We’re on time, we’re expected, but they still make us wait. Quinn sits there messing about with his phone, grumbling every few minutes and checking his watch. But if that’s how Kearney wants to play it, fine by me. I’ve had a twenty-year-old case rise from the dead and bite me in the arse; I know how it feels.
A chipper young female PC arrives about ten minutes later and takes us upstairs, collecting coffee orders on the way. Judging by the list of options, their machine is way flashier than ours. Kearney has a big office on the third floor, with a picture window and a decent computer and his own set of armchairs round a small table. I find myself wondering idly about whether they might be recruiting.
‘Adam Fawley?’ he says, rising from his chair and coming towards me. ‘Lawrence Kearney.’
He’s older than me – fiftyish, with a bristle of thick grey hair, a rather darker moustache and a pair of intense blue eyes.
‘Take a seat.’
I let him choose his preferred chair, then take my own. I notice he pulls up his trouser knees before he sits down. Old school, then.
‘So,’ he says, ‘I gather the Camilla Rowan case has reared its ugly head again.’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. I suspect it’s the last thing any of us needs.’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘I’m hoping we can make this as painless as possible, but –’
He waves a hand. ‘I know how it works.’ He doesn’t actually call me ‘laddie’, but it’s definitely a possibility. ‘You’ll go poking about looking under stones, seeing if you can catch us out, causing a whole lot of stress to decent hard-working officers, and end up with bugger all.’
‘That’s not our intention, sir.’
The door opens and the young PC comes in with a tray.
There’s a useful pause, fiddling about with cups, and by the time she disappears Kearney seems to have regained some of his composure.
‘So what next?’
‘We have the case files already, sir, and we’ll be re-interviewing the key witnesses, including the parents. Though that’s been complicated by the fact that they’re both now under arrest.’
He frowns. ‘So I heard. Did they know, do you think – that he was their grandson?’
‘They insist not.’
‘You believe them?’
‘Let’s just say the jury’s out.’ There’s a pause. ‘Oh, and DI Gallagher asked to be remembered to you.’
He smiles now. ‘Ruth’s a fine officer. I knew she’d go far.’
‘I agree, sir. We’re lucky to have her.’
I see Quinn roll his eyes but thankfully he’s out of Kearney’s line of sight.
‘So what do you need from me?’
‘If you have time now, I’d like to talk to you about the case, and I’d like DS Quinn to have access to any other officers who had a significant role in the investigation, both serving and retired.’
Kearney turns to him. ‘You’ll be clocking up the mileage.’
Quinn shrugs. ‘It’s no bother.’
Kearney bridles slightly and I shoot Quinn a dagger look. He flushes, just a little. ‘I don’t mind. I like driving. Sir.’
Kearney gets up, rather ponderously, and goes over to his desk. When he returns, he hands Quinn a sheet of paper. He knew exactly what we’d be after and he prepared. Just as I would have done.
‘These are the people you need. Start with Mick Havers. Retired now, but he lives local so I asked him to pop in today – thought you might want to talk to him. He’s in the meeting room downstairs.’
Blimey, they have meeting rooms too. There’s a knock at the door and the PC puts her head round; it’s clearly Quinn’s signal to leave. He gets up, nods to me and is gone.
The door swings slowly and silently shut and Kearney turns to me. ‘OK. Let’s cut the bull, shall we?’
* * *
‘Two sugars, right?’ says Chloe Sargent, sliding the cup on to Baxter’s desk. ‘And the machine’s run out of Twix so I got you a Snickers.’ She laughs nervously. ‘Hope you’re not allergic to nuts.’
‘Thanks,’ he mutters, barely glancing up. ‘I owe you.’
He’s staring so intently he doesn’t realize that she’s still there, five minutes later, looking over his shoulder.
He turns round properly this time. ‘Sorry, was there something else?’
She flushes. ‘I was just interested – in what you’re doing.’
He gives her a heavy look. ‘Most people run a mile from stuff like this.’
She tries a smile. ‘DC Hansen was talking about digital forensics and I was just wondering what it meant. In a real case.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Was he now? Well, that’s a first round here.’
‘So can I see? Is that OK?’
He nods. ‘Sure.’
She drags over a chair and sits down.
He points at the screen. ‘This is basically what South Mercia did back in 2002 to try and find the baby. It was a bloody awful needle-in-a-haystack job, but they didn’t have much choice – murder cases without a body are always an effing nightmare, so the only way to prove the kid was dead was to prove it wasn’t alive, if you catch my drift.’
‘OK.’