‘No, no, I think she would do very well. She’s intelligent and articulate. I’m just being selfish. I don’t want to lose her, especially if we’re taking on the Verge case.’

‘Oh, it would only be a part-time commitment, and you wouldn’t be losing her forever-at least, not unless she performs brilliantly, in which case it could well open up a whole new career path for her. But you would hardly deny her that now, would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Good, well I’ll speak to her. Keep it to yourself until then, will you?’

‘Bugger,’ Brock muttered under his breath after he had closed the door behind him, and strode off down the anonymous corridor towards the lift.

Dick ‘Cheery’ Chivers was seated in the middle of the small conference room on the fourth floor, staring dolefully at a pile of unopened files on the table in front of him. He looked up as Brock came in and rose unsmiling to his feet. He was a veteran cop of the same generation as Brock, and had a morose look at the best of times. Clearly this wasn’t one of those. ‘Brock,’ he acknowledged grudgingly, and took the offered hand.

‘Sharpe’s just told me,’ Brock said. ‘I’m sorry, Dick.’

‘He dropped it on me at nine this morning. No warning. Out of the flaming blue.’

‘He made a point of saying that it was no reflection on the way you’ve been running the case.’

‘Bollocks. Course it is. Got to be.’

‘If it’s any consolation, I like it as little as you.’

‘Yeah, well, it puts you in the firing line, doesn’t it?’ Chivers said. The thought seemed to cheer him up a little. ‘I sent back to my office for these to help you get started.’ He placed his large fist on top of the files as if reluctant to give them up. ‘I’ve put a lot of hours into this case over the past four months, Brock. We all have. We’ve covered every angle. It’s bloody ridiculous changing jockeys at this stage in the race. Sheer bloody foolishness. And bloody insulting to me.’ His face was becoming darker as his anger found voice.