Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

brought down here. You developing telepathy as one of your skills?’
    Scott leaned on the counter and produced a menacing smile. ‘I don’t think my means of communicating with my clients is any of your business. Now, I want to see my client. And in an interview room, not some nasty little cell that smells of piss and vomit.’ It was an impressive performance, Carol thought, remembering all the times Bronwen Scott’s production numbers had driven her to distraction. Being on the same side was a lot more fun.
    Sergeant Fowler made great play of consulting his watch and comparing it to the clock on the wall behind him. ‘Let me see. DCI Fielding will be wanting to interview at nine, and your client is entitled to eight hours’ rest, and it’s half past eleven already. So I reckon that gives you an hour with your client, tops.’
    ‘I’ll take as long with my client as I need. If that means DCI Fielding has to rearrange her plans for the morning, that’s the way the cookie crumbles, Sergeant Fowler. Now, are you going to produce Dr Hill?’
    ‘One moment,’ he said ponderously, his forehead corrugating. He scratched his armpit then pointed at Carol, who had been hanging back in the doorway. ‘Is she with you?’
    Scott gave a nonchalant glance over her shoulder. ‘My intern? Of course.’
    ‘Do you think I’m daft? Your intern?’ He leaned forward, his mouth moving as if he was chewing a wad of tobacco. ‘It’s DCI Jordan, as was, right?’
    ‘With the emphasis on “as was”, Sergeant Fowler. I don’t think our paths actually crossed while I was still working.’ She stepped forward and produced her most winning smile.
    ‘What am I supposed to call you, anyway?’ he asked Carol.
    ‘Ms Jordan will do nicely, Sergeant. It’s my name. I don’t have a rank any more.’
    He scratched the band of stubble that ran round his head, frowning. ‘Well, Ms Jordan. I can’t let you sit in on an interview between a prisoner and his solicitor. You’re just a civilian, you’ve no cause to be there.’
    ‘I’m shadowing Ms Scott. I’m planning on a career in the law, Sergeant Fowler. It’s a shame to waste all that hands-on experience. My role here is purely as an observer.’
    ‘But you know him. You used to work with him.’ He threw his hands in the air, a gesture that threatened his shirt buttons. He was clearly struggling for a valid reason why Carol shouldn’t be involved. ‘It’s not… appropriate.’
    ‘Oh, behave, Sergeant. Anybody would think you were still wet behind the ears,’ Scott said. ‘I’m always dealing with people I’ve encountered before. Defence witness one week, accused the next. And who do you think defends bent coppers? Criminal lawyers like me. So get down off your high horse and give Ms Jordan some credit for choosing an exciting new career path.’
    ‘It’s not as if I can leak confidential information to the defence, is it?’ Carol wondered whether she was laying it on too thick, but Sergeant Fowler looked relieved at the thought.
    ‘So can you fetch Dr Hill for us? The sooner we get started, the quicker we’ll be done and the happier DCI Fielding will be in the morning,’ Scott said in the kind of tone it was hard to argue against.
    Fowler hauled himself to his feet and emerged from behind the counter. ‘You can use the interview room at the end of the cell corridor. Follow me, ladies.’
    He set off past the steel doors. Scott turned to Carol and winked. ‘Overture and beginners,’ she said under her breath. ‘Let’s do it, Carol.’
    No turning back. She’d spent months literally working Tony Hill out of her system. And now she was about to discover whether she’d succeeded.

49

    T ony had taken off his jacket and folded it under him to make the bed a more comfortable seat. Though it left a lot to be desired, at least he could sit cross-legged with his back to the wall in a relatively relaxed posture, eyes closed and hands loose in his lap. He didn’t know whether he could sleep sitting up, but he was absolutely certain he couldn’t do it lying down on that pallet. Still, buoyed up by his realisation of how his DNA had ended up on Nadia Wilkowa’s jacket, he could finally chill a little.
    The window in his cell door opened with a sharp metallic clang, startling him with a jolt. It clanged shut again before he had composed himself enough to work out what was happening. Then the door opened and the sergeant who had checked him into the cell