Free Director's Cut by I. K. Watson Page A

coffee making
waves.
    “You all right?”
    “I'm all right. I was up late.”
    “Of course you were.”
    “And the couple of hours I managed weren't good. Just little things.
Some bastard holding me around the neck while he…”
    Cole stopped her there. “Right.”
    “It just got a bit too close. Elizabeth Rayner had everything going
for her; looks, job, everything. In thirty seconds, wrong time, wrong
place, she's destroyed.”
    Empathy was beyond Cole. He was a copper. He put a coin in the
slot and pressed 13, with and with. The machine groaned and dropped
a plastic cup.
    Donna said, “Say something, like do you need counselling, or
something.”
    Cole picked up his coffee and raised it towards her. “You're very
beautiful, you know that?”
    Her face broke into a smile. She said, “Not at the moment, but catch
me at the right time…”
    Cole smiled back.
    “What?” she asked.
    “You married?”
    She flashed him a ring. A tiny diamond glittered. “Engaged,” she
said.
    “Pity.”
    The signs were right.
    She said, “Yeah.”
    Cole was updating Detective Superintendent Baxter when DS Peter
Ward knocked on the door.
    “Boss, a result. One of the instructors at the fitness club has come
up with a name. Apparently he's been hanging around for some time,
using the coffee shop. Elizabeth Rayner complained about the way he
was staring at people and they threw him out. He shouted that he'd get
her. Quite a few people heard.”
    Baxter was on his feet.
    They followed Ward to the IR where the team gathered around
Carter on the screen. Donna Fitzgerald saw their approach and,
remembering her earlier banter with Cole, smiled a quick
acknowledgement.
    The screen moved upward. Carter said, “Rodney Grant, forty-six. A
string of previous. Look at this! GBH, burglary. Bailed. Any takers
that he's done a runner?” He hadn't noticed the super. As he made eye
contact he muttered, “Right, sorry.”
    Defusing it, Cole said, “What else?”
    “Here we go. Indecent assault and cruelty, two USIs and a sod on
an eleven-year-old boy, did three. Got out last year.”
    USI is unlawful sexual intercourse.
    Chas Walker muttered, “He doesn't care, does he?”
    Cole said impatiently, “Come on, David. Let's have an address?”
“Bail address, Guv. Girlfriend.”
    Cole nodded thoughtfully.
    Walker put in, “Shall I get firearms in, Sir?” The GBH count made
the difference.
    Baxter spoke quietly, mostly to Cole. “I don't think we need any
more Brazilians shot full of holes, do you? They'll just muddy the
pitch, as they do. Let's go for surprise. Mess up some paintwork. HET
will suffice."
    Most coppers treated the firearms support units with a little
circumspection.
    HET is the heavyweight House Entry Team. They came complete
with helmets and shields, secured the house then handed over to the
incident team. They were everyone's friends because they took the
shotgun in the face.
    Cole agreed and glanced at his watch. “Right. Four AM.
    Everybody here at three-thirty. No excuses.” He turned to the super.
“Anything to add, Sir?”
    Baxter shook his head and smiled briefly. “Let's make this work.
Then we can concentrate on Christmas shopping.”
    The murmur of laughter and anticipation filled the IR but it was
edged with disquiet. It was all too effortless. They hadn't worked for it.
It was just a feeling, but it was nagging.
    There's a road or street in every district known to Social Services and
FPU. It's a place where perhaps people with learning difficulties are
housed, where the more vulnerable members of society live, a place
where children are more likely to be left unprotected. It's also the place
where Schedule One offenders take lodgings, among the easy pickings.
In Sheerham, that road was Shephall Way.
    Police cars making their way along Shephall Way crunched on the
glittering surface. Uniforms led the way to the front and rear of number
six. They had their batons out and they wanted to use them. The front
of