Nkata looked up from his notebook as she spoke. His glance went beyond her to the corridor, where she'd remained in mild defiance of Lynley's instructions to her. He said, “Barb …” in a monitory fashion. You heard the guv's order remained unsaid.
Barbara said breezily, “There may even be more at MKR Financial Management. Nicola could have been a bird who fancied a regular bonk when she wasn't getting it from the boyfriend in the Peaks and when the London lover was taken up with his wife. But I don't think we want to go at that angle directly at MKR, do you, what with sexual harassment all the rage.”
Nkata didn't miss the plural pronoun. He said, a model of patience and delicacy, “Barb, the guv did say you're to get back on to CRIS.”
“Bollocks to CRIS. Don't tell me you think some lag on the loose squared it with Maiden by taking the cosh to his daughter. That's stupid, Winston. It's a waste of time.”
“Might be. But when the 'spector tells you what road to take, you'd be a wise bird to take it. Right?” And when she didn't reply, “Right, Barb?”
“Okay, okay.” Barbara sighed. She knew that she'd been given a second chance with Lynley through the good graces of Winston Nkata. She just didn't want the second chance to materialise as a lengthy assignment to sit at a computer. She tried a compromise. “What about this, then? Let me go with you to Notting Hill, let me work it with you, and I'll do the computer business on my own time. I promise. I give you my word of honour.”
“The guv's not going to go for that, Barb. And he'll be bloody cheesed off when he twigs what you're doing. And then where'll you be?”
“He won't know about it. I won't tell him. You won't tell him. Look, Winston, I've got a feeling about this. The information we've got is all knotted up, and it wants unknotting, and I'm good at that. You need my input. You'll need it more once you get more details from this MKR place. I'm promising to do the computer slog—I'm swearing to do it—so just let me have a bigger piece of the case.”
Nkata frowned. Barbara waited. She chewed her gum more vigorously.
Nkata said, “When'll you do it, then? Early morning? Night? Weekends? When?”
“Whenever,” she replied. “I'll squeeze it in between tea dancing engagements at the Ritz. My social life's a real whirl, as you know, but I think I can carve out an hour here and there to obey an order.”
“He'll be checking to see you're doing what he says,” Nkata pointed out.
“And I'll be doing it. Wearing bells, if necessary. But in the meantime, don't waste my brain and experience by advising me to spend the next twelve hours at a computer terminal. Let me be part of this while the scent's still fresh. You know how important that is, Winston.”
Nkata slid the notebook into his pocket and observed her evenly. “You're a pit bull sometimes,” he said, defeated.
“It's one of my finer attributes,” she replied.
CHAPTER 10
ynley pulled into the car park in front of Buxton police station, untangled his lengthy frame from the small police vehicle, and examined the convex brick facade of the building. He was still astounded at Barbara Havers.
He had suspected that Nkata might put Havers on to the task of tracing Andy Maiden's investigations via computer. He knew the black man was fond of her. And he hadn't forbade it because, in part, he was willing to see if—after her demotion and disgrace—she would complete a simple assignment that she was sure not to like. True to form, she'd gone her own way in it, proving once again what her commanding officer believed to be the case: She had no more respect for a chain of command than a bull had respect for Wedgwood china. No matter that Winston had asked her to see to the Battersea end of things, she'd been given a prior assignment and she very well knew she was supposed to complete it before taking on something else. Christ. When would the woman learn?
He strode inside the building and asked for the officer in charge of evidence from the crime scene. After speaking to Andy Maiden, he'd tracked down Nicola's Saab at the pound, where he'd spent a fruitless fifty minutes doing himself what had already been done with exemplary efficiency by Hanken's team: going over every inch of the car, inside and out, stem to stern. The object of his search had been the pager. He'd come up empty-handed. So if Nicola Maiden had indeed left it in the Saab when she'd set off across the moors, the only place remaining to look for it would be among whatever evidence had been taken from her car.