Chapter 82

Chapter 82

‘Well, that was a bloody disaster.'

Heads turned, various officers looking up from their desks, as DC Jennings stalked past. He'd endured a completely pointless journey to Weston and he was not prepared to suffer in silence. Better that the team know that he was being victimized, that Grace was a mean-spirited and petty dictator.

‘No sign of Armstrong then?' DC McAndrew replied over her shoulder, chewing her pen as she stared at her screen.

‘Not a dickie bird. A new family moved into that flat two weeks ago. Before them it was a teenage boy, just out of Winchester Prison. And before him, it was a bunch of ravers who kept the estate awake all night.'

Nodding, McAndrew pulled a face, but remained glued to her screen. Annoyed by the lack of sympathy, Jennings continued his complaint.

‘I reckon Armstrong hasn't been there in well over a year. And, guess what, he didn't leave a forwarding address. It'll be like looking for a needle in a bloody haystack trying to find him.'

‘Then you'd best get on with it,' McAndrew replied dryly. ‘You heard the boss – if we find Armstrong, get him to cough up what he knows, then we're home and hosed.'

‘Not bloody likely. You ever interviewed these people?' Jennings countered dismissively. ‘They'll deny until they're blue in the face that they've done anything, that they've got any interest in underage kids, even when the evidence against them is overwhelming …'

‘We can but try,' his colleague responded wearily, shutting down the conversation.

Jennings stared at her, aggrieved. McAndrew's lack of interest, her lack of sympathy, felt like a direct snub. And scanning the rest of the room, he was surprised to see most of his fellow officers were also head down, diligently doing Grace's bidding. Having felt sure the tide was turning against their maverick leader, now Jennings wasn't so certain. Did they actually believe her wild theories? Did they believe that Reynolds was some kind of psycho pervert? Or were they just keeping their heads down in the hope of future promotion? If so, it was clear who was going to be the sacrificial lamb, who was going to be cast out into the cold.

‘Well, I still say it's a giant waste of time,' he muttered, resentfully heading on his way.

He stalked back to his desk, ruing the day he'd ever put his name forward for this unit. He'd hoped it would be the making of him, his shot at glory, yet here he was faced with the prospect of filing his report, his failed venture, then twiddling his thumbs until Grace dreamt up some new humiliation for him. Bearing down on his work station, fizzing with anger, he spotted his waste paper bin, empty and beckoning. He didn't hesitate, swinging his left leg at it and watching with satisfaction as it sailed across the room before landing in Helen Grace's private office with a heavy clunk.