Free The Reckoning by Jane Casey Page B

permeated the statements from Ivan Tremlett; without surprise, I found myself on the side of law and order. Tremlett had constructed an elaborate conspiracy to explain the images in his files, but the investigating officer had been meticulous, compiling spreadsheets to prove that the images had been downloaded at times that Ivan Tremlett had been working. The timestamps showed that he had sometimes gone looking for images between writing emails, as if he had needed a break, or felt he deserved a treat. He had over a thousand images squirrelled away in various corners, password-protected and disguised as innocent, personal files. That hadn’t happened by accident. And I found it hard to believe it had been the work of his junior colleague, a young woman who gave a warm statement in support of him after he had accused her of tampering with his files. If she was trying to manipulate his employers to turn against him, as Claudia had suggested, she was playing a very long game indeed.
    Halfway through the Tremlett file, Derwent walked past me and whistled to attract my attention as he threw an envelope onto my desk. ‘Hanshaw’s autopsy reports. Thought you might want to look at them.’ He walked backwards for a couple of paces, the better to see my face when he added, ‘I haven’t looked at them, so just give me the main points when you get the chance.’
    Autopsy reports were probably my least favourite form of reading; I skimmed through them trying not to think about what I was supposed to be taking in. The sheer scale of the violence floored me. The injuries Dr Hanshaw had listed for the two men ran into three figures – some of them very minor, some of them catastrophic. Torn muscles, broken bones, bruises and cuts, stab wounds, amputations and rough excisions – the words brought back the images I had tried to suppress from Barry Palmer’s house, and conjured up images I never wanted to see from Ivan Tremlett’s office. I put the files to one side and stared across the office at Godley’s door, wishing dully that he would wrap up his meeting so that I could go home.
    ‘So this is what you’re up to. Watching the remake of Twelve Angry Men . Shame they had to slash the budget. Five Angry Men doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.’
    In spite of everything, my first reaction at hearing Rob’s voice was pleasure. ‘Hey, watch it. You’re behind the times. In the modern-day Metropolitan Police Service, it would be Five Angry Individuals . You can’t exclude the possibility that a woman could have a role.’
    ‘I’m not sure we’d get away with calling them angry, either. Five Individuals with Different but Equally Valid Opinions .’
    ‘That sounds about right.’ I leaned back in my chair to look up at him. He was unusually tidy in a dark suit. ‘What are you doing here so late?’
    ‘Cleaning up a mess.’
    ‘What kind of mess?’
    He shook his head. ‘I’ll tell you another time.’
    Too many people around, I presumed. Someone had cocked up and it had fallen to Rob to sort it out. DC Rob Langton was that sort of police officer, diplomatic when he needed to be, clever without needing to shout about it, tough enough when that was called for. The mess – whatever it was – wouldn’t harm his career. He had the useful knack of walking away from disastrous situations with his reputation not only intact, but enhanced. I wished I had some of his skill and more of his luck.
    ‘What’s this?’ He was looking at the stack of files on my desk.
    ‘My latest dream job.’ I lowered my voice. ‘Have you had any dealings with Derwent?’
    ‘No. What’s he like?’
    ‘I’ll tell you another time,’ I said, echoing him deliberately.
    ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ He started to walk towards his own desk but stopped and turned back, leaning down so no one could overhear. ‘Since we have so much to say to one another, do you want to get something to eat later?’
    ‘Do you think that’s a good