The Whole Truth

‘Got the email, I see,’ says Everett drily.

Quinn gives a non-committal grunt and goes across to his desk. But Ev’s not giving up. She comes over.

‘That came out of a blue sky, didn’t it – Gallagher taking over? Did Fawley say anything to you – you know, before?’

Quinn shakes his head. He was already smarting at King for showing him up in front of Cleland. And now he’s pissed off with Fawley for being the reason.

‘It’s turning into a bit of a habit,’ says Baxter from the other side of the room. He’s leaning back in his chair, cradling a Frappuccino.

Ev frowns. ‘What is?’

‘Gallagher having to tidy up Fawley’s mess.’

Somer looks across. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Baxter shrugs. ‘Well, it happened with the Appleford case, didn’t it –’

Ev is shaking her head. ‘Come on, that was completely different,’ she begins.

‘No.’ Somer, sharper now. ‘If he’s got a point, let’s hear it.’

Baxter holds up his hands. ‘Nothing. I was just saying.’

Somer’s about to reply but Ev intercepts her with a look. A look that says, Let it lie.

Quinn starts unloading his messenger bag. He got it from Jekyll and Hide. It’s as close as he could find to the one Asante carries without looking like he’s actually copying. Which, of course, he is.

‘If you ask me,’ he says, ‘all that stuff about Fawley not knowing who Smith was is a load of bullshit.’

Ev turns to look at him. ‘What makes you say that?’

He tugs his tablet out of the bag and puts it down on the desk. ‘Well, the thing about not knowing her surname is crap, for a start.’

Somer frowns. ‘Why? I bet you don’t know the surnames of any of your girlfriend’s mates.’

‘That’s different and you know it,’ he snaps. ‘I’ve only been seeing her a few weeks – Fawley knew this woman for years.’

Somer turns away, her face dark. ‘You’re just hacked off because it’s a big case and they’ve taken it off you.’

Quinn stands his ground. ‘I’m not, actually,’ he says coolly. ‘Because it wasn’t just that. Not by a long way. This whole thing – it stinks.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Ev now. ‘Care to elaborate on that?’

Quinn squares up to her. ‘It was me who took the call when Smith was reported missing.’

‘So?’

‘So I remember repeating back the address.’

But Somer isn’t backing down. ‘And your point is?’

‘My point is that Fawley heard that. He was right here, at that very moment, in this room.’

He looks to Baxter, who nods. ‘He’s right. He was.’

Quinn lifts his chin, vindicated. ‘So even if you accept the name thing, how do you explain that?’

‘I was here too, actually,’ says Somer. ‘And as far as I remember Fawley was looking at that Joseph Andrews Twitter account when that call came through.’ She glances across at Baxter. ‘Right?’

Baxter hesitates then nods. This is getting distinctly uncomfortable.

‘So it’s quite possible,’ continues Somer, ‘that Fawley didn’t even hear what Quinn said. I mean, do you remember hearing that address?’

Baxter’s eyes widen. ‘Me?’

‘Yeah, you. Do you remember Quinn saying that address?’

‘I’m not sure –’

She flips her hand at him. ‘There you are, then.’

‘To be fair,’ says Asante quietly, ‘you’d be far more likely to notice an address if it was one you already knew. It’s like someone saying your name. You’re more attuned to it.’

‘Right,’ says Quinn, piling in. ‘And he definitely did know that address because he’d been there – he said so –’

‘But the email doesn’t say when, does it?’ says Somer. ‘It could have been weeks before – months –’

Quinn throws up his hands and turns away. ‘Whatever. Fuck it. If you’re that determined to take his side, go right ahead. But you mark my words – there’s something fishy about all this.’ He starts fiddling with the papers on his desk, muttering ‘time of the month’. Somer’s too far away to hear but when he looks up again Ev is glaring at him.

Baxter raises his eyebrows and goes back to the safety of his screen; Asante’s clearly regretting ever getting involved.

The room is silent now, but it’s the silence of dissent, and the atmosphere isn’t much better when the door opens fifteen minutes later and Ruth Gallagher appears. She knows this team – she worked with them only a few months ago – and she can tell at once there’s a problem. There are two spots of colour in Somer’s cheeks, and Quinn has that defensive-offensive don’t-blame-me look she’s seen before. Though it’s usually on her fifteen-year-old son.

‘Morning, everyone,’ she says, looking around. ‘I’m sure you’ve seen the email from DI Fawley by now, so you’ll be aware that Major Crimes is taking on the Smith murder case.’

No response. They’re just staring at her.

She tries again. ‘My team are setting up an incident room in the office next door. Assuming we can get the IT to work, of course.’

A flimsy joke, but it’s usually a banker ice-breaker. Not this time, though. Half of them have already gone back to their computers.

The door opens again and Gallagher glances towards it, visibly relieved. ‘Ah, there you are. This is DC Farrow, everyone, so if you can hand him what you’ve got on Hugh Cleland so far that would be great.’