left. Gabriel walked over to the door and looked out of the strip of vertical glass to see what was going on. There was a distinct lack of panic on the wing. Everything was routine. Everyone sat patiently in their rooms, the prison officers checking each cell individually before closing it and locking the occupants in. It was barely 7 p.m. and they were done for the night.
Gabriel was torn between relief that he was alone and a concern that something terrible had happened to his cellmate. He watched as two officers ran past his door; they had obviously found something. He saw nothing except the faces of his fellow inmates, pressed up against the glass of their own doors, also trying to find out what was going on. Resignedly, Gabriel took a book from on top of Jason’s cupboard. He had a feeling his cellmate wouldn’t be needing it tonight.
Adrian was watching DI Fraser speaking to their new DCI. Jonathan Fraser seemed visibly relieved at the fact that he was no longer acting DCI, as he was better suited to taking orders than giving them, and everyone knew it, himself included. DCI Mira Kapoor was a completely new face, brought in to battle the ongoing allegations of corruption within Exeter Police. She was a PR wet dream for the district with her exemplary record and connections in the press. Fraser signalled for Adrian to come over.
‘DI Fraser speaks very highly of you,’ DCI Kapoor said as she shook Adrian’s hand.
‘Ma’am.’
‘Looking forward to working with you, DS Miles,’ she said as she let go of his hand.
‘Thank you.’
‘DS Miles is investigating the fire down at the signal box four nights ago,’ Fraser said. ‘They’re trying to identify the body.’
‘Any luck?’
‘No missing persons, we asked around the homeless community.’ Adrian sighed. ‘If someone is missing, no one has noticed yet. As you can imagine, it’s proving very difficult.’
‘What do the forensics say?’
‘No DNA, it seems the floor collapsed onto the burning body and the damage sustained to both the skull and the rest of the body means we can’t get a match on dental records either. We really don’t have much to go on.’
‘Well, keep going. We’re being watched.’ She bowed slightly and nodded towards the desk sergeant, Denise Ferguson, who was standing next to Adrian’s desk, pointing him out to a young woman with a pea-green satchel who was standing next to her. ‘Excuse me.’
Both Adrian and Fraser watched DCI Kapoor walk away. Adrian couldn’t help wondering if she was on the level; he had learned the hard way that power and corruption go hand in hand. She was from outside the county which was a promising start. He was at least a little hopeful that she wasn’t being controlled by Dominic, who seemed to have his hands on everybody’s strings.
‘She seems nice?’ Fraser said, his voice getting higher at the end. A hint of optimism in the form of a question, as though it were more of a request than a statement. At least Adrian wasn’t the only one who was concerned.
Adrian rolled his eyes and headed back towards his desk. He knew better than to be optimistic, anything could happen and he wasn’t about to put his trust in anyone just yet. Not after everything they had been through; he would be an idiot if he did.
Denise Ferguson smiled as he approached, as did the woman with the green bag. But hers wasn’t a friendly smile, it was a knowing smile and it immediately made him suspicious.
‘The DCI has asked that you take care of this young lady, Adrian. She’s a freelance journalist doing a piece on the dangers posed to the escalating numbers of homeless people in Exeter. Wants to know about the identification of the man in the fire.’
‘What?’ Adrian looked back and the DCI smiled at him; he was missing having Fraser as his boss already.
‘Play nice.’ Denise smiled before tottering off back to her desk.
‘DS Miles, nice to meet you.’ He held out his hand to the young woman. She stared at him for a few seconds too long. He hated journalists but he knew the department had a lot of damage to repair, damage which he felt at least partially responsible for. He would play along for now, until he figured her out.
‘Lucy Hannigan. Nice to meet you too.’ She ignored the gesture and sat down. Adrian detected a tone to her voice that was bordering on sarcasm. He dismissed it as paranoia and his general mistrust of the press. ‘I wasn’t even sure anyone would be investigating this man’s death,’ she continued. ‘Presumably it was a man.’
Adrian pulled out the pictures of the fire and placed them on the desk in front of her.
‘That’s about all we know for sure at this point. The building having collapsed on him hasn’t helped at all.’
‘Is it just you working on this?’
‘Me and my partner, DS Grey.’
‘I think I read that she got shot last year. Is that right?’
‘It is. Good memory.’ He wasn’t about to elaborate if that’s what she wanted, he wasn’t going to give her any more fuel for her fire; this was about containment and nothing else.
‘Oh yeah. I have a great memory.’ There was that tone again.
‘Well, when my partner arrives we’ll be heading down to the food bank to see if they have any knowledge of anyone that might be missing. So far, it’s a bit of a mystery. We’re not even sure if it’s a homeless person, but it seems like the most likely scenario at this point.’
‘Good job you’re a detective then, isn’t it?’ She was definitely being weird with him.
‘Sorry, have we met before? You seem to have some kind of issue with me?’
‘No wonder they gave you a badge.’ She smiled.
Adrian could tell that he looked puzzled. She seemed to be amused by his confusion. He was racking his brain but he couldn’t place her. Which could only mean one thing. He concentrated for a second on her lips, curled ever so slightly into a smirk. There was something familiar about her … something intimate.
‘Did we …?’ He tailed off awkwardly.
‘Ironic really that I should get stuck with you now. I have to be honest, if you don’t even recognise me that casts some serious doubts over your ability to do your job.’
He saw her again in his mind, a fragment of a memory, her lying beneath him, his hands on her body, his mouth on her skin. It was still a little hazy.
‘What did I miss?’ Imogen slammed her bag on the table and bursting the tension.
‘Miss Hannigan is a freelance reporter,’ Adrian said, flushing red, grateful for Imogen’s interruption. ‘We’ve been asked to brief her on the body in the signal box.’
‘It’ll be a short briefing to be honest. We’re
