* * *
—
O’MALLEY INSISTED ON what he called a “proper” pub, instead of the refurbished, brightly lit bar opposite the station.
“If there isn’t dim lighting and cloth-covered stools, it’s not a real watering hole,” he told them both.
So they ended up walking half a mile to an unpromising-looking place called the Boathouse, which had a grubby black sign and a freestanding blackboard on the pavement with a badly spelled quote about drinking.
Inside, it was better, Hanson decided. The furniture looked comfortable rather than ragged, and it was warmly lit. Given the rain that had soaked into her suit, she was glad of the unseasonal fire, too. She made her way toward the table in front of it and hung her bag over the back of a chair.
“I’ll get this round,” she said.
“Ah, no, you’re all right,” O’Malley replied. “My idea, my shout. What’ll you have?”
“Umm…Staropramen. But I’ve got to drive, so it’s going to have to be just the one.”
“Pale ale for me,” Lightman said. “I don’t really mind what kind.”
As O’Malley made for the bar, Hanson asked, more for something to say than anything, “What was Mackenzie like, then? Did he say anything interesting?”
“The chief thought he was a little odd,” Lightman replied. “He seemed quite emotional about it all.”
“Mackenzie, or the chief?” Hanson asked with a small smile.
Lightman laughed. “Mackenzie. DCI Sheens isn’t known for breaking down in interviews.”
“What about you?” she asked, because she was curious. “Do you find cases get to you?”
There was a brief silence, and then Lightman said, “I try very hard not to let them. I don’t think it helps. And I don’t play the emotional card in interviews. I’m not much good at getting people to warm to me.” He paused again. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything. Particularly with murder investigations. Some of them…I mean, when you’re interviewing a mother about the partner who’s just killed her daughter in a fit of rage, it’s hard not to feel for them.”
Hanson gave a slow nod. She remembered, vividly, going to investigate a house where a baby had been screaming for hours and the neighbors had reported it. She’d been a constable back then. She remembered her sergeant questioning the exhausted, tearful mother, his gentle fiddling with items of baby gear on the counter. And then how eventually he’d picked the kid up and looked in his mouth, and then told the mother quietly that they were going to have to go to the station. The mum had been putting boiling water into her tiny son’s bottles, and his mouth had been full of blisters.
Hanson hadn’t been able to sleep properly for a week after that. She would find herself thinking about the defenseless child, or about the slow nod of the mother who knew she had been caught, and how she’d asked if it meant someone else would look after the boy now. She’d been so hopeful. It had made Hanson afraid that you couldn’t trust anyone when they were pushed too hard. It had also made her realize that the ways people could find to hurt were endlessly imaginative.
She decided to change the subject before she got caught in a lot of very dark thoughts. “So. Give me a cheat sheet. How do I impress the chief?”
“It’s basically to do with playing to your abilities,” Lightman said. “He’s all about the psychology of teams, and he wants the team to be self-supporting. He knows where his weaknesses are, and he uses us to make up for them.”
“So…you’re more thorough than he is?”
“I’ve got a better memory,” Lightman corrected her, “and I’m more accurate. But he’s a lot smarter.” He gave a small smile.
“What about Domnall?” she asked quietly.
“He’s good at easing information out of suspects, and he’s quick-thinking and intuitive. He can do leaps of intellect and act quickly, which the DCI finds difficult until he’s built up to it. The chief takes what I’d call a holistic approach, which slows him down.”
That made Hanson wonder what she could bring to the table. She was smart and keen-eyed. Those had always been features her colleagues had picked up on. Even the inspector she’d worked for previously, who’d generally filled her reviews with comments on her “good communication” and “support of the team,” and thought she’d like them.
“Here,” O’Malley said, stepping up to her and handing her two pints of Staropramen and returning to the bar.
He came back with a tall glass full of clear sparkling liquid and a slice of lime. So he’d ignored the beer, and gone for gin and tonic. Which she knew was a good way of hiding a love of liquor. Everyone else could drink pints while he sank triples.
“So,” she said, as O’Malley settled himself onto a stool that made his big frame look a little comical. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
“I’ve been talking to a few dealers. Trying to find out if anyone offloaded a lot of Dexedrine after Aurora’s death. I mean, I hardly think they’d dig it up and hang on to it, would they?”
“Any luck?”
“There’s potentially something interesting. I mean, it’s not like they keep records, so it’s hard to check, but one of them said that the market got flooded a year or so later, and it drove the price down, but unfortunately he didn’t buy, so he doesn’t know where the hell it came from.”
“Would fifteen kilos be enough to flood the market?” Hanson asked.
“Yeah, if someone offloaded a lot at once to other small-time dealers.”
“Were there any other sales they remember?” she asked.
“Not a lot. One of them remembers a small deal with a girl he’d never met before, but we’re talking five or ten grams, and he’s not sure if it was earlier. Another one reckoned he had a few deals with some guy he’d only met a few times, but much, much smaller amounts again. He didn’t think they’d have added up to that much.” He drank his drink off in one solid go, and then said, “Jesus, I’m dry. Too much talking. Anyone need a top-up?”
Hanson was acutely aware that she’d barely started her lager, and shook her head. She drank a quick couple of mouthfuls.
“Let me get it,” she said, but he was already on his feet.
“No, you’re all right.”
“Is he going to think I’m useless if I can’t keep up?” she asked Lightman quietly, as O’Malley returned to the bar.