‘Just like with Carter, eh?’ said Locke. ‘Twice in the space of a few days. What are the odds?’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Porter patiently waited his turn. Superintendent Campbell’s verbose outpourings tended to be more of a soliloquy than a two-way conversation, and Porter knew from experience there was little to gain by interrupting.

‘So let me get this straight.’ Campbell shuttled back and forward between his desk and the window as he spoke, his voice slow and measured, as if dealing with a small child. ‘He masquerades as a pillar of the community by making large charitable donations, to causes endorsed by our very own deputy commissioner, no less. Hell, he even rubs shoulders and shakes hands with the man. A man who can end both our careers with a wave of his pen, and now Locke is a murderer as well?’

‘What I’m saying, sir, is that we need to consider this new evidence and where it might lead the investigation.’

Porter’s pace and pitch was equally as regulated. Campbell had a stubborn streak in him and this wouldn’t be the first time he’d waved his bureaucratic wand, inadvertently grinding a case to a shuddering halt simply because it wasn’t how he had seen things playing out.

‘And the new evidence, is there anything else to consider, or is it just the information from the Welsh chap and that picture?’ He waved a hand in the direction of the Polaroid they had taken from George Evans.

‘Just, sir? It’s an eyewitness account of how a member of Mr Locke’s organisation confirmed that Nathan Barclay died because he didn’t want to do business with Locke; an account given while in the presence of Mr Locke, I might add. Now, I’m not saying it’s enough to bang them all up just yet, but if we can—’

‘I admire your passion, I really do. One of ours is lying in the hospital and you want to hit back. I’ll tell you how this will be played back to us by his solicitor, shall I?’

Porter clenched his jaw, swallowing a quick retort, and bristling at the phrasing Campbell was using.

One of ours. Admire my passion?

The man had some nerve. He’d been fast-tracked since he joined the force, and had served the vast majority of his career from behind the safety of his desk. If they were all on the same team, all had a common goal, why did it feel like Campbell was more concerned with how things might look instead of getting the right result?