‘Where did you say you worked?’ DI Rampello said, cutting in to Kelly’s explanation.
‘BTP, sir. I’m currently based on Central line. I picked up a bag dip the week before last that I believe is linked to Tania Beckett’s murder, and I hoped I could come and talk to you about it.’
‘With respect, PC …’ an upward inflection turned her rank into a question.
‘Swift. Kelly Swift.’
‘With respect, PC Swift, this is a murder investigation, not a bag snatch. Tania Beckett was nowhere near the Central line on the night she died, and everything points to this being an isolated incident.’
‘I believe they’re connected, sir,’ Kelly said, far more confidently than she felt. She braced herself for Rampello’s response, and was relieved when he didn’t pull her up for challenging him.
‘Have you got a copy of the file there?’
‘Yes, I—’
‘Send it through to the incident room and we’ll take a look.’ He was humouring her.
‘Sir, I believe your victim appeared in an advert in the classifieds of the London Gazette. Is that correct?’
There was a pause.
‘That information hasn’t been released to the public. Where did you hear that?’
‘From a witness who contacted me. The same witness who saw a photograph of my bag-dip victim in a different edition of the Gazette. The same witness who believes her own photo also appeared in the paper.’
This time the silence was even longer.
‘You’d better come in.’
North West Murder Investigation Team was in Balfour Street, discreetly located between a recruitment agency and a block of apartments with a For Sale sign fixed to the third floor. Kelly pressed the buzzer, which simply said ‘MIT’, and turned slightly to her left so she could look directly at the camera. She lifted her chin a fraction, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. DI Rampello had said he would see Kelly at six, which had just given her time to go home and get changed. What was it they said? Dress for the job you want. Kelly wanted DI Rampello to see her as a serious officer, someone with important information to give about his murder investigation, not as a uniformed beat bobby. She pressed the buzzer again, regretting it when a voice instantly replied, an impatient tone suggesting they hadn’t needed the prompt.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s PC Kelly Swift, from British Transport Police. I’m here to see DI Rampello.’
A loud click released the catch on the heavy door in front of her, and Kelly pushed her way inside, throwing a quick smile of thanks towards the camera, in case they were still watching. Lift doors lay immediately in front of her, but she took the stairs, unsure which floor MIT were on. The double doors at the top of the first flight gave no hint of what lay behind them, and Kelly hovered for a moment, debating whether to knock or simply to go on in.
‘Are you looking for the incident room?’
Kelly recognised the BBC tones of whoever she had spoken to on the phone earlier that day, and she turned round to see a woman with long, straight blonde hair, pushed out of her eyes with a black velvet hairband. She wore tapered trousers and ballet pumps, and she thrust her hand towards Kelly. ‘Lucinda. I’m one of the analysts. You’re Kelly, right?’
Kelly nodded gratefully. ‘I’m here to see the DI.’
Lucinda pushed the door open. ‘The meeting’s through here. Come on, I’ll show you.’
‘Meeting?’ Kelly followed Lucinda through the double doors, into a large open-plan office filled with around a dozen desks. On one side of the space was a separate office.
‘That’s the DCI’s office. Not that he ever uses it. He’s only six months off retirement and he’s got so many rest days in lieu to use up he’s practically part-time nowadays. He’s all right though, Diggers – when he’s here.’
Kelly’s ears pricked up at the familiar nickname. ‘That’s not Alan Digby, by any chance?’
Lucinda looked surprised. ‘The very same! How do you know him?’
‘He was my DI in BTP. He transferred to the Met not long after, and I heard he’d been promoted. He was a good guvnor.’ Lucinda led the way through the open-plan office, and Kelly looked around, taking everything in. Even empty, the atmosphere had the buzzy feeling she knew so well from her own time working on serious crime investigations. Each desk had two computer screens, and at least three phones were ringing; the sound moving around the room as the calls transferred automatically, in search of a response. Somehow, even the phones here rang more insistently, as though they held the key to unlocking whatever mystery MIT was working on that week. This was what Kelly had joined the job to do, and a familiar surge of energy ran through her.
‘They’ll go to the answer service,’ Lucinda said, catching Kelly looking at the flashing phone nearest to them, ‘and someone will call them back.’
‘Where is everyone?’
‘In briefing. The DI likes everyone to attend. He calls it the NASA theory.’