Ray shook it. ‘Evening, Peter.’ He gestured at the newspaper. ‘Catching up on all the misery in the world?’
‘I get enough misery at home. Why do you think I come here? Cheers!’ He raised his glass of red wine, and Ray clinked his own glass against it.
‘Have a seat,’ Fletcher said. ‘Tell me what brings you to this neck of the woods on a Sunday evening.’
You, mainly, Ray thought. You and all the other top brass getting pissed prior to breaking the law driving home drunk.
‘I needed to wind down,’ Ray said.
‘Tough day in the trenches?’
‘You could say that. Not the day of rest a Sunday is supposed to be.’
‘What’s on the books, then?’
‘Where do I start? Several stabbings. A couple of shootings. More drugs than you can shake a stick at. An armed robbery at a jeweller’s. And this afternoon we’ve just topped it off with a juicy murder.’
‘Juicy?’
‘Yes. Chopped into bits and dumped. Workers came across his head at the landfill site. We’ve had to shut the place down while we search for the rest of him.’
‘Need a hand? Perhaps some additional leg work?’ Fletcher said, then laughed.
Ray tried to make his own laugh sound convincing. ‘Now you mention it, staff shortages are a big problem at the moment.’
‘Aren’t they always?’ Fletcher said, curtailing what Ray was hoping might be a fruitful discussion about additional assistance. ‘Managed to identify the victim yet?’
‘We have. It’s Joey Cobb.’
Fletcher raised an eyebrow. ‘Joey Cobb? Well, I’ll drink to that.’ He raised his glass again and took a good swallow. ‘Gangland execution, I assume?’
‘Probably. We still have to look into it, though.’
‘Well, my advice would be not to put too much effort into that one. He’s not worth it. In fact, if you find the guilty party, give them a pat on the back from me.’
‘We still have to put on a show, though. Cobb’s mother is already threatening to ring the tabloids and kick up a fuss.’
‘I’m not surprised. She’s worse than her evil twins. She’ll do anything for a fast buck. I wouldn’t be surprised if she murdered her own son because she found a way of making money out of it.’
‘True,’ Ray said. ‘But you see my problem?’
‘Hmm,’ Fletcher said, and for a moment Ray believed he might actually be considering ways of sending more staff his way. But then Fletcher added, ‘How’s Hannah Washington getting on now?’
‘Hannah? She’s . . . fine.’
‘I like her. Always struck me as someone heading through that glass ceiling. Promoting people like her sends out all the right signals.’
Ray cringed a little at the suggestion. Fletcher would undoubtedly have said something similar if Hannah had belonged to an ethnic minority or been disabled.
‘Yes,’ Ray said.
‘Does she have her hands full at the moment?’
‘Well . . . not quite. I’ve kept her on light duties since . . .’
‘Since the train incident.’
‘Yes.’
‘Hmm. Remind me of her story again.’
‘She lost her daughter not so long ago. Meningitis.’
‘That’s right. I imagine something like that could affect a mother quite badly.’
‘Yes, I think it has. She . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘I’d say she’s lost focus. Not quite as sharp as she was.’
‘But you’re not saying—’
‘No. I think she’ll be fine, given time.’
‘And yet she’s back on full duty, yes?’
‘Yes. She’s keen enough.’
