Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

psychologist. So, do you think they’re going to charge me?’
    ‘I think she’s going to keep you hanging on till the last possible minute. She’ll get another DCI to authorise an extra twelve hours’ detention, which will take us up to tomorrow morning. Then she’ll either charge you or let you go, or, if she thinks she’s got enough with the DNA and the thumbprint, she’ll go to the magistrates for an extension. At which point we’ll wheel out all the undermining evidence that Carol will have assembled plus something from the fingerprint expert my office is lining up, and they’ll order your release. Probably on police bail. If we hang on and do it that way, your exoneration is more public.’
    ‘That sounds good.’
    Scott held one hand out flat and swivelled it at the wrist. ‘Yes and no. The exoneration is more public, but the downside is that the media and the twittersphere will have had a full twenty-four-hour news cycle to rip you to shreds.’
    ‘They’re going to rip me to shreds anyway by the sounds of it, so the more publicly I’m taken off the hook, the better, surely? Or are you thinking the mags won’t let me go?’
    Scott twisted her mouth in an expression of uncertainty. ‘I’d be very surprised if they backed Fielding on this one once her so-called evidence is thoroughly undermined.’
    Before Tony could respond, the door slammed open. Fielding stood in the doorway, a tiny ball of barely contained fury. Her mouth was tight, her eyes narrowed and her hands curled into fists. ‘A word, Ms Scott,’ she said. It wasn’t a request.
    Scott took her time, pausing to give Tony’s shoulder a quick squeeze. ‘I’ll be right back, Tony.’
    She’d barely closed the door behind her when Fielding stepped into her personal space and hissed, ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ Today, Fielding’s accent had abandoned charm in favour of blunt threat. It would have made nobody want to visit Scotland.
    Scott smiled sweetly and looked over Fielding’s shoulder to where Paula stood, frowning with worry, trying to melt into the wall. Scott nodded a greeting to Paula then made a deliberate show of looking down at Fielding. ‘You’re going to have to give me more of a clue, DCI Fielding.’
    ‘You know exactly what I mean, lady. Bringing Carol Jordan in here to meet your client under the pretence of being your intern. Do you think my head buttons up the back?’
    Scott’s expression was of amused condescension. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so upset. Carol isn’t a serving officer. She’s entitled to explore new career options. She approached me asking for the opportunity to shadow me to decide whether a career in the law might be for her. I was willing to take that at face value and not assume she was trying to infiltrate my office on your behalf.’
    ‘On my behalf?’ Fielding sounded like a gasket about to blow.
    ‘It wouldn’t be the first time your colleagues have tried to undermine my attempts to provide my clients with the best possible defence.’
    ‘That’s a disgraceful allegation,’ Fielding spluttered.
    ‘No worse than your imputation of inappropriate motives to me and Carol.’
    ‘So why was she here, if not to try and compromise my operation?’
    ‘How could she do that? Are you suggesting your officers are going to sneak around behind your back and leak things you should be disclosing to the defence anyway? All out of some misplaced loyalty to a retired colleague? It must be depressing to have such little faith in your team, DCI Fielding.’ Scott turned away, her fingers on the door handle.
    ‘I trust my team,’ Fielding spat, her words like sharp little darts aimed at Scott’s heart.
    ‘Good. Then shall we get on with our “no comment” interview? And perhaps I could have disclosure of the fingermark evidence?’ The last word and the last smile to the defence, Scott thought as she sailed back to her client’s side.

59

    B radfield Moor Secure Hospital perched on the side of a hill on the north-western side of the city at the point where cultivated greenery gave way to the untamed hodgepodge of moorland vegetation. The buildings were angled so they faced down the hill at trees and roofs and lawns and shrubberies and flowerbeds rather than the weatherbeaten grasses and stunted shrubs of the peat bogs above. Tony had once described it to Carol as a Victorian metaphor directed at the patients within. ‘They’re supposed to turn