Shallow Ground (Detective Ford), Andy Maslen [ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt] 📗

‘She is, guv,’ Olly said. ‘I just checked it on my phone.’

‘I didn’t need it checking,’ Hannah said. ‘That’s the answer.’

Ford cleared some space on the board and wrote up a new set of numbers.

1/6 = .167

2/6 = .333

3/6 = .500

4/6 = .666

‘Guv?’ Olly said, sounding anxious.

‘What?’

Olly pointed at the lowest number. ‘I think it means there are two more to go before the sequence is complete.’

An indistinct male face shimmered before Ford. Clean-shaven. Respectable. Grinning. Evil. Catch me if you can. He fought down a shudder.

After the briefing, Sandy hung back. When the room was empty but for her and Ford, she closed the door.

‘What is it?’ he asked, sensing from her tight expression that she didn’t relish what she had to say.

‘I trust you, Henry, you know that.’

‘Thanks. And yes, I do.’

She heaved a sigh. ‘I am getting significant pressure from the chief con, among others,’ she added, ‘to close this case.’

‘We’re doing our best,’ he said, feeling his heart bumping in his chest. ‘The whole team is literally spending every waking hour on it.’

‘I know. And I’m grateful. But I hear you’ve been to see Abbott again and more or less accused him of the murders.’

‘What? Abbott jerks the chief con’s chain, he jerks yours and you—’

‘Do not finish that sentence, Henry,’ she snapped. ‘Because – and I’m sorry if you didn’t realise this – I did get my chain yanked by the chief con. And I can tell you, I didn’t enjoy it at all. I’m ordering you to lay off Abbott. I hear Jools likes this Kyte character for it. Go with that. Support her. Manage this case by the book and stop acting like some maverick gunslinger.’

Ford returned her stare, then dropped his eyes. He knew he was being unfair on her. But how could he ignore the one, sure, unique talent he knew he possessed: the ability to sense the presence of a killer?

‘Sorry, boss.’

She frowned at him. Great. More to come.

‘Look, there’s no easy to say this,’ she said. ‘They’re pushing me to appoint a more experienced DI, someone qualified as an SIO, to take over from you.’

‘What? You’re joking?’ he said, raising his voice, unable to stop himself.

She shook her head. ‘I wish I were. Look, it’s not certain. I fought them off. But they want me to come back to them with a recommendation in a week if we’re no further forward. I’m sorry.’ She held up a hand to forestall his outburst. ‘It’s the best I could do.’

Thirty yards away, in a quiet corner of Major Crimes, Hannah was talking to Jools.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Hannah said. ‘Something to do with Henry?’

Jools nodded. ‘Ask away. What? Is he giving you grief over those fingerprints?’

Hannah shook her head. Wishing she didn’t need to have this coaching in what everybody else did by instinct. Hoping she’d read Jools right. ‘It’s not that. He’s very patient, despite the immense pressure he’s under.’

‘Then what?’ Jools said. ‘You can ask me anything, Hannah.’ She laid a gentle hand on Hannah’s forearm.

Hannah looked down and was pleased to realise she didn’t feel any need to pull away.

‘It’s quite . . .’ She hesitated. Should she stop? No, Hannah. Now or never. ‘. . . personal.’

Jools put her finger to her lips and winked. ‘In that case, let’s head for the ladies.’

Leaning back on the wall between the hand dryer and the mirrors, Jools smiled at Hannah. ‘Well?’

‘Do you know if Henry is seeing anyone?’ Hannah blurted out, feeling her cheeks heating.

Jools frowned. ‘Romantically, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

Jools shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think he’s been on a single date since Lou died. Why?’

‘I want to ask him out, but I’m worried he’ll reject me.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘You know, because of my, I mean, that I’m . . .’

‘On the spectrum?’ Jools asked softly.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘It is to anyone who’s interested in other people,’ Jools said. ‘But, to answer your question, no. I don’t think he’d reject you because of that. You’re attractive, you’re obviously super-bright, which I know he likes. But just—’

‘What?’ Hannah asked, her pulse quickening.

‘Just take it in baby steps. He’s still mourning her. I know it’s been a long time, but he just seems, I don’t know, stuck.’

Hannah nodded, smiling. Happier than she’d been since arriving at Bourne Hill. ‘Baby steps.’

DAY FOURTEEN, 8.15 A.M.

Striding into the mortuary, Georgina called out a cheery ‘Good weekend?’ to Pete, who was carrying the swing-bin out from the walk-in fridge. He’d added a small but sufficient amount of anticoagulant to keep it liquid.

‘I want to know how much blood she had in her,’ she said. ‘It’s the first time we’ve been able to measure it. Would you?’

He set to work with a stainless-steel ladle and a transparent measuring jug. Although eager to begin work, she found something irresistible about the simple dip-and-pour process her assistant was engaged in, and sat watching, finger to her chin. He filled the jug to a marker line, made a note, tipped it away into the sink, then repeated the sequence.

He turned to Georgina. ‘Minus the anticoagulant I added, that’s two point five litres.’

‘I reckon I left about 100ml in the bath, so let’s call it two point six in total, which is odd,’ she said, furrowing her brow and turning to the sheeted corpse behind her. She lifted a corner and assessed the size of the dead young woman. ‘I’d have expected more than that. Let’s get Aimee weighed, shall we?’

First, Pete wheeled an identical gurney on to the weighing platform set flush into the mortuary floor. He pressed a button to zero the scale, then removed the gurney. Together, they wheeled the body into position.

Georgina made a note of the weight. ‘Fifty kilos, or seven stone twelve.’

She took a seat at a desk and launched a spreadsheet, tapping keys and humming as she went.

Pete stood by her left shoulder, watching her work.

‘And?’ he said, when she leaned back.

‘Odd. Exsanguinated, she weighs fifty