Free Dead Pretty: The 5th DS McAvoy Novel (DS Aector McAvoy) by David Mark Page A

his glasses and baseball shoes and his utter, all-consuming lust for Pharaoh. ‘I told him it meant a lot to you.’
    Pharaoh rolls her eyes but nods in approval. McAvoy has loosened up a lot these past couple of years. There was a time when he would have allowed his request to be processed in the correct and orderly fashion and wait his turn like everybody else. Under Pharaoh’s supervision, he has learned to gently push his way to the front of the queue, using charm, persuasion and if necessary by looming over people until they get uncomfortable and will do anything to make him go away. He still fills in the forms in triplicate in case one gets lost, and blushes hugely if reproached, but he is not above using Dan’s feelings for Pharaoh to speed things up. Pharaoh reckons he’s finally becoming a proper copper, but she knows he has no real idea what that means. He just can’t fathom a world in which there could be any excusable delay in hunting down a young girl’s killer.
    Pharaoh is about to suggest they go and talk to Ava’s Romanian neighbour for themselves, when she hears her name. She turns and sees the figure striding towards them and lets out a groan that she makes no attempt to hide.
    ‘Adam,’ she says, with a sigh. ‘You’re back with us?’
    Adam Jackson-Savannah is a Home Office pathologist who has just returned from a three-year placement at an American university. Pharaoh can’t remember which one but feels sure he’ll drop it into conversation within the next ten seconds. He’s a tall, white-haired specimen in frameless glasses and a grey suit. His time in the sun has not improved his complexion. He remains deathly pale with a rash of pimples and blotches that runs down one cheek and onto his neck. The story goes that he was licked by a dog once and suffered an allergic reaction that has never cleared up. Add to this his watery eyes and thin, bloodless lips, and Pharaoh has always felt him well suited to the morgue. She would not hold his appearance against him were it not for his absolute incompetence and willingness to turn a blind eye to the occasional acts of corruption and downright evil committed by her predecessor.
    ‘Yale’s loss is Humberside’s gain,’ he says, and his lips form a tight, prissy pout as he speaks.
    ‘Gene not available?’ asks Pharaoh, in a voice that suggests she would be happier allowing a toddler with a scalpel to perform the examinations.
    ‘Dr Woodmansey is on holiday,’ he says primly, with a little turn of his head that suggests he finds the other man’s dereliction of duty unconscionable. ‘So you have me. And I have you. A shame for both of us, I’m sure.’
    Pharaoh laughs and nods. ‘The civil service has a short memory. I don’t.’
    ‘I was exonerated,’ says Jackson-Savannah, with a sigh. ‘A full inquiry concluded that there should be no stain on my record.’
    ‘No, they found the evidence was inconclusive,’ says Pharaoh. ‘That’s not the same thing. You ballsed up on a very important investigation, there’s no mistaking that. I just don’t know whether you did it because you’re crap, or ’cause Doug Roper told you what to put on the report.’
    McAvoy stiffens at the mention of the former head of CID. His involvement in the corrupt copper’s demise has left him a marked man in some quarters. Roper was popular. His clean-up rate was immaculate and the media loved him. McAvoy tried to expose him, only to be left with scars to his body and career.
    ‘I still receive a birthday card from Doug,’ says Jackson-Savannah, like a teenage girl showing off a signed photograph from her favourite boy band. ‘He’s doing well. Consultancy work, I believe. That’s where the money is. Still a young man. Still with very much to offer. A great shame he left without the fanfare he deserved.’
    Pharaoh licks her teeth and looks up at McAvoy. ‘Do you know Dr Jackson-Savannah?’ she asks.
    ‘I’ve heard of him,’ says McAvoy, with the