All the Rage

Adam Fawley
9 April 2018
20.25

No one's quite opening champagne but the incident room feels like a surprise party awaiting the arrival of the guest of honour. There's some laughter, a sense of release; some of the blokes have loosened their ties.

When Mukerjee rings through Quinn puts her on speaker: we all want to hear this.

`˜So, do we have a match?'

The line is crackling a little, but her voice is clear. `˜Yes, we do.'

There's some air-punching, some muted cheers; Gallagher is smiling. Someone claps Quinn on the back as if he waded into the ditch and found that sodding handbag himself.

`˜That's the good news,' continues Mukerjee. `˜But I'm afraid it's not as straightforward as you were hoping.'

The room falls quiet.

Gallagher moves closer to the phone. `˜Nina `“ it's DI Gallagher. Could you explain what you mean?'

`˜I did find some fingerprints from Patsie Webb on the handbag. The trouble is, there was no blood anywhere near those prints. They could have been made at any time.'

And the girls were friends `“ Patsie could easily have handled that bag, even borrowed it. It's not enough. Nothing like enough.

`˜The prints with the traces of blood were only partials,' continues Mukerjee. `˜It won't be good enough to stand up in court.'

Gallagher moves a little closer. `˜But if they're partials for Patsie `“'

The line crackles again. `˜Sorry, I wasn't making myself clear. They are a partial match, just not for Patsie Webb.'

`˜So who `“ for Isabel?'

`˜No `“ we checked hers against ones on the bus ticket. It's not Isabel either.'

Gallagher frowns `“ this isn't making any sense. `˜Then who `“'

`˜Nadine,' says Mukerjee, her voice clearer now. `˜The prints are a partial match for Nadine Appleford.'

* * *

`˜You should be fucking ashamed of yourselves. And if you think you're getting away with this you've got another think coming.'

Denise Webb is so angry she can barely speak without spitting. Everett's had her fair share of self-righteous abuse over the years, but this is up there with the most unpleasant. Patsie is a few yards away, her head down, hair falling about her face. It's impossible to see her expression. She hasn't spoken since they left the interview room.

`˜Keeping us here for hours on end,' says Denise, `˜accusing a fifteen-year-old girl of something so `“ so `“ it's disgusting, that's what it is.'

The desk sergeant hands Everett the bail paperwork for Denise Webb to sign. It's clear from his face that he's keeping well out of it. Ev's on her own on this one.

`˜I'm taking my daughter home now, Constable, or whatever your damn title is. But this isn't the end of it. Not by a long way.'

No, thinks Everett, as she watches the woman put her arm round her daughter and guide her to the door. I think you're dead right about that.

* * *