Chapter 26

As Reid had predicted, Brocklehurst reluctantly allowed him to put a limited team onto following up the lead given to them by Mrs Anderson. The meeting in BB's office had not been a comfortable one – it was clear from the DCI's manner that he would much rather have let the whole business quietly die a death and/or turn into someone else's problem - but both he and Reid were well aware that the Met's upper echelons were expecting a positive result and that this could be their last and best chance to achieve one.

A considerably more affable gathering took place in Reid's office shortly afterwards, fuelled by a large packet of chocolate digestives and several cups of tea. Leo Gent and Claire Jordan sat at Hannigan's desk whilst Sheila shared Reid's, and the four of them reviewed the case so far before beginning to exchange thoughts on how they might now proceed.

Reid, despite having managed only a couple of hours sleep and looking, in Gryff Coleman's colourful phrase, "Like half a bucket of warmed-over puke," felt more positive than he had in a few days. Mrs Anderson's phone-call had put the ball back in their court, and unlike his superior he'd been dismayed at the thought of the case fizzling out into nothing. "No good pounding the streets looking for Pyle," he declared, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "We've no idea where to start and there's not enough of us to cover the ground."

"We could tail his missus," offered Leo, who was on his third biscuit but nevertheless wearing his best air of efficiency. "If he's in the area somewhere I'll bet you anything you like he's in touch with her."

"Yep, I think you're probably right. And since you two have a pretty good track record so far, then the lovely Lisa's all yours." Reid glanced over at Boydeau. "Guess where you're off to?"

She wrinkled her nose in anticipation. "Don't tell me – the hospice shop?"

"Got it in one. Mrs A told us that McVey goes in there two or three times a week, so we need to know when. If we're really lucky he'll be a complete saddo and have regular days and times; if not, you might have to make yourself comfortable for a day or two. That little toe-rag's got a few things he still needs to share with us, and since he's not coming here when he should do we'll have to go and get him." He leaned forward and began scribbling notes on a clean sheet of paper. "The DCI made it very clear that he expects me to be where he can find me for the next few days, but the minute anybody turns anything up I want to know." There was a general draining of tea-mugs and a reaching for coats and bags, in the midst of which Reid added: "And don't any of you try anything on your own, you hear? If you get a sniff, you call me and you call for backup. There's already been arson, manslaughter, attempted kidnapping and intimidation linked to this lot and if they've been hanging around here looking for something all this time then they're going to be getting desperate." He looked sharply at each of them in turn and received three nods of understanding in reply. "Right. Get cracking."

The door clicked shut behind them and Reid, left alone, looked around the little room with dislike, sighed and ran his hands through his hair. BB had in fact said something to the effect that if his DS did any more gallivanting around the parish without keeping him fully informed there would be hell to pay. The mood the DCI had been in this morning Reid could well believe it, and he could live without the aggro.

To be fair to Brocklehurst he was under a great deal of pressure from on high, and whilst Pyle had been neither use nor ornament at Northcote his abrupt departure had left the department short-staffed and with several cases hanging suspended in mid-air. There would be a replacement for Pyle shortly, but until then someone had to make the day-to-day decisions and until the errant DI's successor was appointed Reid was it. Time for him to keep his nose clean and show what a good little team player he could be. The phone began to ring, and he reached for it with an air of resignation.

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As the others walked down the corridor toward the main office, Leo Gent sighed theatrically and dragged an exaggerated forearm across his brow. "All things considered that wasn't too bad, was it? The miserable bastard nearly smiled about twice."

Claire shot a look at Boydeau that was half-embarrassment and half-apology. "Don't be such a bitch, Leo."

"Well, he is." Gent gave a sulky shrug of his shoulders. "Wouldn't hurt him to force a laugh once a week, would it?"

Sheila, whose private opinion of Gent as a bit of a pillock was being further confirmed with every passing second, broke in before he could warm any further to his theme. "He's a bit intense," she conceded, "but I've never known him to ask anything of one of us he wouldn't do himself, and he pushes himself harder than anyone." Turning to Claire, she added, "I'm going to get myself over to The Parade now while it's early and see if I can get a word with Mrs A, or whoever's in the shop. See you later."

Halfway down the stairs she realised she'd left her car-keys in the drawer of her desk and with a little sigh she headed back on herself. If she was like this at thirty-six God help her when she hit forty. She rounded the corner by the half-open door of the main CID office and was about to push it wide when she heard Jordan's voice come clearly through the gap: "So… how long's Reid been separated from his wife, do you know?"

Altering her position to put Claire in her eyeline, Boydeau got a good look at the expression on the younger woman's face. Good Grief! she thought incredulously. I do believe someone's developed a crush! Feeling guilty for inadvertently eavesdropping she prepared to announce her presence with a noisy entrance, but hesitated as Leo said: "He's divorced, far as I know. But if you want to get in there you'll have to join the queue."

"What are you on about now?" Jordan demanded.

Yes, what? Claire wasn't facing in her direction, so Sheila laid a hand on the door and applied light pressure. The door swung gently back on its hinges, allowing Boydeau a view of the very top of the spikes gelled into Leo's hair as the DC rummaged in the bottom drawer of his desk.

"If you wanna try your luck with Reid you'll have to line up behind Boydeau, won't you?"

"You what?!" Claire's voice was as flabbergasted as Sheila's thoughts.

"Doing the duvet rhumba, ain't they?" Gent's hand appeared above the top of the desk long enough to perform an obscene gesture before he returned to his search.

Very slowly Sheila began to walk toward Leo's desk. Jordan caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and made a tiny strangled noise, her face flushing with mortification. "Leo…"

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed it." Oblivious to Boydeau's approach Gent continued with both his rummaging and his monologue. "If they're not sitting in the canteen together or shut up in his office they're out on a shout together. And there was that business with Pyle in the corridor the other week. I reckon those two have been together ages. Bet that's partly why his wife threw him out… There it is! Knew I'd got some in here!" He straightened up triumphantly, a packet of chewing-gum in his hand, and found himself almost nose to nose with Boydeau, whose expression rivalled Reid at his most intimidating.

"How you ever made it out of uniform is a total mystery to me," Sheila said in a conversational tone. "Did it never occur to you, you cretin, that if – and I stress IF - I chose to sleep with DS Reid we might just be a little bit more subtle about it than to parade it around in front of the entire office? And since we're on the subject, whilst I accept that speculating about other people's relationships is pretty much what you're best at, just watch where you do it. Because if I ever hear you discussing this topic again I'll barbecue your testicles. Do we understand each other?"

Without waiting for a reply she turned on her heel, said to Claire Jordan, "Good luck with Mrs Pyle," and strode out of CID in the direction of the stairs, snatching up her car-keys as she swept by.

Jordan looked across at Leo Gent, who had gone an interesting colour. "Nice job, Leo. Very subtle." She hopped down from the desk and followed in Sheila's wake, leaving Gent to trail shamefacedly behind her.

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Sheila was still simmering when she reached the car-park, and banged the door of the Vectra shut with unnecessary force. Despite her fearsome reputation and her total inablilty to suffer fools she was generally even-tempered, but Gent's idiocy had touched a nerve.

It wasn't so much the gossiping about the supposed relationship between herself and Reid. There were several partnerships in the division whose dynamic attracted comment, Gent and Jordan's among them – though in their case it was less about supposed sexual attraction and more along the lines of how a nice sensible girl like Claire put up with working alongside such a plonker – and the pairing of a male DS and a female DC was always going to be up for idle speculation.

In addition, Boydeau readily admitted to herself, if to no-one else, that there was a grain of truth in Gent's conjecture; Reid was an attractive man, and in other circumstances she would quite likely not have kicked him out of bed for eating biscuits. However, she had worked with him long enough and was sufficiently realistic to recognise that the shared qualities which made them a good working partnership would have had them at each others' throats within weeks in any other context – and that was without even factoring in how high-maintenance Reid could be. The woman who took him on permanently, Sheila thought as she negotiated a set of traffic-lights, would be a unique and gifted individual and would deserve a bloody medal.

Pulling on the handbrake in the car-park of The Parade, Boydeau rummaged in her handbag for a couple of pounds to feed the ticket machine. What had really got under her skin was the inference that she was in some way connected with the failure of Reid's marriage. How many times, she wondered, had Gent peddled that poisonous little thought around the squad in her absence? Office speculation along the lines of "yes they are/no they're not/told you they were" was one thing but being postulated as a marriage wrecker was definitely another. She briefly allowed herself the pleasure of imagining what Reid would do to Gent if she passed on this nugget of information, but reluctantly discarded that particular option on the grounds that she might well get them both dismissed. A much more subtle though less satisfying solution would be to suggest a girlie night out with Claire and see if she could find out just how much damage Gent had done before she took more drastic action.

Suddenly realising that she'd been sitting fuming in her car for several minutes she gave herself a mental shake. Time, tide and pongy little Scotsmen would wait for no-one and she needed to get her mind back on the case. She could just imagine Reid's reaction if she'd managed to miss McVey's first appearance of the week and they ended up waiting another three or four days for him to surface again.

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It was still relatively early in the morning and The Parade was quiet, just a few handfuls of shoppers moving purposefully across the paving stones as they went about their business. Sheila pushed open the door to the shop which did a fairly steady trade in second-hand books, ornaments, jewellery and clothing to raise funds for St Mary's hospice. It was neat and clean inside, and mostly managed to avoid smelling like a charity shop. There was no sign of Mrs Anderson, but a quick word with the sprightly old woman at the desk led to a phone-call which brought the shop manager down from the stockroom, and within a few minutes Boydeau was sitting on a slightly battered swivel chair in Barbara Patchett's tiny, cluttered office.

A brisk, busy little lady a few years younger than Mrs Anderson, Barbara confirmed that the shop was indeed a regular haunt of Gordon McVey's: "We usually see him two or three days a week and he's been here more often than that lately." The interview was businesslike and fruitful; once aware of as much of the story as Sheila could tell her, Mrs Patchett was quite happy to agree to a small handful of policemen being accommodated on the premises for the express purpose of apprehending the errant "Mr Whyte". It wasn't that, though, which sent Sheila half-running back to the car and grabbing her mobile out of her bag to dial Reid's number. It was something else:

"… the really unpleasant part about it all," Mrs Patchett had said towards the end of their talk, "is that the last couple of days he's been in he's been asking to speak to Tom Ainslie. Now, obviously it's not our policy to discuss our staff's private lives and we've been telling him that Tom's away on holiday, but it's been really upsetting for everybody. Especially on top of that policeman disappearing like that. I think it would do us all good if you used the shop to catch him, DC Boydeau. We'd feel as though we were doing something to help."

Reid picked up after two or three rings and Sheila fired off her news. There was a short, stunned silence at the other end and she heard the faint creak of his chair as he leaned back in it. "How the hell," Reid demanded at last, "can McVey not know that Tom Ainslie's dead?"

"He was in our cells when we found the body, sarge," Sheila reminded him, "and you didn't tell him anything about it when you went in and ripped a few strips off him about the connection between Richardson and Empey. Pyle got him released the next day and presumably McVey went straight to ground and didn't talk to anyone till Pyle caught up with him earlier this week."

"Get back here, fast as you can," Reid said, "and put a team together to stake out that shop. If he really doesn't know what happened to Ainslie I want him safely in here before he finds out."

Sheila dropped her phone into her bag and whipped the Vectra out of the parking-space in a very different mood from that in which she'd manoeuvred it in. She wasn't sure how they'd use the information, but she sensed, and she knew from the tone of his voice that Reid did, too, that they'd just been handed a chance to make a breakthrough. Gordon McVey was their only link between Fairfax Road, Tom Ainslie and ex-DI Pyle, and she wasn't about to let him slip through her fingers.