Free Under a Silent Moon by Elizabeth Haynes

Cottage, Cemetery Lane, Morden, on the morning of 1 November. She had been brutally assaulted and was pronounced dead at the scene.
    Anyone with any information is asked to contact the Incident Room directly on 01596 555612. Alternatively, you can call Crimestoppers anonymously on 0800 555 111.
    - END-
    08:58
    â€œAndy,” Lou said.
    He was disappearing out of the briefing room, quicker to his feet than any of the others. He froze when he heard his name.
    â€œMy office.”
    She went back to the MIR next door, hoping he was following but determined not to look back at the arrogant piece of shit.
    He came in behind her and closed the door. He didn’t move to sit and she didn’t request it. Instead they stood facing each other, the space in the small office made still smaller by his bulk. Even though she was wearing heels, he towered over her.
    She waited for a moment, composing herself and wondering how on earth she was going to do this, and at the same time as being angry with him— furious— she realized that this was the closest they’d been since everything had happened and she could feel the warmth from his body, and her body was reacting to it in spite of herself.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, unprompted. “It was unprofessional.”
    â€œYes,” she said. “It was.”
    He started to say something else, then stopped.
    â€œWhat?” she said. “Say it.”
    â€œYou should have known Ali Whitmore would have wanted to take that side of it. He did the last job on Maitland when he was in intel.”
    â€œI’m not bloody psychic!”
    â€œWell, it all worked out for the best, then, didn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t want you playing games like that again. I don’t do pissing contests.”
    In spite of her fury, Andy smirked. Damn the man! How was it possible to hate him so much and still find him attractive?
    His shoulders had relaxed and he leaned forward slightly. “It wasn’t that long ago that we were proper friends, Lou . . .”
    She didn’t need reminding of it. “Is that what you call it? Felt more like betrayal than friendship.”
    â€œI didn’t mean that. I just meant—sometimes I forget you’re in charge. And I’m sorry.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter what rank I am, what rank you are,” Lou said. “We’re here to do a job, aren’t we?”
    â€œSure.”
    She waited for more, half-expecting him to bring up the one big subject that they were both ignoring, but he remained silent.
    â€œI think we should leave it there. Now are you doing the press briefing with me, or are you too busy?” She smiled, to soften the sarcasm, and to her relief he took a deep breath and smiled back.
    Opening the door of her office, the silence in the main room despite the number of people crowded into it made her realize that they’d probably all been watching through the glass, straining to hear.
    She took five minutes in the ladies’ to apply some lipstick and run a brush through her hair. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes staring back at her, challenging her to admit to the crushing weight of self-doubt that she was feeling. Why this case? Why not something nice and straightforward, like every other Major Crime job that had turned up in the last few months?
    You asked for it , her reflection suggested insolently.
    The main conference room at Police Headquarters was full: lots of cameras being set up at the back, press of varying types chatting happily together as if they were all best friends.
    Lou had had media training as part of the three-week Senior Investigating Officer’s program. They’d staged a press conference at which various police staff pretended to be members of the press, asking the most awful questions they could, with some sort of internal competition to see who could be the one to “break” the poor trainee. They’d got the police