The Whole Truth Hunter, Cara (motivational novels for students TXT) 📖

they aren’t just digging about in the past? What if they’ve actually found something?

What if they know what she did?

What then?

* * *

Quinn’s first in the office on Tuesday. It’s almost like old times, back when he was the real DS and not just keeping Gis’s seat warm: getting set up for the morning meeting, picking up CID emails. He does another quick check (find a spare marker pen, turn the fan on – much good it’ll do), then takes a seat at the front and opens up his tablet. Next arrival is Baxter. Sweating already, and grumbling to himself about parking. He looks around and frowns.

‘Ev in yet?’

Quinn shakes his head. ‘Haven’t seen her. I think Asante’s about somewhere. Try the coffee machine.’

‘It’s too bloody hot for coffee,’ mutters Baxter, though that doesn’t stop him heading off in the same direction. By the time he gets back, Ev’s at her desk, pulling out her notebook. Baxter goes straight over to her.

‘Morning,’ she says brightly, then frowns slightly. ‘You OK?’

Baxter moves a bit closer and seems about to reply but then something changes his mind and he turns away.

Quinn turns to look: that ‘something’ was Somer, coming in from the corridor. Quinn’s eyes narrow. He picked up a bit of an undercurrent on that score yesterday, but no one actually said anything. And Somer does look more preoccupied than usual, no question. She’s keeping her head down, staring at her paperwork, avoiding conversation, which isn’t like her. He sees Ev go over and say a word or two in a low voice but she gets nothing but a brief shake of the head by way of reply.

They have to wait another quarter of an hour for Fawley, which isn’t like him either, and by the time he turns up the silence in the room has started to become uncomfortable. But either he doesn’t notice or simply isn’t interested in pleasantries this morning. He just pulls out a chair and nods at Quinn.

‘Right,’ says Quinn, snapping into DS mode. ‘We’ve had Fisher’s blood test and tox screen back, and the bloods confirm she’d been drinking –’

Fawley’s staring at his phone. ‘Which is no great revelation, seeing as she told us that herself.’

Quinn ploughs on. ‘Her blood alcohol was easily over the drink-drive limit, but not high enough to cause a blackout on its own. However, according to the tox screen she’s taking medication for anxiety.’ He looks down at his tablet. ‘Something called Fluoxetine. Basically the same as Prozac. She’s on quite a low dose, but apparently it can cause drowsiness if you drink when you’re on it.’

A glance up now. ‘But not actual blackouts?’

Quinn shakes his head. ‘Not usually, but no doctor’s going to get on the stand and rule it out one hundred per cent. At least according to Challow.’

‘What about the DNA?’

Quinn swipes his screen. ‘Ah, now that’s where it gets interesting. Fisher’s DNA was definitely present on Morgan’s arms and hands. Fisher’s lawyer will obviously claim that could have got there just from casual social contact or being in the house, but she’s going to find it a hell of a lot harder to explain why it was also on Morgan’s face and all over his privates.’ He looks around with a smirk. ‘He didn’t get that from passing her a glass of chardonnay, now did he?’

Baxter grins, but Fawley is frowning. ‘Define “privates”.’

Quinn flushes a little. ‘Sorry – basically down towards his groin. Definitely under where his shorts would have been so there’s no way –’

‘But not on his penis?’

Quinn shakes his head. ‘No. Just in that general area.’

‘And the scratches?’

‘Yup,’ says Quinn. ‘They were down to her too.’

Ev nods. ‘All of which tallies exactly with what he told us.’

Fawley glances at her. ‘I think we all know where you stand.’

Ev’s eyes widen. ‘I didn’t mean –’

Fawley turns to Quinn. ‘And Fisher?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nothing on her body or under her fingernails, but given she’d showered we’d pretty much discounted that already.’ He stops, makes a face. ‘Look, I know the DNA backs up Morgan’s version of events as far as it goes, but it’s also consistent with a bit of consensual fumble that just petered out. He says he told her to stop, but we’re never going to prove that. The only people who’ll ever know the truth are the two of them.’

‘Make that the one of them,’ says Baxter, folding his arms. ‘Fisher doesn’t remember either way. Allegedly.’

Fawley puts down his mobile, takes a breath. ‘OK. Just because we don’t have sufficient evidence to run with this won’t stop people expecting us to. Or assuming that if we don’t, it must be down to either bias, incompetence or undue influence.’ He stands up now, tucks his phone into his jacket. ‘I’ve arranged to see the CPS specialist rape prosecutor this afternoon. If they say it’s worth pursuing, we’ll keep pushing; if they don’t, we can drop it with a clear conscience and reasonable air cover.’

‘If you drop this case it’ll be because I say so. And not before.’

They swing round. It’s Superintendent Harrison, in the doorway.

‘And in the meantime, perhaps someone could explain to me how come it’s suddenly all over the bloody internet?’ Fury is pulsating off him like microwaves.

Silence.

You can almost hear people holding their breath, but Fawley stares him out. ‘I wasn’t aware that it was –’

‘Sharpen up, Inspector,’ says Harrison, striding across the room and thrusting a sheet of paper in his face. ‘Look at this stuff – Twitter, Facebook – the press office are imploding – I’ve had Fisher’s lawyer on the phone, the ACC wants someone’s head on a spike –’

And it’s not going to be Harrison’s. That much is clear.

‘I can assure you, sir,’ Fawley begins, ‘that no one on my team has been speaking to the press.’

Because it just isn’t worth it. Because this is exactly the sort of shit that was bound to follow, and they all know it.

But Harrison isn’t listening. ‘Don’t assure