‘Well halle-fucking-lujah,’ said Porter, slapping Reid on the back hard enough to make his finger slip on the mouse button. The footage started rolling again. Simmons and Gibson, the Charge of the Light Brigade, but Porter was already halfway to the door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Porter stood back from the desk and waited as Campbell watched the clip for a second time, pausing on the frame that showed Bolton looking out, surveying his handiwork. Campbell stared at it, leant in closer, sat back and sighed.

‘I’ll call Milburn. He’s not going to like it, but we have Bolton at the scene. We have him on record lying to us. Bring him in. Send a team to the woods as well. We’ve got enough to bring him in without the girl, but the more we have on him the more likely he is to give us Locke if we offer him a deal.’

Campbell looked and sounded almost disappointed, but nothing could dampen Porter’s excitement, not even a selfish bastard like Campbell.

‘I’ll get right on it, sir.’

He turned to leave, but Campbell wasn’t finished.

‘Don’t think this is over, Detective.’ Porter stopped, looked back at Campbell with a confused frown. ‘You crack on and get after Bolton now, but when this is all settled, you and I’ – he gestured from Porter to himself and back again – ‘will have a conversation about obeying orders from your commanding officer. More to the point, what happens when you don’t.’

‘Sir?’ Porter feigned ignorance, knowing full well what Campbell was getting at.

‘I made it clear that Mary Locke was off limits. I did make it clear, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, sir, but I—’

Campbell held up a hand. ‘No buts, Porter. Now, go on, do your job. This’ll keep till later. And remember, it’s Bolton we’re bringing in. There’s nothing but hearsay on Locke for now. Stay away from him.’

Porter gritted his teeth, imagining how satisfying it would be to squash Campbell’s face up against the monitor, Bolton’s pixelated image still frozen on it. To show him close up just how good he was at his job. He’d face a dozen Campbells to put away one Bolton. Fuck him. Let Campbell do his worst. He tried to convey all this in a look. One long, gritty stare. But Campbell already had his head down, fixated on the case file on his desk, and Porter’s defiant look was wasted on him.

Porter left without another word. Styles was grinning as Porter approached his desk.

‘Did our esteemed leader like what he saw?’