Havers shrugged. She said, “C’n I sit or what?” and Isabelle said, “Please.” She’d been conducting these interviews in AC Hillier mode-although she was seated, not standing, behind her desk-but in this case she rose and moved over to a small conference table where she indicated DS Havers should join her. She didn’t want to bond with the sergeant, but she knew the importance of having with her a relationship rather different from the relationship she had with the others. This had more to do with the sergeant’s partnership with Lynley than with the fact that they were both women.

“Your teeth?” Isabelle said again.

“Got in something of a conflict,” Havers told her.

“Really? You don’t look the sort to brawl,” Isabelle noted and while this was true, it was also true that Havers looked exactly the sort to defend herself if push came to shove, which was apparently how her front teeth had come to be in the condition they were in, which was badly broken.

“Bloke didn’t like the idea of my spoiling his kidnap of a kid,” Havers said. “We got into it, him and me. A bit of this with the fists, a bit of that with the feet, and my face hit the floor. It was stone.”

“This happened in the past year? While you were at work? Why’ve you not had them fixed? There haven’t been problems about the Met paying, have there?”

“I’ve been thinking they give my face character.”

“Ah. By which I take it you’re opposed to modern dentistry? Or are you afraid of dentists, Sergeant?”

Havers shook her head. “I’m afraid of turning myself into a beauty as I don’t much like the idea of fighting off hordes of admirers. ’Sides, world’s full of people with perfect teeth. I like to be different.”

“Do you indeed?” Isabelle decided to be rather more direct with Havers. “That must explain your clothing, then. Has no one ever remarked upon it, Sergeant?”

Havers adjusted her position in her seat.