Peter Hamilton - Great North Road

He was awarded a muttering of “yes sir” from the team, and nodded gruffly at them. “Good, I’m sure you will make me proud.” He inclined his head at Sid. “Detective, a word.”

Here we go . Sid walked into the small office, watching as O’Rouke first went over to the two 2Norths and shook each of them by hand, muttering: “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Bastard .

Surprisingly the chief didn’t bring his aides with him as he joined Sid in the office. “Good move calling me right away,” O’Rouke said.

“Frankly, I didn’t know what else to do. A murder I can handle. But this… Fuck! A North!”

“Yeah. I’m not even going to tell you how much shit I’ve showered in already today. The mayor is crapping bricks the size of a bungalow, and the city prosecution director has retained a London firm to handle the case when you take it to court—which you will be doing. You’ll be getting a call from them in about half an hour to discuss strategy and the level of evidence they’ll need.”

Sid leaned back slightly and looked at the imposing chief constable with slightly narrowed eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, Hurst.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“No other fucker on the second floor will step up and put his dick on the block. It’s you.”

“Shit! Okay.”

“You screw up every now and then, who doesn’t? But Chloe and Jenson went over your record after I woke them up at one o’clock this morning—they hate you for that by the way—but they say you’re an okay detective, you know procedure, and you know the system. And face it, you can call down whatever covering fire you want with this one; Christ, you want to hire CERN for forensics, you got it. We have a tap directly into Northumberland Interstellar’s primary credit account. Every agency we’ve ever dealt with is going to be calling in favors all over the station just for the privilege of meeting you so they can hand you and your boy season tickets to St. James Park for the next ten years.”

“Christ.” Despite the shock, Sid was actually enjoying the idea of being left in charge. Typical that everyone else was so shit-scared for their career, they’d even risk defying O’Rouke. And that same second-floor “everybody” thought he was on his way out—which he was, just not in a way they imagined. Besides, unlimited budget for real, that was like watching the Gunners get a five–nil result over Man U.

“So what have you got?” O’Rouke asked.

“Sweet FA so far. I don’t even have a name yet, but I’ve put our pet Norths on finding out. I figured that was safest.”

“Okay, but they’re not here just for show. Use the buggers, don’t patronize them. They’re going to provide Augustine the proof I need him to have about how effective and dedicated my force is to finding the bastard that did this.”

“Right…,” Sid said cautiously.

“What?”

“Circumstances. He was naked, and that was a weird wound. This isn’t some mugging that went wrong.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it could get unpleasant.”

“No shit, genius?”

“What if we find stuff the Norths don’t want people knowing about them?”

“Then they’re going to be seriously pissed off with you , aren’t they?”

Sid took a long look at O’Rouke’s face, ruddy from high blood pressure, the craggy skin arranged in a viciously belligerent expression. Challenging him. Daring him. The same pissing contest as always.

“I’m due a promotion,” Sid said.

“You’re just back off suspension.”

“Aye, but I’m covering your arse on this. You don’t get that for free. I want grade five or I walk.”

“Fucking walk then.”

Sid turned and went for the door. Calculated risk…

“You stop right there, you little motherfucker,” O’Rouke snapped.

With his back to the chief constable, Sid grinned before turning around.

“If you don’t solve this, and I mean get the bastard convicted, I will personally fry your balls for breakfast and feed them to the Norths,” O’Rouke said.

“Deal.”

O’Rouke jabbed a fat finger under Sid’s nose. “And be clear, there is no weird, no kinky, no tox involvement, nothing that drops a turd on the North family. He was a decent man murdered by scum.”

“That’s what I believe. That’s what we’re working to prove.”

“Okay then, you and me get what this shit is about. Update me every two hours.” O’Rouke delivered one last warning glare before he pulled the door open. Chloe Healy and Jenson San fell in behind him as he left Office3 without a further word.

Everybody else turned to look at Sid with expressions ranging from curious to fascinated. He walked over to the door and shut it carefully, waiting until the blue rim light was on.

“All right then,” Sid told them. “This is how it is. Last night a male we’ve preliminarily identified as a North was pulled from the river. There’s a wound to the chest, and he was naked, which gives it a one-oh-one classification. What we’re focusing on this morning is finding his identity and where he was dumped into the Tyne. Detective Dobson, what do we have by way of river traffic last night?”

“We identified three possibles,” she said. “River police intercepted and inspected all of them.”

“Good work,” Sid said.

“Thanks. The first was the Menthanine: corporate charter boat, clean record, taking a group of four businessmen on a fishing trip. According to the captain, they’d been toxing up on board since late afternoon, and he was taking them out to the Scottish Isles overnight so they could start fishing when they were awake and sober.”

“Toxed argument that ended badly?” Ian queried.

“The trip had been booked for five weeks,” Dobson said. “They were the only ones listed, and the crew confirms no one else was on board. But the Menthanine left from Dunston Marina, so I’ve acquired the mesh logs from its quay to review and see if our North came on board. I have to say: doubtful. The river police were satisfied their story was legitimate, too. However, they were ordered to make anchor off Tynemouth so we can run a forensic check this morning. Same goes for the Bay Spirit . That’s a private yacht owned by a Tammie and Mark Haiah. It’s just been refurbished, and starting off an around-the-world voyage; you can hire it for weeklong periods between nice marinas and yacht clubs. First booking begins in Normandy in four days’ time. This was the shakedown voyage; captain and the steward are a boyfriend–girlfriend crew. No one else on board.”

“And the third?” Sid asked.

“Another yacht. This seems to be the night for it. The Dancer’s Moon , big floating gin palace, with a crew of seven owned by Corran Fiele. He’s a director of several local service and engineering companies. He’s taking his wife and three kids down to the Med for the rest of the winter. Again, doesn’t look suspicious, but they’re anchored with the others.”

“Okay, thanks, good work. I will sort getting forensics out there to clear them. So, we still need our two basics: name and crime location. Once we have them we can work our magic and plot his time line. Now, I’m expecting friend or family or workplace to call him in as missing soon enough, but I still want us to be checking. Abner and Ari, that’s you to start with. The rest of you, I want all the riverside mesh memories confirmed then indexed on a map zone so we can see our field of coverage. It was high tide at twenty-one forty-two hours last night, so begin with that as the dump time, as the body had to have been washed downstream. We’ll narrow it down after the autopsy, but what I want to know is last night’s blind spots in the mesh surveillance. This had purpose behind it—dumping the body was deliberate—and whoever did it isn’t going to be waving at the smartdust.”