Free Eoin Miller 02 - Old Gold by Jay Stringer Page A

in the café, I’ve got the acting DCI breathing down my neck to get the real cases cleared, and she doesn’t know about this.”
    The previous DCI had retired recently and unexpectedly for health reasons. One of the most respected detective inspectors was filling in until the role was filled. The acting DCI was a woman, and that had ruffled a lot of feathers in the building.
    “How’s your case going with the pensioner?”
    “She’s still touch and go,” Becker said. “The doctors don’t know how she’s going to respond yet.”
    “But you know who did it?”
    “This guy—and I’m telling you I know he did it—he’s got no more than three brain cells, he somehow managed to do it without leaving physical evidence. You tell me how it works? Kids with masks and gloves lifted a few TVs and toasters during the riots, and we were kicking their doors in three days later. One dumb fuck beats an old lady with his bare hands and I can’t touch him. I mean, he’s a moron, it has to be an accident, but he left no trace.”
    “Make this case and your career should get a bump up,” I said. Becker had always been better at the ladder-climbing game than me. “What’s happening with Bauser’s case?”
    His body faded a little in defeat.
    “Nothing. Not a thing. Looks like a mugging, and he’s known to have connections to drugs. Hell, look, he didn’t make the front page of the newspaper. The old lady is a better human interest story for the press than the murder of a criminal.”
    “It could be gang related,” I said. “The Mann brothers might push back and that would mean more blood. You’re not investigating that?”
    “Shite, mate. You think this is Birmingham? We’re not treating this as a gang killing. Unless you can tell me otherwise?”
    Yes.
    “No.”
    “See? There’s nothing there. If there’s any payback from the brothers, then it will become a story. But when was the last time we had a gang war around here, huh? Our rates are good, and we’re not going to do anything to mess with that.”
    There was no use arguing the point. After all, police who were willing to ignore the Mann brothers were good for my business.
    I stood up.
    “Cheers, Beck, and I do appreciate the work.”
    I was turning to leave when he smiled, and it wasn’t a good smile.
    “Wait, before you go. The acting DCI would like to see you.”
    Oh shit.
    That meant talking to my wife.

It said a lot about Laura’s skills that they’d given her a chance to fill in at DCI rather than transferring in cover from another office. She didn’t have enough pull to get the job full time, but it was a good chance for her.
    My name surely hadn’t helped her find the way to the top. With my Romani background, I’d never been welcome in the force. Most in the ranks figured I only got in on positive discrimination, and they were probably right. Once I was in, I had to deal with racism and bigotry. More than once I opened my locker to find someone had taken a shit on my clothes or written messages on my paperwork. I’d like to say that behavior went away, but it never did. I simply learned to work with the good people and ignore the bad, which is how I met my wife.
    As I sat down opposite her, I was reminded just how much better than me she had always looked. It’s never mattered how much work I put into dressing up and grooming, there’s always been something slightly scruffy about me, like the schoolboy who never looks comfortable in the uniform. Laura, on the other hand, always looked polished. Her hair was lighter than before, as if she was trying the slow crawl from brunette to blonde, and the few cute freckles on the bridge of her nose still called me out to play. First in uniform,now in business clothes, she always looked right, confident and poised, born for shiny hair and ironed clothes.
    It was a nice office. The view wasn’t much, but the office itself was well enough appointed. It had been repainted since I was last in there,