He allowed himself a wry smile. Even if he managed to hold on to his job, nothing was going to be easy on this one.

There was a brisk knock on the door and he looked up.

‘Come in.’

The door swung open and Mendel leaned in, one hand raised in greeting.

‘Morning,’ he smiled, walking over and nodding towards the screen. ‘Anything interesting?’

‘Just going over those Brighton case notes.’

‘Again?’

‘Yeah,’ Harland said, without enthusiasm.

‘Any better second time around?’ Mendel grinned.

‘It’s not exactly a page-turner, but I just want to make sure we’re not missing anything. But what that might be . . .’

‘You won’t know till you see it.’

‘Exactly,’ Harland sighed. ‘Anyway, what can I do for you?’

Mendel smiled.

‘Just stopped in to give you this.’ He placed a supermarket carrier bag on the desk between them. ‘Want to grab lunch later?’

‘Yes, that’d be good.’ Harland looked at the bag as Mendel turned back to the door. ‘One o’clock?’

‘One o’clock.’

He waited until the door closed, then leaned forward and picked up the bag. There was something moderately heavy inside, a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. Tearing away the layers, he exposed the contents and sat back for a moment, a thoughtful smile on his face.

Mendel had bought him a new mug.

Harland pulled his jacket around him as they walked down the road. It was an overcast day and Portishead was colourless and cold in the wind that blew in from the Severn. They spoke about work as they approached the pub, small talk and minor matters, not yet ready to tackle the events of the previous day. Something like that had to wait until they were indoors and free from interruptions.

‘I sometimes wonder what old Blake’s playing at,’ Mendel was saying. ‘First he’s banging on about his high-visibility policing, next thing he’s up in arms about a couple of overtime requests.’

‘It must be the budget review,’ Harland mused. ‘He always gets like that when they start showing him the numbers.’

‘Maybe they shouldn’t show him the numbers.’

‘Rather him than me.’ They paused, waiting for the traffic until they could cross the road. ‘Anyway, let him play with his spreadsheets, so long as it gets us our increase.’

‘And they say crime doesn’t pay,’ Mendel chuckled.

They found a table in the corner and sat down with their drinks.

‘Cheers,’ said Harland, raising his glass. ‘And thanks for the mug by the way.’

Mendel nodded slowly.

‘Cheers,’ he replied, taking a sip of his beer. ‘I thought you might need a new one.’

They sat in silence for an uneasy moment. Harland looked down, his fingers nudging a beer mat back and forth across the tabletop.

‘And thanks for yesterday . . . I appreciate your stepping in when you did.’

‘No problem.’

‘It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?’

‘It wasn’t good.’

Harland toyed with his drink, glancing up to find his friend watching him intently.

‘Everything okay?’ Mendel asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Sure about that?’

Harland sagged a little, then slowly shook his head.

‘It’s just been a tough spell recently,’ he sighed. ‘Sometimes it’s difficult to readjust, you know, since . . .’

Mendel looked at him for a moment and nodded.

‘Anyway,’ Harland slumped back in his chair, ‘I’ve got myself another problem now, haven’t I? It’s only a matter of time until Pope starts telling tales and I get the bullet.’

‘Maybe. But I don’t reckon they’ll do anything. Not really. You know how it works – there’ll be a lot of noise for a week or so then it’ll all be back to normal.’

‘That bloody Pope,’ Harland muttered under his breath. He sat up, shaking his head slowly. ‘You’re assuming that he’ll let it go.’

‘And you’re assuming he won’t,’ Mendel replied. ‘Come on, even an idiot like Pope knows there’s a line you don’t cross.’

‘I think you underestimate him,’ Harland frowned. ‘I think there are very few lines that little shit wouldn’t cross if it suited him.’

He picked up his drink and sipped it slowly, staring at the table thoughtfully.

‘Look at it another way then,’ said Mendel. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it now, so there’s no point in worrying about it.’

He was right of course. Harland gave his friend an ironic smile and raised his glass.

‘You’re a great comfort, Mendel.’

30

Tuesday, 21 August

Naysmith opened his eyes and blinked, slowly focusing on the unfamiliar ceiling. Soft light glowed through the tall net curtain, revealing the sleeping figure beside him, her auburn hair tangled across the pillow. He gazed at her pale shoulders, her long eyelashes, the inviting pout of her open mouth.

There was no denying that it had been a satisfying evening. He’d often thought of Michaela, speaking to her now and again in the course of his business and gently flirting with her on the phone. But now she was leaving the Merentha Group, and when another appointment took him to Bristol he’d called and invited her for dinner.

‘Really?’ She’d sounded surprised, slightly hesitant. Perhaps she was seeing someone . . .

‘Yes, really.’ It didn’t matter to him. Even if she was seeing someone, that just made her a little more challenging. ‘We can celebrate your new job, and I haven’t forgotten your promise about a jazz bar?’

‘Wow, you remembered.’ She laughed, and he knew then that she was interested.

The meal had been relaxed – there was a definite spark between them and he found himself genuinely enjoying their conversation. Her uncharacteristic shyness betrayed her attraction to him and he carefully guided their discussion so that she could talk about herself and feel good.

‘You must be excited about doing something new,’ he smiled at her.

‘Yes, it’s a complete departure for me,’ Michaela agreed. ‘I am looking forward to it, but working in a different industry will be a bit daunting. Jakob says I must be mad.’

‘I think it shows strength.’ He held her gaze, enjoying those large, dark eyes. ‘The best people always seem to rise to a challenge. Too many are afraid to take risks, afraid to try things, afraid to enjoy themselves. But you’re not afraid, are you?’

Michaela stared at him for a long moment.

‘No,’ she said, with a faint twinkle in her eye, ‘I’m not afraid.’

Naysmith smiled, raising a hand to call for the bill.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘What about that jazz place you were telling me about . . .?’

It was a perfect evening, cold and clear. Naysmith knew where they were going but feigned ignorance and let her lead him. He kept the conversation light, joking with her to make her laugh and teasing her until she gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. By the time they arrived at King Street, she was happily leaning on his arm.

The bar wasn’t great, but by this point it didn’t matter. The music was loud enough to keep them pressed close together as they talked, and the mood was relaxed.

When he eventually suggested going for a drink at his hotel, she barely hesitated and they were locked in each other’s arms as they took the lift up to his room. Over the following hours he’d been quite rough with her, but she’d responded eagerly, and it had been very late when he finally allowed her to drift off to sleep.

Now, as she dozed, Naysmith pulled the sheets back and studied her body. Her skin glowed in the morning light, and his eyes traced along the gentle curve of her back to her round bottom. Her breasts were bigger than Kim’s though not as firm . . .

He frowned as he thought of Kim. It was unusual for her to intrude on his thoughts at a moment like this. He looked at the bedside clock and wondered if she was awake yet. But he couldn’t call her just now, not with someone else lying next to him. He sighed. It had never bothered him before.