Private London - James Patterson [86]
Instead, she reached into her pocket and drew out an envelope with her letter of resignation inside and looked across at her boss.
DSI Harrington was a slightly built man in his mid-forties. He was of average height with a sallow complexion and a receding hairline. His teeth were slightly nicotine-stained and his eyes could not hold her gaze for long. She had never liked the man.
‘I’m sorry you didn’t get the job, Kirsty,’ he said.
‘Most likely the better man did.’
‘You’re a field operative. It’s what you’re good at. Do you really see yourself behind a desk, juggling phones and computer files?’
‘No, I don’t, sir. Which is why, as I said, I’m resigning.’
She held out the envelope.
‘You absolutely sure about this?’
‘Yeah, I am.’
‘I’ll keep it in my drawer for a week or so. You’re due the leave anyway.’
‘Won’t make any difference.’
‘Still.’
Kirsty nodded, then looked around the ‘set’ that had been constructed in the lock-up. She didn’t care to think about what had taken place there and was heartily glad she didn’t have to view the DVDs they had found, or try to identify the victims.
‘So this just about wraps it up?’ she said.
‘I guess it does.’
Kirsty knew that her failure to get the job was partly down to Harrington and the testimonial he had written. She wasn’t supposed to have seen it but she had. She had access to resources of her own. Maybe it was flattering that he had been careful enough to praise her, but Harrington had left enough between the lines to edge her out. He wanted to keep her on his team. Keep her on his terms. And she’d had enough of that.
Which was why she walked out of the lock-up and didn’t tell him how wrong he had been.
Wrong about everything.
This didn’t wrap it up at all.
Chapter 113
THE SURGEON KNELT down and removed the wilted flowers from the vases on the left and right of the small plot.
She laid them neatly to one side. Replaced them with fresh flowers as a shadow fell across the white pea shingle.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked without looking round. The surgeon was of medium height and dressed in a dark grey trouser suit. Her hair was silver, the colour of brushed aluminium. Her eyes were alert, intelligent but filled with sadness.
‘My name’s Kirsty Webb, Doctor Lloyd. I’m a detective inspector from the Metropolitan Police.’
‘I thought you might be.’ Doctor Lloyd gathered the flowers she had collected, put them in a plastic shopping bag and stood up.
‘I’m here to talk about your husband.’
‘Ex-husband. We were divorced over a year ago. Attention to details, detective. I should imagine it is just as vital in your line of work as it is in mine.’
‘The devil is in the detail?’
‘Gods and devils. I guess your job is finding out which.’
‘We get there in the end. Sometimes.’
The surgeon nodded. ‘So what led you to me?’
‘Everything was a little too neat.’ Kirsty shrugged. ‘Something about it all seemed hinky to me.’
‘Hinky?’
‘Something not quite right. An American expression. My husband is over-fond of using them, I’m afraid.’
‘You’re not wearing a ring.’
‘Ex-husband, I should have said.’
The older woman tilted her head slightly, as if approving.
‘I went to the pubs near to the area where Colin Harris’s body was found. He had alcohol in his system. Sleeping medication. We were supposed to think it was suicide – but things didn’t add up.’
‘I see.’
‘One of the barmen in a local pub recognised his picture. Remembered him drinking a short while before the incident. He was with a woman. The woman he described matched you, Doctor Lloyd, when I looked into it. I showed the barman your photo from the hospital records and he confirmed it.’
‘Female intuition?’
Kirsty shook her head. ‘Police intuition.’
Doctor Lloyd gazed down at the grave of her daughter. ‘Female intuition isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?’ she said.
Chapter 114
‘WHEN DID YOU find out about him?’ Kirsty asked.
Doctor Lloyd looked up at her for a moment or two, then sighed. Her whole body relaxed, as if an intolerable burden that she had been carrying for some time