Dead Man's Footsteps

a seat,’ she said, without looking up from the array of morning papers fanned out on her desk like a poker hand. ‘Or perhaps I should say, “Take a pew .”’
    ‘Oh, that’s very witty,’ Pewe cooed.
    But no smile cracked her icy expression. Seated behind her huge rosewood desk, she continued reading an article in the Guardian , holding him at bay with her elegantly manicured hand.
    He eased himself down into the black leather armchair. Although it was four months since the taxi he had been travelling in had been T-boned by a stolen van, fracturing his left leg in four places, it was still painful to stand for prolonged periods of time. But he kept that to himself, not wanting to risk his future career chances by being marked as a semi-invalid.
    Alison Vosper continued reading. Pewe looked at the framed photographs of her husband, a burly, shaven-headed police officer several years older than her, and her two children, boys in school uniform wearing rather goofy spectacles.
    Several framed certificates bearing her name hung on the walls, along with a couple of old Brighton prints, one of the racecourse, the other of the long-gone chain pier.
    Her phone rang. She leaned forward and stared at the display, then hoisted it from its cradle, barked, ‘I’m in a meeting, call you back,’ replaced it and continued reading. ‘So, how are you getting on?’ she asked suddenly, still reading.
    ‘So far, great.’
    She glanced up and he tried to hold and maintain eye contact, but, almost immediately, she looked down at something else on another part of her desk. She reached over, picked up and then shuffled through some sheets of typewritten papers, a report of some kind, as if she was trying to find something. ‘I understand you’ve been allocated cold cases?’
    ‘Yes.’
    She was dressed in a short, tight-fitting black jacket over a white, Mandarin-collared blouse, which was closed at the neck by an opal in a silver clasp. Her breasts, which he had fantasized about, were almost flattened. Then she looked at him and smiled. A long, almost come-on smile.
    Instantly he melted. Then lost eye contact again as she looked down and began shuffling through the papers once more.
    There was something intensely fragrant about her, he thought. She wasn’t beautiful, but he was powerfully attracted. Her skin was silky white and even the small wart just above the neckline of her blouse, her one tiny blemish, intrigued him. She was wearing a citrus fragrance that was setting off fireworks deep in his belly. She looked pure, and strong, and exuded authority. He wanted to go around the far side of that desk, rip her clothes off and roll around with her on the carpeted floor.
    He was getting an erection at the thought.
    And she was still looking down at her desk, shuffling through the damn papers!
    ‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said gently, as a prompt.
    He left an expectant gap. Was she feeling the same way about him and just being coy? Maybe she was going to suggest a place where the two of them could meet later for a drink. Somewhere cosy.
    He could invite her over to his pad at the Marina. With its view of the yachts, it was pretty cool.
    Now she was reading the Guardian again.
    ‘Are you looking for something?’ he asked. ‘Is there some mention of Sussex Police?’
    ‘No,’ she said dismissively. ‘Just trying to catch up on the day’s news.’ Then, without looking up, she said, ‘I presume you’re starting an audit of how many cold cases are outstanding?’
    ‘Well,’ he said, ‘well, yes, absolutely.’
    ‘Murders, suspicious deaths? Long-term missing persons? Other undetected serious crimes?’
    ‘All of those.’
    She moved on to the Telegraph and scanned the front page.
    He stared at her uncertainly. There was an invisible barrier between them and he felt completely thrown. ‘Look, I – I was wondering if I could speak to you off the record.’
    ‘Go ahead.’ She turned several pages in rapid succession as he spoke.
    ‘Well, I know I’m meant to report to Roy Grace, but I have concerns about him.’
    Now he had her full attention. ‘Go on.’
    ‘You know about his missing wife, of course,’ he said.
    ‘The entire force has lived with it for the past nine years,’ she replied.
    ‘Well, I went to interview her parents last night. They are deeply concerned. They don’t feel that anyone in Sussex Police has carried out an impartial investigation.’
    ‘Can you elaborate?’
    ‘Yes.