The Whole Truth

Everett’s Friday evening wasn’t exactly restful. Most of it was eaten up by a week’s worth of undone chores, and she ended up so ragged with exhaustion she slept through this morning’s alarm. She drives down the Banbury Road under a sultry grey-yellow sky, which does nothing for her headache, and the low-level throb of guilt about her father and that call she still hasn’t made to Elaine Baylis isn’t helping much either. She keeps telling herself she’s doing as much as anyone could expect; that her dad’s being well looked after, he’s eating and people are trying to involve him in group activities like whist and bingo, all of which he despises at the top of his voice whenever any of the staff are near enough to hear. His contempt ought to reassure her, it’s so completely in character, but there’s a vehemence to it now which leaves her uneasy.

The rest of the team are already at their desks when she gets in. Somer looks up briefly but doesn’t meet her eye, and is then so intent on looking busy she might as well hang up a sign saying ‘Leave me alone’. Ev unloads her phone and notebook from her bag, wondering how she should play it. She’s pretty sure Somer had an appointment last night with her doctor, but she never actually said so, and Ev’s attempts to WhatsApp her later got nothing more than one-word answers.

* * *

For an expert in body language, Bryan Gow isn’t very good at masking his own. When he rounds the corner and sees Gislingham in the corridor outside CID his reaction is such a perfect picture of acute embarrassment he could use it as an example in his next PowerPoint presentation.

Gis frowns. ‘I thought your assistant said we couldn’t meet up because you were busy today?’

Gow flushes a little. ‘We can’t – that is, I am.’ He hesitates. ‘If you must know, Ruth Gallagher asked me to come in.’ He makes a face. ‘Hashtag awkward.’

Because he’s helping her on the Emma Smith case. Because he’s helping to convict Fawley.

Gis forces away the thought, and the resentment that comes with it. All this shit – none of it’s Gow’s fault.

‘I was going to ask you to look at some footage for us. The Fisher case again.’

Gow nods slowly. ‘OK, I can do that. I’ll drop by later.’ He looks round. ‘And in the meantime, perhaps you could tell me what Gallagher has done with her team, because that office of theirs is doing a pretty good impersonation of the Mary Celeste.’

* * *

Gow wasn’t the only one wrong-footed by that this morning. Major Crimes were just as confounded themselves. Overnight, without warning, their entire operation had been tea-crated and relocated upstairs. The first thing everyone noticed was that the new office is about as far away from CID as it’s possible to get; the second was the secure-access keypad on the door.

And just in case anyone was being especially dense, Dave King makes a big show of getting the facilities manager to reset the code right in front of them.

‘From now on, we’re the only ones who’ll have access to this room,’ he says, staring round. ‘Not even the bloody cleaners are getting in here without one of us present. So if there are any more leaks about this investigation – external or internal – I’ll know it was someone here, not one of Fawley’s arse-lickers gone rogue. Do I make myself clear?’

Evidently so.

He nods, makes as if to go, then has second thoughts. ‘Oh, and if any of you happen to see DS Gislingham in the khazi, do make sure to pass that on.’

There’s an exchange of glances now, the odd murmur.

‘Right,’ says King. ‘Well, get on with it, then.’

The room kicks into action and King watches for a moment before making his way over to Simon Farrow’s desk. He smiles at him; Farrow is immediately wary. ‘I was going to ask,’ says King, perilously jovial. ‘It wasn’t you by any chance, was it, slipped CID a look at our files? Because someone made a call to that railway engineer last night and it wasn’t one of us.’

Farrow’s eyes widen. ‘Why are you asking me?’

The teeth are showing in King’s grin. ‘Yeah, well, it’s not gone unnoticed that you’ve got a bad case of the hots for that Erica Somer. Can’t say I blame you, though. I’d do her in a shot.’

Farrow drops his eyes. ‘Always a bad idea,’ he mumbles, ‘getting involved with people at work.’

King gives a quick bark of laughter. ‘Well, evidently she doesn’t think so. She was banging Gareth Quinn a while back for a start –’

One of the other DCs looks up. ‘And Fawley too, from what I hear.’

‘Really?’ says King sharply.

The man shrugs. ‘It was all round the station a few months ago.’

‘Interesting,’ says King, his tone half thoughtful, half sneer. ‘Not such a bleeding paragon of virtue after all, eh.’

‘Was there anything else you wanted, Sarge?’ says Farrow. ‘Only –’