Free The Darkness and the Deep by Aline Templeton

down-to-earth as well, he reckoned, unlike his previous DI, who prided himself on being a hard man who never missed a trick, but fell like timber for a well-chosen line. From what he had already gathered, playing games with DI Fleming would be a high-risk occupation, but there would be ways to handle her too, of course, once he’d sussed out what they were.
    If he wanted to get off to a good start, he’d better get on with reading through this lot. He took a swig of coffee, then had a preliminary sift through the contents of the folders, most of which seemed to relate to the on-going drugs investigation, code-named Operation Songbird. His lips twitched appreciatively at the name; in this line of work the breakthrough seldom came if you couldn’t find a canary who was prepared to sing.
    He picked up the most recent file of reports first. They seemed to be going on a theory that the stuff was coming in through fishing ports in the south of the area – presumably he’d find the evidence this was based on as he worked back through. The name Knockhaven featured, and one of the most recent additions was from DS Tam MacNee who’d been pursuing one Willie Duncan these last couple of days.
    Tam MacNee – he’d met him. Short, stocky chap, thick Glasgow accent, pitted skin and a gap between his front teeth when he smiled, which he hadn’t, much, and certainly not at his new colleague. The perfectly balanced Scotsman, no doubt, with a chip on both shoulders where the English were concerned. The other detectives had been severally pleasant, inquisitive, offhand or preoccupied, with only MacNee giving off vibes of controlled hostility. He clearly carried a lot of clout round here too, more than the other DS he’d met, Greig Allan who seemed a rather colourless individual.
    Well, usual new boy’s rules: keep your head below the parapet, speak when you’re spoken to and get on with your work. He addressed himself to the job, speed-reading the history of the investigation, until Tansy Kerr took pity on him and offered to take him down to the canteen for lunch.
    Ashley Randall unwrapped the sandwiches it had been her turn to collect from the ‘8 ’til Late’, to be consumed at home during their usually brief lunch-hour. Lewis was back ahead of her and had already laid out the plates on the glass table in their sleek, minimalist kitchen with its state-of-the-art cooking appliances, though the only one which showed much evidence of use was the microwave.
    He was pouring Badoit into two glasses. ‘I’m going to have to eat and run today. I’ve promised Martin a consultation before afternoon surgery.’
    ‘What is it this time – heart disease or cancer?’ Ashley had very little sympathy with Martin Matthews, their hypochondriac partner. ‘You should refer him to me. I’d prescribe a low-fat, no-alcohol, strict-exercise regime and he’d make a miraculous overnight recovery.’
    Lewis glanced at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. ‘Oh, you’re probably right. On the other hand, you have to remember that he’s very popular with the patients and he’s a good colleague. You know how often he’s been happy to cover for you when you have lifeboat duty.’
    Ashley was setting out the sandwiches; her hand hovered for a fraction of a second before she completed the action. Then, ‘That reminds me,’ she said, her voice casual, ‘I’ve got an extra meeting tonight. Willie phoned – some new regulations have come through and he wants to discuss them. To tell you the truth, I think what he means is he can’t understand them. He’s fine when he’s at the helm but his lips tend to move when he’s reading.’
    Under her thick gold lashes she watched him narrowly. With his usual deliberateness he was addressing himself to a prawn sandwich with reduced-fat mayonnaise; he said only, ‘Really? We’d better have an early supper then.’
    ‘Fine. I’ll pick something up,’ she offered quickly. ‘I was planning