Michael hated computers.
Computers were for the ones who were no more than a number on the payroll system. Michael was more than that and he knew it, and he had no time for modesty. Not in this job.
He was disturbed from his thoughts by the vibrating of his mobile phone in his pocket.
He glanced at the caller ID.
Claire Winters. So much for not locking horns with her today.
He sighed and tried to ignore it. After the call failed to divert to his voicemail, he decided to answer it.
‘Where have you been, Diego?’
In a bad mood, as per-fucking-usual…
‘Sorry, Guv, I’ve been out of the office for a bit and I’ve been ignoring my phone, trying to catch up on work.’
‘Well you’d better pull your finger out your arse and get down here. I’m on Ryder Way, St Mary’s church.’
Michael paused, rubbing his eyes hard as a headache began to emerge, crossing over his forehead. The blood in his ears began to pound. ‘What’s going on?’
‘We found a body.’
‘Claire, I’m working on the Hargreaves case, do I really need to be down there?’ He heard her sharp intake of breath and cursed himself in his head.
That was not the attitude to show the Guv right now, or ever.
She could bust your balls just by giving you one icy look from her emotionless blue eyes. He awaited the inevitable lashing of her tongue.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’ve had a rough morning. Don’t be another pain in my arse.’
Michael paused. ‘Where have you been anyway?’
‘It’s…it’s personal.’
‘Something wrong? You can tell me.’
She paused, part of her wanting to offload her frustrations of the morning, but then her resolve hardened. ‘What are you, my therapist? Just drop what you’re doing and get down here.’
He bristled at her words, his shoulders locking up. He lowered his voice so the next words out of his mouth came in a forceful hiss. ‘I can’t just drop everything. I’ve been working flat out and I’m this close,’ he said, miming a small distance between his thumb and finger, despite knowing she couldn’t see, ‘from getting the lead we’ve been after. The Hargreaves case needs—’
‘Fuck the Hargreaves case,’ she cut in, her patience waning. ‘I’ll reassign it to Matthews.’
Michael was silent, his face twisted. His eyes wandered back to the picture on the wall he’d studied earlier.
Gavin Hargreaves was a local thug, dealer and complete thorn in his side.
He was a man who’d been in and out of police custody for years, served a prison sentence for a drug-related offence, but this hadn’t deterred him. He carried on with his little enterprise, controlling Haverbridge’s seedy underbelly, and he’d just been accused of a serious assault.
Trouble was there were no witnesses and little evidence of Hargreaves’s involvement. If they wanted Hargreaves away for a long time, they had to gather more evidence than they had already but it was a shitty investigation.
No one would put the finger on Hargreaves, such was his power and the fear he exerted over those in his pocket. Even local gangs feared him.
Michael had been working the Hargreaves case for two months now and had no intention of letting it go to anyone, especially not DI David Matthews.
Claire sensed his anger in the silence. She let him stew a few more moments before she gave a half smile.
‘Trust me, Diego, you’ll want to take this one. Right up your street.’
‘You’ve lost me,’ he said, beginning to lose patience.
‘When was the last time you went to church?’
‘Why?’
She paused then said, ‘The deceased was a priest.’
If you loved Pretty Little Things, check out these other twisty thrillers from HQ Digital . . .
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