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He’d barely spoken to his boss. Flynn had said hello when he’d arrived but had been dragged off by a succession of women. She was now seated on one of her sister’s large couches, surrounded by them. She looked angrier than he felt miserable.
He watched as someone reached over and patted her stomach.
‘Will you pack that in!’ she snapped, pushing the hand away.
Flynn wasn’t a stereotypical pregnant woman, if there were such a thing. She scowled rather than glowed, wore leggings and New York Dolls T-shirts rather than the Laura Ashley maternity dresses Poe knew her partner, Zoe, had bought her, and she flat out refused to take any leave. The only giveaway was that she had a massive belly. Everything else about her was the same: her blonde hair was still tied back in a severe ponytail, her makeup was subtle and her work mobile was never away from her ear.
Flynn glared at the woman who’d touched her. ‘The next person who pats my belly is getting punched in the fucking throat.’
The woman smiled nervously, unsure whether Flynn was joking or not.
Poe knew she wasn’t.
Because, although Flynn was trying to act as if everything was the same, pregnancy had changed her in one small way. She had a rare pregnancy-related cortisol imbalance, the hormone that sends the body into fight or flight mode.
And Flynn didn’t back away from fights. Every new experience and challenge had to be beaten into submission. Before she’d got pregnant she’d been a considered and courteous manager. Now she was a foul-mouthed ranting loony. Whereas before she would stay calm, even when up against the most intransigent, obnoxious moron that SCAS occasionally had to deal with, now you risked her wrath if you typed too loudly.
Poe thought it was hilarious, although he never acted like it was to her face.
He’d spoken to Zoe earlier but they had little in common. Zoe worked in the City profiling world oil prices and he worked anywhere he was needed profiling serial killers. She earned seven figures a year, he earned … considerably less than that. They didn’t dislike each other but they had an unspoken agreement that they shouldn’t have too much contact.
Poe glanced at Bradshaw and smiled. She was wearing the dress she’d bought when they’d attended a charity gala during the first case they worked on together – a mosaic of thumbnail-sized comic book covers. She’d marked the night’s occasion by doing something different with her hair. Usually it was tied back and fastened with pigtails; now it was piled high like candyfloss. He wondered idly if she’d had it professionally styled or just followed an online tutorial. His money would be on the latter.
Bradshaw caught him looking and gave him a double thumbs up. She hadn’t been to a baby shower before and had attacked it with her usual mixture of enthusiasm and research.
She’d spent a small fortune on gifts – some, like the Spider-Man onesie, were cute and appropriate; others, like the electric double breast pump, were not.
‘It’s so you can express milk in the most time-efficient way, DI Stephanie Flynn,’ she’d said in front of everyone.
Poe envied Flynn her present. She wouldn’t have to use it for long, whereas he knew the state-of-the-art pasta maker Bradshaw had bought him for Christmas would torment him for years. He didn’t like pasta. Didn’t care that it would lower his cholesterol, that it was a ‘gateway to a whole new cuisine’ or that making his own pasta was cost-efficient.
But that was Bradshaw all over.
Despite being in her early thirties, the Serious Crime Analysis Section was her first real job. In academia since she was a teenager doing degrees and PhDs, then working on the research grants organisations were throwing at her, she’d had neither the time nor the inclination to develop any social skills.
SCAS was her first step into the outside world and she’d found communicating with anyone with an IQ lower than 150 a challenge. She was naive, literal and painfully honest but, although Poe had been initially wary of her, he’d recognised that she had the potential to be SCAS’s greatest asset. She specialised in mathematics, but was so intelligent she would know more than anyone else on a subject in a matter of hours when she put her mind to it. She could spot patterns in data when no computer could, she could devise bespoke solutions to intractable problems without breaking a sweat and she was intensely loyal.
Pasta maker aside, she was Poe’s best friend and he was hers. Bradshaw softened Poe’s harsher edges and he helped her plot a course through the outside world. They were a formidable team, which, considering the amount of trouble they frequently found themselves in, was probably for the best.
Jessica Flynn was a rich woman with rich friends, all of whom worked in the City. They would have been called yuppies in the 1990s. They’d taken Bradshaw into their collective bosom and before long she was the centre of attention. Poe would have stepped in if he thought they’d been taking the piss but it was clear they weren’t. Bradshaw was so honest and agenda-free – the opposite to the people they usually socialised with, people for whom backstabbing, double-dealing and flat-out lying was a way of life. Having a conversation with someone who answered the question you asked, rather than the one that gave a tactical advantage, must have been a breath of fresh air to them.
Poe looked round Jessica Flynn’s penthouse. It covered the top floor and there were huge windows on all four sides, at least ten feet high. Although it was dark, Poe could see that the windows facing the countryside and the windows facing the car park at the rear had large balconies. The front one was set out with wrought iron seats and benches. An upside-down ice bucket was on a small table.
The internal décor was open brick with expensive furniture and fittings. Jessica was obviously a mountaineer. Photographs and memorabilia adorned a whole corner. A shelf, filled with a collection of mountaineering curiosities, was the centrepiece of her collection. In pride of place was an old ice axe. It was on a beautiful teak plinth.
There was a brass plate on the bottom. He could see it was inscribed but it was too far away to read.
He wandered towards it.
A woman joined him.
‘I see you’ve found my little obsession,’ she said, sticking out her hand. ‘We haven’t been formally introduced – I’m Jessica Flynn, Steph’s sister.’
They’d been introduced earlier in the evening but it had been quick and perfunctory.
She was tall and cat-like, lithe and graceful in her movements. She had Flynn’s golden hair although hers was cut much shorter, possibly because of the mountaineering. Poe had served three years in the Black Watch so was aware that personal hygiene was difficult to maintain in the field – anything you could do to make it simpler was not to be ignored.
She was well dressed, but not over the top like the others. Jeans and a cashmere jumper. Her only piece of jewellery was a delicate golden chain.
