Free The Impossible Dead by Ian Rankin

might have been knocked back.’
    ‘I like the sound of your boss.’
    ‘He reminds me a bit of you, actually.’
    ‘Then I’m flattered. How long till you’re operational?’
    ‘Need a telephone engineer to help us with the landline.’
    ‘Us?’
    ‘I’ve got help: two youngsters from CID. Mobile phone will take longer – first things we’ll have access to are numbers called and calls received …’ She broke off. ‘You know all this already.’
    ‘True.’
    He heard her give a short sigh. ‘It’ll be end of play today for the landline; some time tomorrow for everything else. Unlikely Scholes would bother e-mailing Carter, so I was going to skip the key-stroke surveillance.’
    ‘Fine by me. And thanks again, Evelyn.’
    ‘It’s what neglected friends are for, right?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘Just one thing, though – Scholes isn’t an idiot. Might explain why he went to Carter’s house. It keeps their conversation private. Could be all we end up with are texts to arrange more meetings.’
    ‘I know.’
    She gave another sigh. ‘Of course you do. I keep forgetting how much alike we are. Maybe that’s why we hit it off that time.’
    ‘Are you sure you want to say any more? This may not be as secure a line as we’d like.’
    She was chuckling as Fox wrapped up the call.
    ‘Sounds like a result,’ Kaye commented. All three of them were crammed into the storeroom, door slightly ajar, Joe Naysmith keeping watch for spies and dawdlers.
    ‘Everything should be up and running by tomorrow. Home phone could even be tonight.’
    ‘That’s efficient. Care to share the secret of your success?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Just her name, then.’
    ‘Plus,’ Naysmith added, turning towards his colleagues, ‘whatever it was you thought she shouldn’t be saying over a non-secure line.’ He jumped as someone thumped on the door, pushing it open. Superintendent Pitkethly stood there, face like thunder.
    ‘Would I be right in thinking the three of you just paid Teresa Collins a visit?’
    Fox rose to his feet. ‘She’s made a complaint?’ he guessed.
    ‘In a manner of speaking. They found your name on a business card on her chair – when they went in with the stretcher.’
    She saw immediately the effect her words had had, and kept quiet for a moment, the better to savour the discomfort on the three faces.
    ‘A passer-by saw her at her window, smearing blood on it from her wrists. He called the paramedics.’
    All three men were standing now, eyes on Pitkethly. Kaye was the first to speak.
    ‘Is she …?’
    ‘She’s in hospital. Wounds don’t look too bad. Question is: what drove her to it? From the look of you, I’d say I’ve got my answer.’
    ‘She was hysterical,’ Naysmith blurted out. ‘We left her to it …’
    ‘Having calmed her down first, obviously,’ Pitkethly said, twisting the knife. ‘I mean, this is a woman who’s had a traumatic experience. Fragile enough to begin with, and with a history of drug use. I’m assuming you didn’t just walk away?’
    ‘We don’t answer to you,’ Fox stated, regaining a little of his composure.
    ‘You might have to, though.’
    ‘We’ll make our report.’
    ‘And will there be conferring beforehand?’ This question came from DCI Peter Laird, who had just arrived at Pitkethly’s shoulder. Fox sensed that there were other spectators in the corridor. He pushed past Pitkethly and saw that he was right. Laird wasn’t bothering to suppress his pleasure at this turn of events.
    ‘I mean,’ Laird went on, folding his arms, ‘you’ll want to make sure you’ve got your stories straight.’
    ‘She’s going to be all right, though?’ Joe Naysmith was asking Pitkethly.
    ‘Bit late to be showing concern,’ she answered him. Fox got right into her face.
    ‘Enough,’ he said. Then, to Kaye and Naysmith: ‘We’re out of here.’
    ‘Going so soon?’ Laird was waving with the fingers of one hand as they stalked down the corridor.
    ‘I’ll need