Free A Question of Despair by Maureen Carter Page B

Delving into the shoulder bag for her shades, she missed David Harries’ approach until his six-two frame towered over her blocking the sun anyway. ‘Miss King.’
    A raised eyebrow. Give her the vertically unchallenged any day. Showcasing perfect teeth with practised smile, she peeled herself off the wall. ‘Hi there.’
    The handshake was fleeting, the eye contact intense. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re not supposed to be here. Now the news conference is over, it’s a restricted area.’
    â€˜Sure thing.’ She flapped a vague palm. ‘I just need to grab a few words with Karen.’ Like it was a given.
    â€˜That’s not possible. ’Fraid, I’ll have to ask you to leave.’
    â€˜OK . . . if you say so, David. But we did arrange to meet outside.’
    His tightening jawline suggested she’d misjudged. Thinking on her feet, she lowered her eyeline a fraction, toed the ground to display what she hoped was some fancy footwork. ‘That was a lie. I’m sorry. It’s just . . .’ Contrite, confiding. ‘I truly believe Karen would want to speak to me, if I was allowed anywhere near her.’
    â€˜It’s a policy decision. It may change over time, Ms King.’
    â€˜Problem being time’s in short supply, David.’ She raised her gaze, held his for three, four seconds before elaborating: ‘How long’s it been now? Twenty-four hours plus. I keep thinking of that little baby out there with God knows who doing God knows what.’ Deepest of sighs. ‘I’ve covered stories like this before. I know how they can end. But, David, I truly believe if I speak to Karen on camera, a sensitive in-depth interview, it could help get her baby back.’ Her dark eyes shone with what could be tears. Unless she could turn them on at will. ‘It’s got to be worth a shot, surely?’
    He appeared to be wavering slightly, but: ‘It’s not down to me. I can have a word with the boss, if you like.’
    â€˜DI Quinn?’ Hopeful lilt to voice. Then reluctant resignation. ‘I guess. But I don’t think it’ll do much good. Don’t get me wrong, David . . . I think she’s a fine police officer, tough, intelligent, gutsy, but I know from past experience she doesn’t trust the media. She lumps us all together which is a shame . . . not all of us are out for what we can get. All I want is to help.’ Tight smile. ‘Still, I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.’ It was archetypal King, almost the full works. And it did the trick. As she turned to leave, he touched her sleeve.
    â€˜Leave it with me, Caroline.’
    â€˜Leave what with you, Harries?’ Sarah’s narrow-eyed gaze on the reporter’s sashaying rear was considerably less approving than the young officer’s.
    â€˜Ma’am.’ Startled. How long had the boss been there? ‘I didn’t see . . .’
    â€˜Quite.’ Tight-lipped. ‘So what’s she left you with?’
    â€˜I said I’d have a word with you, ma’am.’
    â€˜And?’ Sarah nodded towards the back door and they fell into step across the tarmac.
    â€˜She’s asking if she can interview—’
    â€˜Karen Lowe.’ Sighing, she said, ‘What part of no way can’t King get her airhead round?’
    Harries turned his mouth down. Caroline King might be a lot of things but, from what he’d seen, being a lamebrain wasn’t one of them. And how come the boss was making personal remarks, sweeping statements? She was usually pretty reasonable, rational, not over-emotional. ‘Have you even consid—?’
    â€˜Are you questioning me, constable?’ She cut him a withering glance. The ‘constable’ was telling. He dropped the ‘boss’.
    â€˜No, ma’am.’
    â€˜Well, maybe you should.’
    â€˜OK.’