Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

The blood on that jacket – you can’t get away from it. That blood came from Tony Hill.’

35

    M arie was on her way back from the bathroom when she heard the raised voices. If she needed any help in working out where they were coming from, she’d only have had to follow the eyes of everyone who worked within earshot of Rob Morrison’s office. Even with their headsets on, they could clearly still pick up the sound of aggravation.
    As she got closer, she recognised Ralph Lauren Man’s arrogant tones. ‘And I’m telling you, we’ll fall flat on our arses if we put this out to Gareth and his merry men in marketing now. It’s going to take at least another six weeks before we’re ready to roll it out to civilian punters.’
    ‘That’s not what you promised me two months ago,’ Gareth protested. ‘You said it was only a matter of tweaking the front end. Making the user interface more idiot-proof, you said.’
    ‘And that’s what will happen. It’s taking a bit longer than anticipated, that’s all. How many times do I have to put that in words of one syllable?’
    ‘“Anticipated” is five syllables,’ Rob muttered.
    ‘What’s all the bloody rush about anyway?’ Nigel demanded as she pushed the door wider. He had his back to the door but even so, he should have registered the consternation on Rob’s face and the amusement on Gareth’s. ‘Is it the new boss? You’re crapping yourself over a woman? Do you think she’ll even understand what we’ve put together here? Give me a break, she’s only a bloody skirt.’
    ‘A bloody skirt who outranks you, Nigel,’ Marie said sweetly. ‘And who fully intends to get to the bottom of why your department can’t deliver its promises on time.’ He spun round, fury on his face.
    ‘What are you doing, sneaking up on us?’ His right hand curled into a fist.
    Marie shut the door behind her. ‘I never sneak. I don’t have to. Next time you decide to throw your toys out of the pram, do it behind closed doors, please. There’s a room full of workers out there absolutely agog. Generating water-cooler gossip doesn’t help any of us to achieve our goals. We’re all after the same thing. Success is what makes the world go round. We’ll get there much quicker if we help each other.’ Her smile was as warm as she could make it. Even Nigel seemed to settle down, shifting across the room to lean against a filing cabinet with his hands in his pockets.
    ‘Boys will be boys,’ Gareth said.
    ‘Speak for yourself,’ Nigel sneered.
    ‘I’d like to get to the bottom of this, but not while you’re all wound up. Why don’t you each write me a memo explaining what all the fuss is about? In words of one syllable, obviously.’ She pulled the door open again and walked briskly to her office, feeling quite pleased with herself. There was nothing like finding out where the fault lines were in an office community. And then you could exploit them to the full.
    Marie smiled. She had to admit, she enjoyed the exercise of power.

36

    C arol was at the top of a ladder, prising a reluctant chunk of mortar from the stonework, when the dog started barking. She looked down to see Flash hunkering before the door, front paws splayed in front of her, haunches bunched and ready to spring, head jerking back and forth in a frenzy of noise. ‘Shut up, Flash,’ Carol yelled, only now realising that she didn’t have a command for quieting the dog.
    She climbed down as quickly as caution permitted and hurried to the door, clicking her fingers at the dog, who obediently stopped barking and fell in at her side. Whoever was on the other side of the door, she’d bet it wasn’t George Nicholas. But apart from the postie, he was the only person who had visited since she’d moved in. Cautiously, keeping one foot firmly behind the door, she cracked it open.
    If she hadn’t recognised the looming presence on her doorstep, his size alone would likely have provoked her into setting the dog on him. Whatever command that was. But it only took seconds for her to make the connection. After all, this had been the place where she’d last seen DCI John Franklin.
    The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile without warmth. ‘DCI Jordan,’ he said, dipping his head in a curt nod.
    ‘Not any more,’ she said.
    ‘No, I know. I was…’ He tailed off, and this time, the smile had a twist of sardonic humour in it. ‘I was using it as an honorific,’ he said. ‘Like when officers retire