Page 43 of Better the Devil

‘Thank you, ma’am. I’ll get on it right away.’

She returned the phone to the cradle and leaned on the desk, staring down at the pad and what she’d written there.

‘Take it it wasn’t for me, then?’ Dave asked.

‘No. No, not for you.’ Sinead tore the page from the pad and straightened up. ‘We need to get hold of the others.’

She crossed to Dave’s desk in three big paces, and placed the note down in front of him.

‘Bloody hell,’ he remarked.

‘Aye,’ Sinead said. She took out her mobile and pulled up Tyler’s number. ‘You can say that again.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Callum Walker had beenon his feet before Hamza had even finished reading out his name, and halfway to the front before the applause had started.

It had been an impressive turn of speed for a man of his years, and spoke not only of his vigour, but of his self-belief.

He’d known he was going to win. He’d been absolutely convinced of it, and had sat poised, ready to spring up, at the first possible opportunity.

Hamza knew this was the case because Callum had said so during what had turned out to be quite a lengthy acceptance speech filled with petty grievances, casual sexism, and quite a few comments about how it was high time he was recognised for all the hard work he’d put in.

Callum Walker was a key member of HAWKS. Callum Walker wasimportant. And he wanted everyone in the room to know that.

The round of applause that had ushered him to the stage had been less than enthusiastic. The one that followed his speech had been practically non-existent.

He’d posed for photographs with Hamza, then with Sergeant Fleck, then with each of the councillors, then with bothcouncillors together, then with both police officers together, then with everyone in one big picture.

Finally, he’d had the photographer take one of him standing at the front of the hall with his back to the audience.

‘Make sure you can see that lot all back there behind me,’ he’d stressed, holding up the small silver cup that now bore his name.

He hadn’t smiled for the last picture, and almost nobody behind him had either.

Now, Callum stood off to the side of the hall, holding court by the door with a small group of followers who took turns to ferry sandwiches and sausage rolls to him from the table up the back. From above, they must have looked like worker ants, Hamza thought, delivering delicacies to their queen.

‘Lovely to meet you, Detective Inspector.’

Hamza turned to see the councillors pulling on their jackets. He realised that finally—finally—this thing was drawing to a close.

‘You’ll get back to me on the M&S doorway shiter, yes?’

Ben stepped in with another assurance that they would pass on the concerns, and then they watched as both politicians slipped unnoticed out of the hall.

‘Christ, that’s some nickname, eh?’ Ben said. ‘Jack the Ripper. The Zodiac Killer. The M&S Doorway Shiter. I can’t see that being one for the history books.’

Hamza smiled, then glanced after the councillors. ‘Will we shoot off, too? I’d like to get back and see what’s happening.’

‘One minute,’ Ben said, stressing the number with a single raised finger. He broke into a speedwalk. ‘Just going to grab some more of them sausage rolls for the road.’

Hamza watched him go for a moment, chuckled fondly, and then turned to pick up his jacket from the back of the chair it had been left hanging on.

When he turned around again, half a dozen faces were staring back at him. Callum Walker and his acolytes had gathered around him. They were all sipping on coffees and munching on sandwiches. And, in one instance, gnawing on a thick slice of cucumber.

Callum was still clutching his trophy in one hand, holding it to his chest like he was prepared to fight to the death to defend it. He still wasn’t smiling. For someone so evidently pleased with himself, he was a right dour old bastard.

He was somewhere in his seventies, but if age had shrunk him, he must’ve been a giant to begin with, as he towered a good four or five inches above the detective inspector, and a full foot above some of his similarly aged hangers-on.