Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

‘I can get away by six. I’ll have had enough of this place anyway by then.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, I know I’ve been lousy at keeping in touch lately.’

‘Like you said, you’ve had a lot on your plate.’ As she uttered the words, Hannah realised she didn’t know exactly what was on Terri’s plate. This new job, yes, but she never let work get in the way of fun and friendship — that was Hannah’s failing. ‘Not a problem.’

‘More than you can possibly imagine.’

Terri was calming down. It was a good sign that she was indulging in a pastime that had been a favourite since her teens: making her life sound mysterious and exciting. Hannah prayed that, if a man was involved, he was a massive improvement on Stefan, but she wouldn’t bank on it.

‘Any room to put a pizza on that plate this evening?’

‘Love to. How about we try Balotelli’s, that classy new Italian on the road out of Ambleside? It has a big bar, even a dance floor. A … friend of mine recommended it. Live entertainment most weekday nights, singers, stand-ups, you name it.’

‘Perfect.’

A rap on the door. As it swung open, Lauren Self’s immaculately coiffured blonde head appeared; it wasn’t her style to wait for a response. The ACC was waging war on closed doors — in fact, a war on doors generally. She was threatening a revamp of the office, ripping down every wall in sight to create ‘a more open environment’. She portrayed it as a chance for Hannah to get closer to her team. Hannah wasn’t status-conscious enough to regret losing her personal space, but she knew a PR ploy when she saw one. This was a neat way of saving money under the guise of democratising management and promoting an ethos of teamwork. Not that Lauren was moving into open plan herself. Someone of her seniority had far too much sensitive and confidential business to handle. Democracy and teamwork had their limits.

Hannah glanced at her watch. Shit, she’d lost track of time. First the budget figures, then Terri’s call. She’d been due to see the ACC five minutes ago, and Lauren made up for her lack of other skills by turning punctuality into a fetish.

‘Sorry,’ she mouthed, cradling her mobile.

Lauren disfigured her lovely features with a scowl. Hannah guessed she was mentally flicking through the small print of the Proper Use of Technology Policy even as she gave a curt nod and disappeared again. Probably to ask the long-suffering folk in Human Resources to draft a Showing of More Respect to Top Brass Procedure.

‘Abject apologies,’ Terri said. ‘I suppose I’m snarling up the machinery of justice, calling you at this time.’

‘You did the right thing, ringing me.’

Terri sighed. ‘Sooner or later I had to do the right thing. Law of averages, eh? See you tonight, sweetie.’

It was almost impossible not to feel a sneaking admiration for Lauren Self, but Hannah did her best. Lauren had risen to her current eminence without trace. Cumbria Constabulary was one of the most successful forces in Britain, and somehow she contrived to claim more than her fair share of the credit. Canteen cynics hailed it as a triumph for the fifty-page Equality and Diversity Policy she championed, in that lack of experience at the sharp end was no bar to advancement. She compensated for hardly ever having locked anyone up, with a flair for politics that cabinet ministers would kill for, and a genius for being all things to all people, especially if they were journalists. Lauren scented a photo opportunity quicker than a pig smelling muck. Her gleaming smile was a regular adornment of regional news bulletins and front pages of the local papers, while her chatty blog, tireless social networking and constant stream of tweets turned self-promotion into an art form.

Yet as Hannah walked into the office destined to remain an oasis of calm in the brave new world without walls, Lauren’s body language suggested a beaten tennis player at the post-match inquest. Her desk was spotless — a triumphant example of leadership in terms of the Clear Desk Policy — but her PC screen was so crammed with numbers, most of them red, that Hannah felt dizzy just looking at it.

‘Take a seat while you can,’ Lauren muttered. ‘It’s only a question of time before I’m asked to put the furniture up on eBay.’

Money, money, money. Researchers said crime was falling — for the moment, at least — but in the age of austerity, that wasn’t enough. The government wanted eye-watering cuts to police expenditure — without touching front-line policing, naturally. Even the most efficient forces must embark on a strategic review, also known as slash-and-burn. Vast chunks of the police estate were to be flogged off at bargain prices — assuming any developer could persuade the banks to lend them funds to buy. A hatchet had been taken to pension benefits and working conditions. Morale among the troops was on the floor, and heading down.

At first, Lauren had embraced the new agenda with gusto, and masterminded an upbeat video presentation called ‘No Pain, No Gain’. But then came a decision from on high to halve the force’s public relations spend, and Lauren was still reeling from the shock. Worse, a national phone hacking scandal had led to fresh scrutiny of police links with the media. Professional Standards warned against reporters who got close to cops so as to wheedle out information. It was only a question of time before someone rapped the well-manicured knuckles of pretty senior officers who flirted with hacks in return for positive coverage. Lauren’s progress up the greasy pole was hampered by the fact that the people blocking her way happened to be very good at their jobs. Rumours had swept through the force that she’d applied for a couple of top posts in the south of England. In the Cold Case Review Team, there was genuine sadness that she hadn’t talked her way past the shortlist.

‘You wanted to see me.’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Lauren gestured at the numbers on the screen. ‘Unhappy reading, I’m afraid.’

Hannah made a sympathetic noise, and braced herself.

‘In times like these, Hannah, we are bound to take difficult decisions. None of us would choose such a path willingly. But we have to face up to reality. We’re all in this together.’

She coughed. Hannah waited.

‘I’m sorry to say that we simply can’t sustain the current level of resource we allocate to non-core activities that don’t fit the parameters of conventional work-in-progress.’

Listening to Lauren, Hannah sometimes regretted the absence of an interpreter fluent in management-speak. Even so, she saw where the conversational labyrinth was leading.

Lauren paused, allowing Hannah the opportunity to make her task easier. When she sat tight, the ACC murmured, ‘All that has consequential implications for the Cold Case Review Team, I’m afraid.’

Hannah found her voice at last. ‘You’re dumping us on the scrapheap.’

Lauren frowned, like a torturer finding a captive has committed suicide just before the branding irons have heated up. ‘Please don’t jump the gun. The team has done good work since I set it up. And you’d expect me to fight tooth and nail to look after my people, wouldn’t you?’

Well, not really, to be honest.

Hannah settled for a cowardly nod.

Lauren threw a glance at a poster commissioned from an advertising agency six months ago. It said simply ‘We Deliver’, but also featured a natty logo in seven different colours, so Hannah presumed it was money well spent. At least by the standards of the time of plenty.

‘The answer is to work smarter. We need to do more for less. It’s tough, but then, life’s tough. You only have to look on your television screens to see what’s going on all over the world. We have to do our bit.’