Free Post Mortem by Kate London

to his office she had heard someone requestinghim, and she had paused on the stone treads and cocked her head towards the radio on her stab vest to listen. She remembered the busy transmissions of a live firearms incident, the updates from the officers on scene, Control asking the inspector to agree the rendezvous point. Not wanting to disturb, she had not knocked at the door of the office but had instead slipped quietly inside. He had been standing, leaning over his computer screen.
    â€˜Yes,’ he said to his radio, ‘I’m reading it right now.’
    She took the opportunity to observe him. His capable hands with clean moon nails, the firm jawline, a streak of grey in his hair. His collar was open, revealing the warm skin of his neck.
    â€˜In the forecourt of the BP, then.’
    Aware perhaps that he was keeping her waiting, he looked up and she felt suddenly self-conscious, as if caught in the act of looking at him. She gestured that perhaps she should go and come back another time, but he smiled and shook his head. He gestured towards the chair. She sat and waited. His stab vest was sprawled out on the table and his radio chattered with the continuing call. On the ring finger of his left hand was a gold band: she knew he had a young daughter.
    He stood up and logged off his computer. He smiled at her again.
    â€˜Sir, you’re busy. I’ll come back later.’
    â€˜No need, I’ll be quick.’
    He stepped out from behind the desk. She stood up and handed him his stab vest. He started to pull it on. ‘You made unsuccessful arrest inquiries earlier today?’
    â€˜Yes, sir. Younes Mehenni. Criminal damage. He made off.’
    He slotted his radio into the plastic grip on his stab vest. ‘Bit of a drama, was it?’
    â€˜Sir—’
    He waved his hand. ‘No, don’t worry, Lizzie. It’s fine. Hadley said you wrote it up. Anyway, a couple of things. I hadMehenni’s solicitor at the front desk earlier on. There’s been a complaint.’
    â€˜Oh. OK. What was it about?’
    â€˜Walk with me.’
    Shaw was zipping his stab vest as he walked quickly out of the office and down the stairs. She kept pace with him.
    â€˜Were you there when Hadley was talking to the girl?’ he asked.
    â€˜What, the daughter? Farah? I was there for most of it. There was a bit when I was in the garden on my own.’
    â€˜OK. Have you covered what was said in your notes?’
    â€˜Well, I didn’t hear it all.’
    A pause
    â€˜Anything else, sir?’
    They were already at the door to the yard.
    â€˜No, that’s it. A shame. I’d hoped to bosh it. The family’s alleging you entered the property unlawfully and that Hadley said something racist to the girl. Apparently she was very upset and they say that’s why she acted the way she did. Doesn’t make much sense to me. Have a think about it, see if you can, um, remember exactly what happened. I’ve got a lot of confidence in you. I’m sure you can shed some useful light on it all.’
    She had almost lost the thread of what was being said. Her thoughts were whizzing, struggling to remember. What exactly had happened? There had been a period, she remembered, when she and Hadley had been separated – she had been in the garden and talking on the phone, Hadley had been in the corridor with Farah. Or was that later? In any case, what had happened subsequently – when they had chased the father – had seemed much more important. That had been the focus of her statement. Was there perhaps, she wondered, an expectation here? She wanted to ask the inspector exactly what he meant – if she couldn’t remember it, had heard nothing, was that going to be a problem? But he had to go to thefirearms incident. They couldn’t talk. She’d look at her statement, check what she had written.
    Shaw had paused with his hand on the open door of the car. He met her