The sound has been muted on the television, but there is Stanton, giving more interviews, the red ticker tape running along the bottom of the screen saying – Det Ch Supt Gary Stanton, Cambridgeshire Police: ‘Missing Edith had lesbian relationship. Complex love life at heart of investigation.’
‘Sorry, why have you been put through to this department?’ Davy is saying into the phone. ‘No, no, I don’t want to give you the inside story.’ Waits. ‘Righto, yes, thank you, putting you through to the press office, caller,’ he says, pressing various buttons on his handset and slamming down the receiver with uncharacteristic annoyance. ‘Why aren’t they putting these calls through to the media team? Why are they coming through to us?’
‘Because they lie to switchboard, that’s why,’ says Harriet.
Colin is in his element, leaping up every five minutes. ‘This one says the immigrants are to blame. If we didn’t let them flood our borders …’ He shakes his head, saying, ‘Classic.’
Manon is leafing through the pile of newspapers splayed across her desk – across all the desks – every one of them leading on the Hind investigation: Tragic Edith had female lover; Edith’s lesbian trysts; Missing Edith had secret girlfriend, say police. Even the broadsheets are carrying it on the front page. The Telegraph takes the opportunity to re-run a vast photograph of Edith in her mortar board; something for the brigadiers to gaze at while imagining her disrobed and in a steamy same-sex clinch. The Guardian displayed its usual distaste by running it as a basement: Press frenzy over ‘female lover’ in Edith investigation. It got their juices going – girl-on-girl action. Better than that: posh-girl-on-girl action. She prays no one puts two and two together and gets Helena Reed. The Met has had to deploy a protection team to Church Row in Hampstead, where the Hinds are being ferociously doorstepped.
Fergus has walked in. Dark wet patches are leaching through the cotton of his grey shirt at the armpits. His acne outbreak has reddened. He pushes his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.
‘A word, everyone, if you don’t mind.’
The department settles, people perching or stood still, but for the phones which keep on crying out.
‘We need to be very mindful of attempts to infiltrate this investigation,’ he says. ‘Most of you will have taken calls from reporters this morning. They are hungry, very hungry indeed – under a lot of pressure for a follow-up to today’s revelations. I would strongly advise you not to exchange any details about the case when you are on your mobile phones.’
‘Are you saying we’re being hacked?’ says Stuart.
‘I wouldn’t rule it out,’ says Fergus, and he pushes his glasses up again, the sweat making them slip. ‘Just to be on the safe side, don’t talk about it on the blower. If you’re talking to each other, don’t mention names or details, and don’t talk to your family and friends about it, OK? Thanks everyone.’
The room breaks up, louder than before. Manon needs to escape the increased decibels, the heightened heat and velocity in the air, the pain shooting across one side of her brain.
‘I’m going to the canteen, Davy. D’you want a coffee or anything?’
‘This is an almighty mess,’ says Davy, and she is startled, not only to hear him express something so despairing but to see the broken expression on his face. ‘I mean, what was he thinking? This isn’t how we find out what happened to Edith. It’s just exploiting her.’
‘Normal to shake things up at this point,’ she tells him. ‘Eighteen days missing, everyone’s forgotten about her a bit. We’ve got fuck-all credible leads. Stanton’s just swirling his stick in the sand. Tea? Bacon butty?’
On the way down the stairs she texts Fly.
How is the coat?
Coat is good, but it making me shoes look bad.
She nudges Bryony, who is ahead of her in the canteen queue. ‘All right?’
‘Oooh, hello,’ says Bryony. ‘All kicking off round yours.’
‘I know. Splitting headache. Phones are ringing off the hook.’
‘Any of it sensible?’
‘Not so far. You know what it’s like.’
‘Sit with me?’
‘Five minutes, yeah.’
They take a table in the far corner, where Bryony interrogates Manon about her love life.
‘So hang on, he came by the station to ask you out, bought you antibiotic eye drops, and you haven’t called him?’ Bryony is saying, and it’s doing nothing for Manon’s headache.