Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

‘Sure.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘But that’s how bullies get away with bullying.’

‘And vigilante justice is how innocent lives get ruined.’

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, a nervy girl from Media Relations clattered down the corridor on her wedges and accosted Hannah.

‘It’s the ACC, ma’am. She asked to see you. Right now, please.’

Lauren Self was white with fury. A newspaper had phoned to demand how the police budget cuts would affect the county’s well-regarded Cold Case Review Team, and the Media Relations people were wetting themselves. The press must have inside information. Leaks from the police happened constantly, but not on Lauren’s watch, unless she did the leaking. Time for rapid rebuttal. A suitably bland, reassuring and mendacious news release insisted the proposals were not cut and dried. Everyone was determined to build on the extraordinary successes the team had achieved since being set up on the ACC’s personal initiative.

‘Brief the troops in the next half hour,’ she told Hannah, ‘but brief is the operative word. Don’t be lured into discussing matters of detail. Refer anyone who asks about the implications for themselves to HR. We’ll draw up a set of FAQs to set minds at rest.’ A pause for effect. ‘Though naturally FAQs can never be definitive.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And Hannah, one other thing.’ For once, Lauren looked almost dishevelled. Lipstick smudged, errant blonde hairs straying into her eyes. ‘This isn’t merely a breach of security, it’s a breach of trust. Believe me, when I find the person responsible, they’ll wish to God they’d kept their trap shut.’

‘Of course, ma’am.’ She knew Lauren suspected she’d had a hand in the leak, but she wouldn’t dignify the slur with an attempted denial. ‘If there’s anything else I can do …’

‘Thank you.’ Lauren in Ice Queen mode. ‘That will be all.’

The briefing was an ordeal, for Hannah and for everyone else in the team. Her attempts to put a positive spin on the fact that cold case reviews would continue sounded hollow even to her own ears. Their work might go on, in some guise, but most of those who had built the team’s reputation would no longer be part of it. Even stolid, dependable Maggie Eyre was close to tears. Only Les Bryant remained as phlegmatic as ever.

She fled to her room and shut the door. Thank God they weren’t yet in open plan. At one point, she’d feared her voice was about to break with emotion. But the respite lasted no more than two minutes.

Greg Wharf marched in, slamming the door behind him. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Do I look okay?’

‘You had the worst of all worlds out there. You’re forced to toe the party line, and so the junior team members want to shoot the messenger. At the same time, I bet Cruella is making your life a nightmare. I wouldn’t put it past her to blame you for tipping off our pals in the fourth estate.’

‘But I didn’t.’

‘Never dreamt you did, you’d worry it was disloyal. And before you ask, it wasn’t me, either. But hats off to whoever’s responsible.’

‘It won’t make any difference, you realise. The money has to be saved somehow.’

‘Yeah, but more fun to go down with a bang not a whimper, eh?’

She forced a smile. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘Believe it or not, sometimes I am. Are you still on for that drink?’

‘I said maybe, remember?’

‘You meant yes.’

Another smile, genuine this time. ‘I meant maybe. And absolutely not in any of the usual pubs, either. I don’t want to bump into any of the DCs drowning their sorrows.’

‘There’s a pub out your way I quite like. The Cricketers, know it?’

When Hannah shook her head, he said, ‘Exactly. The landlord is the ultimate party-pooper, he makes Les Bryant look like Paris Hilton. You’d think he was paid to make customers feel unwelcome.’

‘And why would I want to go somewhere like that?’

‘Hey, I thought you liked peace and quiet. There’ll be no Hallowe’en crap, trick-or-treating is sure to be banned. No danger of running into any of our chums at the Cricketers, let alone the ACC. She wouldn’t be seen dead in such a dive.’

‘You’re really not selling it to me.’

‘The ale is brilliant. Have a glass of their Lakeland Lager, it’s nothing like the weasel pee that supermarkets sell. Leave your car at home, that stuff packs a punch. Half six suit you?’

‘I’ll let you know this afternoon.’

‘I’m off to Whitehaven in ten minutes, to interview that witness, remember? So it would help to fix up now, if you can bear it.’

How neatly he’d trapped her. If she said no, she’d come over as sad and self-pitying.

So she said yes.

It was half one before she grabbed a sandwich, and took the opportunity to ring Terri and ask how she was.

‘I’m good, honestly,’ she shouted. A drummer was practising in the background; she was at a concert venue in Keswick, making sure everything was ready for a Hallowe’en gig. ‘Thanks again, kid, for everything.’

‘Thought any more about making a formal complaint?’

‘Yep. The answer’s the same as before. Enough about me, what’s this I heard on the local news about your team? I thought the cutbacks were still under wraps at present.’

‘Best laid plans, and all that. Lauren’s on the warpath. She thinks I alerted the media. I almost wish I had. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.’

‘My philosophy exactly! It’s only taken you twenty years to catch up.’

‘Some people never learn.’

‘Speaking of which, have you called Daniel Kind?’

‘No.’

Terri tutted. ‘What about your DS Wharf?’

‘He’s not my DS Wharf. We’re colleagues, I like him, that’s as far as it goes.’ Hannah took a breath. ‘I’m having a drink with him tonight. Only one, mind, before you start getting ideas.’

‘Yeah, right.’

She didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Have a good time tonight.’

‘And you.’

The Cricketers lived up to its advance billing as a misanthrope’s dream. The landlord spoke in surly monosyllables, and the men gathered around the bar looked like extras from Deliverance . The only other women apart from Hannah were two elderly women drinking stout in a dusty corner. This was the antithesis of those fancy gourmet places springing up all over the Lakes; if hunger struck, you had to make do with peanuts or pork scratchings. The only concession to Hallowe’en jollity was a carved pumpkin face on a jack-o’-lantern perched on the bar counter which looked less sinister than most of the customers. At least the saloon was quiet, and a bit of peace was all Hannah craved after a second successive day from hell.

She’d spent the afternoon closeted with the Deputy Director of HR, poring over staff costs and career records, trying to figure out whom to redeploy, whom to retain. Like any manager, Hannah knew in her own mind the outcome that would work best, but wasn’t so naive as to try a pre-emptive strike. This was one of the lessons Ben Kind had taught her. When dealing with back office staff, far better to reach a consensus, than to try to force something through and then face long and debilitating guerrilla warfare. But the consensus had to be viable.

Greg lifted his glass. ‘Here’s to the Cold Case Review Team. Bloodied but unbowed.’

‘Yes, I keep telling myself, it could be worse. I was afraid Lauren might scrap the whole project and transfer our caseload to Major Investigations.’

‘Nah.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the bite of the ale. ‘It was never a risk.’

‘What makes you say that?’

He ticked the points off on his fingers. ‘One, the media love cold cases, and she has too much credibility tied up in our work. Two, cold cases are a safe haven for misfits like me, who aren’t easy to sack and might cause her grief elsewhere. Three, she shunted you into a siding to make sure you wouldn’t get in the way of her relentless march to the top of the greasy pole.’