Steven Dunne - Deity

Becky stood at the sink in Kyle’s kitchen and wiped the last of the talcum powder from her face. When she’d finished, she stared at her reflection in the window. The harsh strip-lighting left no hiding place for all the minor blemishes that others overlooked but she obsessed over. She looked away at once.

The noise of the TV increased as a door opened and Adele came over to put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Okay, Becks?’

Becky smiled faintly. ‘Always.’ She laughed. ‘Lamest party ever, right?’ Adele smiled back. ‘I should text Fern and tell her she got off lightly.’ Adele raised an eyebrow but Becky had already realised. ‘Right. No phones.’

‘Come and watch Badlands . You’ll like it.’

Saturday, 21 May

The next morning, Brook jogged up the steps of the entrance to Division Headquarters in St Mary’s Wharf, and waited for Noble to swipe his card against the sensor before following his subordinate through the smoked-glass door. Sergeant Harry Hendrickson was on the Duty Desk and spotted DI Brook hurrying by. Hendrickson was in his late fifties and had a face like Sid James on a bad day. He’d never got over being rejected by CID in his distant youth, and a detective as clever as Brook had become the natural focus for his resentment, the more so because Brook wasn’t a local man.

Hendrickson sneered as sourly as he dared in Brook’s direction, but the senior officer kept his eyes glued firmly to his feet. Noble in turn gave Hendrickson no more than a glance as the pair passed.

‘Morning, Detective Sergeant,’ bellowed the uniformed officer when Noble didn’t acknowledge him.

For once Noble didn’t answer or react to the fake bonhomie. Usually he nodded a greeting, played along to keep a foot in both camps as he had with Keith Pullin the other morning. But this was getting out of hand — too many people felt they could be openly hostile and Noble decided it was time to stonewall the backhanded insults aimed at his superior.

Brook pushed through the door that led to the lifts but he ignored them and made for the stairs. At the same moment a lift door opened and Chief Superintendent Mark Charlton stepped out. Brook saw him from the corner of an eye but pretended not to notice and bounded towards the first step.

‘Morning, gentlemen,’ called Charlton, raising an arm and halting Brook in mid-stride.

‘Morning, sir,’ said Noble. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’

Brook turned to face the Chief Super with barely detectable scorn. Noble watched him, wincing in anticipation. Good at what? was Brook’s usual retort to such a greeting. More often than not it was followed by Are you American? Noble saw Brook open his mouth to speak but fortunately the moment passed without comment.

‘What news about that floater?’ asked Charlton, looking beyond Brook to his destination. Close to regulation minimum height, Charlton was always uncomfortable standing beside two six-footers. ‘I’ve had Brian Burton from the local rag on to me about it. Just an old tramp, I heard.’

Brook raised an eyebrow. ‘Even tramps have mothers. Sir.’ Charlton and Brook’s eyes locked briefly before the Chief Superintendent looked away, tight-lipped.

‘You know what I mean, Inspector. The type to get falling-down drunk and end up in the river — the type worth a fourline paragraph on page eleven of the Derby Telegraph .’

‘There’s a little more to it than that,’ answered Brook.

‘Oh? How so?’

‘We’re still assessing that, sir,’ said Brook. ‘It’s not suicide and it could yet be murder.’

Noble looked sharply at Brook.

‘I see,’ said Charlton. He tried to sound authoritative. ‘Well, get your paperwork on my desk today and don’t waste any more time on it than necessary.’

Brook smiled his reply.

Charlton was on the verge of turning away before finding a riposte to Brook’s earlier gibe. ‘You know, you glamour boys in CID never really have day-to-day dealings with tramps or the homeless and alcoholic. It’s us in uniform that have always had to clean up their mess. The nurse punched and kicked in Casualty. The primary-school kids on their way home lured into a derelict house and sexually assaulted. If you’d seen what I’ve seen out in the field, you wouldn’t think some of these scumbags had mothers.’ He glared at Brook only to see that he’d already gone and was sprinting up the stairs.

Back in his office, Brook sipped on the over-sweetened vending-machine tea, aware that Noble was waiting for something.

‘Something you want to say, John?’ Noble shrugged so Brook asked it for him. ‘Why did I tell Charlton it might be murder?’

‘That would cover it,’ answered Noble.

Brook took a sip of tea. ‘Are we certain there was no coercion?’

‘Habib and Petty were. And they’ve seen a lot more of these. .’

‘Tramps?’

Noble shrugged. ‘For want of a better word. And we know the path our corpse was on. He only had another year, according to Habib.’

Brook looked away. ‘You’re right. But I don’t like Brass pushing us to sign off on cases before they’re done and dusted.’

‘So we’re not ready to pass this down the food chain?’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Because of the planning that went into disposal. .’

‘Not just the way the corpse was dumped, John. The way it was filleted, treated with such care then just discarded in the water seems perverse. Almost as though. .’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know,’ Brook said. ‘But I’ve never seen anything like this. We should give it another couple of days at least.’

‘You don’t think it’s a mortuary mix-up then?’

‘You heard Habib. The body wouldn’t have been cut that way if it had been through the system.’

‘I also heard him say it wasn’t murder.’ Noble smiled at Brook. ‘But I suppose if the Chief Super thinks all bets are still on, we don’t get reassigned.’

Brook grinned back guiltily. ‘That never occurred to me.’

‘Course not.’

‘But you’re right. Charlton will have us back on fake IDs or, God forbid, break-ins if we sit around twiddling our thumbs.’

‘A valuable public service that,’ Noble suggested.

‘But not our skill-set, John — and the householders of Derby deserve better than to have their cases dumped into our inexperienced hands.’

Noble laughed then looked back at Brook.

‘Something else?’

Noble hesitated then said, ‘Never mind.’

‘No, spit it out. We don’t crack cases by suppressing ideas.’

‘It’s not about the case.’

Brook took a sip of his tea. ‘What is it? Come on, let’s hear it.’

Noble braced himself. ‘Okay. How come you go out of your way to wind up the Chief Super yet put up with all that crap from a nobody like Hendrickson?’

‘Hendrickson doesn’t like me?’ asked Brook innocently.

‘You know he doesn’t and he’s not shy about showing it. And he’s not the only one.’

Brook looked into his tea cup. ‘Like. .’ He looked up to Noble for help.

‘Keith Pullin.’

‘To name but one.’ Brook nodded.

‘That’ll be the day.’

Brook grunted in brief amusement. ‘Some time ago, Charlton tried to get me to take early retirement and he wasn’t subtle about it.’

‘Well, you did undermine a case by going to the Telegraph behind his back.’

‘Two innocent people were being railroaded, John. I couldn’t let that happen.’

‘And Charlton hasn’t forgiven you.’

‘I obviously told you all this.’ And when Noble laughed without mirth: ‘Something funny?’

‘You could say,’ replied Noble.