Enigma

  * * *

  08:20 hours

  Love walked into reception, showed his security and strolled over to the lifts.

  He punched the button with the arrow pointing upwards and waited. The hum of the air conditioning could be heard or had the heating kicked in already, he wondered. The sound of people walking across the floor made click-clacking and squelching noises on the marble. Love listened as he waited. The lift made a gentle ping and the doors opened. It was empty. Love was glad of that. He strode in and punched seven, the doors closed with a gentle motion and Love was swiftly transported upstairs.

  He stepped out the lift, head down deep in thought, walked round the corner to his and Stuart’s office, punched the security code into the pad, the door clicked, he opened it and stopped dead. He looked across at the man sitting down at his desk and cursed.

  ‘I thought I’d beat you for once and be first in today.’

  ‘Nearly, Love, but I had to get an early start this morning,’ Stuart said. ‘We have to catch that scum before number three becomes a reality.’

  ‘We will,’ Love replied. He patted Stuart’s shoulder. He sure hoped he was right.

  ‘Besides, your tea sucks.’

  ‘What still? After all these years? Nah!’

  Love was on his fourth cigarette that morning and it was still only 08:50 hours.

  He didn’t know if he should contact Julie Cooper on a personal level or keep things strictly professional. What if she were the sort who went for a house in the country, husband, kids and a mortgage?

  Love shook his head as he took a long drag of his cigarette. He exhaled the smoke and watched it curl before escaping out of the open window. Not his style at all. He wasn’t interested in marriage, house in the suburbs, or kids. He liked to go out and enjoy the company of a good woman without any strings attached. He was upfront about it every time. He liked things simple.

  Was that so difficult, he wondered.

  He turned from the window, walked back to his desk, sat down, and stubbed out his cigarette. He checked his watch. Bit his lip. It was time he and Stuart got going.

  He rifled through some papers strewn all over his desk. Organised chaos. He pulled one out and studied it. He glanced at his watch again. Definitely time to leave. Stuart would be waiting downstairs. He grabbed his Donegal strode over to the door and pulled it open. The blinds flapped noisily. He closed the door firmly behind him punched in a sequence of numbers, threw on his jacket, and left.

  Investigations into the staff at the estate agents who were responsible for letting the property where Carol was found dead, were coming up blank.

  It appeared the staff of whom there were six in total, were a mixture of law-abiding, bingo playing, club-hopping individuals. The choice of club might be put down to bad taste as far as one of the staff was concerned but bad taste was not illegal. At least not yet but given time, Love mused. He was receiving regular reports from the operatives who were leading the operation and so far the staff members were coming up clean.

  On top of which, Love and Stuart had received another request via Jenny and as appreciative as Love was always to see her, he really could have done without it. The commander was requesting the latest update.

  The latest update? The latest was that Love reckoned a connection with the hospital was the main factor but he had nothing to go on. He thought Butterfield was involved but it turns out not the way he suspected although he still hadn’t been given the full green light.

  And then there was that surgeon, Mr James Sullivan. Far too cool for his own good and he also tied in with the hospital connection so-called.

  What was his story?

  Plus, there was that tenuous photography link.

  Give an update to the commander?

  That was a joke.