Dying Bad by Maureen Carter

Author:Maureen Carter [Maureen Carter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2012-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

‘You following me, Quinn?’

Baker did have eyes in the back of his bloody head. Sarah had exited the squad room in his wake, now followed the Paco Rabanne trail down the corridor at what she’d judged a discreet distance. First she wanted to ask the DCS’s state of play, make that work. Second she didn’t want an audience for the inevitable exchange between them, behind closed doors would do nicely. ‘Yeah. I wouldn’t mind a word, chief.’

‘Nor me,’ he called, still walking, still showing his back. Pulling up outside his office, he turned to face her. God, that eye looks sore. ‘Sorry’ll do for a start.’

‘Sorry?’ Frowning. ‘Not with you, chief.’ As if. But she wouldn’t just roll over, not for anyone.

‘Got that right, Quinn.’ He opened the door, flicked his head. ‘Inside. Sit.’

Yes sir. No sir. Woof-dee-woof. She glanced at the executive desk covered in files, printouts, reports, half a dozen cups with coffee dregs scattered round, accompanying plastic spoons reminded her of the ‘measured out my life’ line from Prufrock. Best not mention it. She couldn’t see Baker as a member of the T.S. Eliot appreciation society.

‘This word then, Quinn?’ Leaning back in his matching executive chair, he stared at her across the cluttered surface, stubby index fingers steepled.

She glanced down, brushed a few grains of sugar from her skirt. ‘Welcome back?’ Her smile was tentative. His position not exactly clear.

‘That’s two.’ He scowled, illustrated the point digitally. ‘Shit at maths as well?’

She gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’m not looking for an argument, chief.’

‘Nor me. I were you I’d take loyalty lessons, though.’

She cocked her head. ‘As in teach them?’ He was not amused. She knew she’d have to bend some time soon. His watch sounded like Big Ben in the uneasy silence. He could wait a while. ‘I take it Wilde’s dropped the allegations?’

‘No. But he will.’ Dead cert. Still staring at her, he outlined why. The forensic and medical evidence overwhelmingly backed the chief. None of his DNA had been lifted from Wilde’s skin which indicated he’d not laid a finger – never mind fist – where it mattered. Blood under Wilde’s nails turned out to be the youth’s which meant he’d scratched his own face. And the clincher? A faint circle in the bruise on the chief’s cheek was an exact match for the tiny raised skull on Wilde’s cheap signet ring. An expensive mistake.

Baker leaned back, rested crossed hands on budding paunch. ‘So whatever the lying little git comes up with next I’m Mr Clean. Absolved. Acquitted. Exonerated. Exculpated. Vindicated. Get the picture?’ She nodded. More than. ‘See, Quinn, like I told you . . . I never touched the scrote.’

He’d been sorely tempted though. Said it himself. It looked increasingly as if Wilde had engineered the whole incident. She’d not have given the oik that much credit. ‘I’m glad to hear it, chief. It’s great to have you back in the saddle.’ Doh. Shouldn’t have mentioned saddles. He probably thought she was taking the piss.

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