I Watson - Director's cut

Cole defused the situation and said to Anian, “Well, it seems like your hunch was right but you should have shared it. Going forward you’ll have no further contact. Cancel any future appointments. Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

“Yes Sir.”

“And since you’ve made contact you stay out of the way. Let’s not compromise the situation further.” He turned to Wooderson and said stiffly, “Jack, I didn’t hear any of this. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t. And I don’t want to hear any more.” He addressed Butler direct. “You’ve put us all on the line. You better hope the chief doesn’t get wind of it.”

Anian insisted, “It was a personal contract, Guv, taken out before he was in the frame.”

Wooderson made a suitable noise.

Cole wasn’t convinced either, not by a long shot. DS Butler and DC Stanford had been playing a dangerous game. The DS should have kept Wooderson informed and he should have mentioned it to Cole earlier in the day when he was asked to follow up the chestnut cooking pot.

DS Butler was looking a little wary. He knew pretty well what was on Cole’s mind.

Cole wrapped it up. “OK, let’s get on with it.”

Anian glanced up again. Cole hoped the others didn’t notice the speculation in her eye.

In that moment, when other things became incidental, they heard a distant explosion. The report came on, rushing at them, rattling the windows. Alarm bells sounded, tyres screeched and the lights flickered.

An indexer jumped and fell off her chair. Butler ducked. DC Stanford and DI Cole didn’t move, still locked together by an unanswered question.

And Inspector Jack Wooderson said, “Fucking kids. I blame the single mothers!”

In a police station nothing moves faster than rumour.

Sheerham was like any other nick in that regard and was leaking more than Thames Water. Most coppers had a direct line to their mates on the local – it meant pocket money or, at least, a top-up at the favoured boozer. Even small change helped when the credit cards were maxed.

The top brass were in panic-stricken mode, hiding in their offices – sex and violence, one of their own missing – and even thinking about the headlines had Chief Superintendent Marsh reaching for the glyceryl trinitrate and he didn’t even have a heart condition – unless a cold heart counted.

There had been another slasher incident. More blues and twos, more blue and white police tape fluttering around yet another scene of crime. This time it had been in an underpass. Another girl had been attacked, just like the others. They'd established that she wasn't a tom and that gangland wasn't involved. And they were getting reports coming in that a woman might have been the assailant.

“What about Lawrence?” Detective Superintendent Baxter asked once Cole had closed the office door.

“Forensics are at the shop now.” Cole glanced at his watch. “We should get a prelim in the next hour or so.”

“And Lawrence himself?”

“They're letting him sweat, waiting for the report. That never does any harm.”

“Who's his brief?”

“Doesn't want one. Told Sam that he would conduct his own defence.”

Baxter made a suitable noise. “A joker, then. Will you conduct the interview?”

“No. Let Sam have it.”

“Don't let Jack muddy the water.”

“Sam's confident that it's just the loose ends.”

Baxter looked up. “Unfortunately we’ve heard that before. So, what have we got, the slasher, the missing women? Is Lawrence in the frame for both? There's a whisper a woman is involved in the latest.” “We'll see. The rumour came from the Square. One of the locals got hold of it and passed it on to LBC. At this rate it’ll be on the news at six.” The DI paused before changing track. “I think we can leave Barry with the kids. If they blow up another shed so be it.”

“I've got no issues with that. The explosion… I spilt my coffee. It's a bloody liberty. When we get the little buggers there won't be a damned thing to do.”

Cole managed to suppress a smile. He said, “They'll have to start insuring their allotment sheds. Some of it was found two hundred yards away.”

“So what about this slasher? A woman?”

“I'm waiting for Geoff. I'd like to hear what he thinks.”

Baxter agreed. “So would I. Make Barry aware that my door is open. I want a twice-daily update from him."

They heard voices coming from the outer office. Through the glass they saw Maynard and PC Fitzgerald talking to the team.

“Talk of the devil,” Baxter murmured.

Cole moved to the door and waved Maynard inside.

Maynard took a seat without invitation.

“You remember Detective Superintendent Baxter?”

“Of course.” Maynard hid his surprise. The super had gained weight. A stone a year and that meant two and most of it around the middle. “How are you, Mr Baxter?"

Baxter weighed up the therapist, searching for something, he didn't know what. Carefully he removed his spectacles for a quick once-over with the yellow buffer. “I'm fine Geoff. Are you?"

“Good,” Maynard responded. “It’s good to be back.”

Cole cut in, wanting to get on. “You saw Elizabeth Rayner?" The psychologist nodded.

“And?”

“And nothing Rick. This wasn't personal. You've got a psychopath on your hands. He's struck three times in less than a week and there's more to come.”

“He?”

“I heard the rumour. And Elizabeth Rayner has come up with something else. Remember the distinctive aftershave she recognized – well it wasn't. It was Amarige, a Givenchy perfume.”

Cole nodded. “You OK with Donna?”

“You should talk to her,” Maynard suggested. “She's got a couple of points that might interest you.”

The DI shot him a thoughtful look. He said, “What's your plan now?”

“I’ll see the other victims and try to find a connection, if there is one. Can you spare Donna?”

Now Cole knew it was personal. He nodded slowly.

Maynard smiled, enjoying himself.

Cole said, “We'll meet up later.”

Maynard nodded. Cole hadn't mentioned where but he knew exactly where he meant.

So did the super and he wasn't impressed.

Once the door had closed behind them and while Baxter considered the situation he unwrapped silver paper and started on a thick sandwich. Mature farmhouse cheddar all the way from Somerset and beef tomato from the Canaries. A feast and what was more, Cole and Maynard on the job again. The fat man shook his head in wonder. It was like old times.

On the way through the IR Chas Walker stopped them. "Guv,” he addressed Cole. “Rodney Grant has come up with the goods. We've got Jason in IV one. But he's calling himself Brian Lara now, even though he's white and blond.”

“Right,” Cole said. “I want you to look into this rumour about a woman being involved. Find the hack responsible and sit on him till you get an answer. Make him understand that ‘no comment’ is not an option. Make him understand that he lives in a police state.” If he was joking it didn’t show and Walker said, “Right, Guv, I can do that.”

Cole turned to Donna. “You and Peter look after Brian. He'll know the score. We want to know about everything that goes down in the Square.”

Chas Walker cut in. “We're waiting for the duty social worker. He's no more than fourteen. More like twelve.”

Cole said sharply, “You still here?”

Walker persisted, “An appropriate adult, Guv. Never mind Social Services we’ll be starting a civil war with PPU.”

“PPU! FPU! CPU! They’re in the wrong job anyway.”

“We’re bending the rules, Guv?”

“Bend some more.”

Donna started toward the door. Peter Ward followed. And Maynard, without invitation, followed him.