‘But he might be lying to avoid trouble with his insurance company,’ Gardam interjected.
‘Precisely. Spence is our best bet, so I’ve scrambled the team to his home, office, known associates, mistresses – everything. We’ll have him in custody before the day’s out.’
‘See that we do. We’ve already had a sustained assault by the press on this one and we owe it to the family to solve this brutal crime quickly. So no excuses from your team. We need to bring him in.’
Helen agreed and, ringing off, climbed on to her bike. Gardam had tactfully aimed his warning at her team, but really it was aimed at her. It had taken a while to come, but her new chief had finally bared his teeth.
Sanderson sipped her drink and cast a discreet look at her watch. She had been here for over an hour now and she had the distinct impression she was starting to arouse the regulars’ curiosity. The Hope and Anchor was a pub on the edges of Millbrook that had seen better days. The wallpaper was bubbling, the carpets were worn and the whole place had the feel – and smell – of a waterhole gone to seed. The lager was cheap and the clientele cheaper, so it still attracted a certain type of crowd. Sanderson had dressed down to try and fit in with the ex-cons and wannabe villains who patronized this establishment, but she had the feeling she still stood out too much. Her clothes were a bit too new, a bit too clean in comparison to the stained tracksuits and hoodies worn by the other drinkers. Moreover, she’d washed her hair last night, which couldn’t be said for the gaggle of girls touting for free drinks and cigarettes at the bar. Their lank hair and scruffy appearance suggested they didn’t think much of other people’s opinions and probably not much of themselves either.
Sanderson picked at one of the corners of her coaster and cursed her luck. What was the point in her arranging dates? Something always seemed to come up to put the kibosh on it. It wasn’t Helen’s fault – someone senior needed to be running the stakeout and her boss didn’t know she had dinner plans – but still. The simple truth of it was that she was tired of being single and irritated by the fact that work always got in the way. Before she’d joined the Force she’d had a run of boyfriends – handsome, fun, likeable guys whose company she’d enjoyed. But as soon as you put on the uniform, something changes. It’s not just that your life is not your own any more or that you often work nights. It’s something to do with being a copper. Women are supposed to like men in uniform, but it doesn’t work the other way round. Are men intimidated by female police officers? Are they uncomfortable with the authority they have over them? Are they worried that they will be pulled up for every minor vice or misdemeanour? Whatever the reason, they seem to back off. No doubt about it, the uniform was a massive turnoff.
