Flyte

FLYTE

A few days after her return to the IOPC offices Streaky called , offering to buy her lunch at a Greek restaurant off the high street.

As they awaited their meze she raised an eyebrow. ‘To what do I owe this honour?'

Grinning at her, he chinked his glass of retsina against hers – mineral water. ‘Say hello to the new DCI in charge of Major Crimes for NE London.'

‘Congratulations!' And she meant it. He might have some .?.?. outdated ways of expressing himself, but she had come to realise that he was far from the sexist, racist, cartoon Met Neanderthal that she'd pigeonholed him as when they'd first met.

Prejudice came in all shapes and sizes.

‘How's life at the IOPC?' he asked.

‘To be honest? It's depressing,' she admitted. ‘My current case is some horrible little plod who badgered a sexual assault victim he'd met on the Job for months and then threatened her with a spurious arrest when she said she'd report him.'

‘Eurghh.' Streaky made a face. ‘Will he get the chop?'

‘You would hope so, wouldn't you? But that's not up to us, we can only say there's a "case to answer" and hand it over for the individual force or an independent panel to decide. And they can throw it out, or just give them a verbal warning. So I can't even guarantee I'm taking the bad officers off the street.' She took the slice of lemon from her water and tore the flesh from it with her teeth. ‘How's the Bronte case? Still stuck?'

A regretful tip of the head. ‘Dead ends at every turn. It's been six weeks since the murder, and I'm down to three people in the incident room. I'm afraid it looks likely that the inquest is going to be concluding "murder by person or persons unknown". The case file will stay open of course but in reality it's game over.'

‘And George's death?' dropped her gaze to pour them both some water: Streaky was a good detective and she didn't want him picking anything up from her expression.

He told her that the last sighting of George alive had been a CCTV image as he left the lift on the eighteenth floor: apparently the camera covering the garden area had gone on the blink. The pathologist had found no injuries beyond those consistent with a fall from height, and there were no lines of enquiry suggesting foul play.

‘Straight up and down suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed by the death of his beloved daughter,' said Streaky.

‘Won't there be a backlash over the lack of a result on Bronte?' asked . ‘From all the wannabe sleuths on TikTok and the rest?'

‘Haven't you heard?' he asked. ‘The jackals are already feasting on a new carcass: some football WAG who drowned in her jacuzzi after a heart attack. And our favourite armchair detective stuck her neck out a bit too far on TikTok this time.'

‘What, that silly girl who had it in for Ethan? Charlotte Wiggins?'

‘Yep. She quoted a psychic who told her that the woman's husband did it.'

beamed. ‘Ooh. And I'm guessing a footballer has the cash to sue.'

‘Indeed.' Streaky grinned back. ‘Happy days.'

They fell silent while their first meze arrived: grilled halloumi and lounza, hummus, and deep-fried calamari.

cut a piece of pitta into neat quarters before spooning some hummus onto her plate: Streaky had ‘double dipper' written all over him.

Through his first mouthful he said, ‘I could get used to this healthy stuff.'

‘You do know that lounza is basically bacon, right?'

He looked sceptical. ‘So I assume you'll be publishing your report soon.' He bugged his eyes. ‘Should I be putting newspaper down my trousers?'

shook her head, suppressing a smile. ‘The errors were all Sergeant Hickey's. It's not your fault that no detective attended the scene and that proper enquiries weren't conducted straightaway. Never mind the golden hour, they missed five golden days.' She sniffed. ‘I don't mind telling you my report will have nothing but praise for the professionalism you've brought to what had been a totally failed investigation.'

Streaky expertly speared three calamari rings in one go. ‘Well, that's a relief. Because I'm hoping that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'

She sent him a raised eyebrow.

After dispatching the cephalopod, he wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘I'd like you to join my new team, Phyllida. We'll be dealing with serious crimes, murder, rape, abduction – all the fun of the fair.' Seeing her look of shock, he went on, ‘I know you had a grim experience at the old Major Crimes but this will be a brand-new unit. All the old faces are long gone and I want at least fifty per cent girls on the team to keep the boys civilised.'

was staggered ‘ Me ? I thought you didn't like me.'

‘If I didn't like you, you'd know about it.' He pointed his fork at her and she tried to ignore the hummus on his upper lip. ‘You're a good detective. According to Bellwether, one of the best he's ever had.'

‘Really?' She felt a deep blush flooding her neck and cheeks.

‘His exact words. But before you get too full of yourself, he said there was something I ought to know.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yeah. He said you had a triple-cooked chip on your shoulder.'