lover was taken up with his wife. But I don't think we want to go at that angle directly at MKR, do you, what with sexual harassment all the rage.”

Nkata didn't miss the plural pronoun. He said, a model of patience and delicacy, “Barb, the guv did say you're to get back on to CRIS.”

“Bollocks to CRIS. Don't tell me you think some lag on the loose squared it with Maiden by taking the cosh to his daughter. That's stupid, Winston. It's a waste of time.”

“Might be. But when the 'spector tells you what road to take, you'd be a wise bird to take it. Right?” And when she didn't reply, “Right, Barb?”

“Okay, okay.” Barbara sighed. She knew that she'd been given a second chance with Lynley through the good graces of Winston Nkata. She just didn't want the second chance to materialise as a lengthy assignment to sit at a computer. She tried a compromise. “What about this, then? Let me go with you to Notting Hill, let me work it with you, and I'll do the computer business on my own time. I promise. I give you my word of honour.”

“The guv's not going to go for that, Barb. And he'll be bloody cheesed off when he twigs what you're doing. And then where'll you be?”

“He won't know about it. I won't tell him. You won't tell him. Look, Winston, I've got a feeling about this. The information we've got is all knotted up, and it wants unknotting, and I'm good at that. You need my input. You'll need it more once you get more details from this MKR place. I'm promising to do the computer slog-I'm swearing to do it-so just let me have a bigger piece of the case.”

Nkata frowned. Barbara waited. She chewed her gum more vigorously.

Nkata said, “When'll you do it, then? Early morning? Night? Weekends? When?”

“Whenever,” she replied. “I'll squeeze it in between tea dancing engagements at the Ritz. My social life's a real whirl, as you know, but I think I can carve out an hour here and there to obey an order.”

“He'll be checking to see you're doing what he says,” Nkata pointed out.

“And I'll be doing it. Wearing bells, if necessary. But in the meantime, don't waste my brain and experience by advising me to spend the next twelve hours at a computer terminal. Let me be part of this while the scent's still fresh. You know how important that is, Winston.”

Nkata slid the notebook into his pocket and observed her evenly. “You're a pit bull sometimes,” he said, defeated.

“It's one of my finer attributes,” she replied.

Lynley pulled into the car park in front of Buxton police station, untangled his lengthy frame from the small police vehicle, and examined the convex brick facade of the building. He was still astounded at Barbara Havers.

He had suspected that Nkata might put Havers on to the task of tracing Andy Maiden's investigations via computer. He knew the black man was fond of her. And he hadn't forbade it because, in part, he was willing to see if-after her demotion and disgrace-she would complete a simple assignment that she was sure not to like. True to form, she'd gone her own way in it, proving once again what her commanding officer believed to be the case: She had no more respect for a chain of command than a bull had respect for Wedgwood china. No matter that Winston had asked her to see to the Battersea end of things, she'd been given a prior assignment and she very well knew she was supposed to complete it before taking on something else. Christ. When would the woman learn?

He strode inside the building and asked for the officer in charge of evidence from the crime scene. After speaking to Andy Maiden, he'd tracked down Nicola's Saab at the pound, where he'd spent a fruitless fifty minutes doing himself what had already been done with exemplary efficiency by Hanken's team: going over every inch of the car, inside and out, stem to stern. The object of his search had been the pager. He'd come up empty-handed. So if Nicola Maiden had indeed left it in the Saab when she'd set off across the moors, the only place remaining to look for it would be among whatever evidence had been taken from her car.

The officer in question was called DC Mott, and he presided over the cardboard boxes, paper bags, plastic containers, clipboards, and record books that constituted the evidence so far linked to the investigation. He gave Lynley the wariest of welcomes into his lair. He was in the middle of tucking into an enormous jam tart onto which he'd just poured a liberal helping of custard and-spoon in hand-he didn't look like a man who wished to be disturbed in the midst of indulging in one of his vices. Munching happily away, Mott leaned back in a metal folding chair and asked Lynley exactly what he wanted to “mess about with.”