Baby Love Read Free

glances. She reckoned he’d aged a bit in the last couple of years. The grey flecks among the still-thick black hair were more snow-scatter than sprinkle. And the lines down the side of his
mouth had become a permanent feature rather than the by-product of late nights and early mornings, often back to back. He was early fifties, nothing these days, but he’d had a health scare earlier in the year, had even toyed with the idea of early
retirement.
    That had sent shock waves rippling down Bev’s vertebrae. The guv was on her side, almost the only suit at Highgate that was. Without his metaphorical arm around her shoulder the world would be a much colder place. Not that he didn’t call a
spade an earth mover, and not that he was afraid to tell her to her face what a lot of the Highgate neanderthals only whispered behind her back. Whatever the reason for the current uncharacteristic shilly-shallying, it was neither fear nor concern for
her sometimes fragile self-esteem.
    “It’ll probably all be over by the time you get there.”
    Where? The only place she had the slightest intention of going was the room at the end of the corridor where Laura Kenyon was waiting to be interviewed. The guv still hadn’t looked her in the eye. She folded her arms, slumped back against the
wall. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Like I say, I’m no mind-reader.”
    “I’m taking you off Street Watch.” He lifted a hand to quell a Morriss outburst. “Just till we know how this thing pans out. As I say, by the time you get there, it’ll probably be sorted.”
    “What will?” Her gaze fixed on a peeling poster extolling safe sex. Given the state of her love life, any sex would be a fine thing. Oz had been giving her so much space lately she could rent rooms.
    “We got a call-out. Looks like it could be a missing baby.”
    Her heart skipped a beat as she abandoned the slouch. “Missing?” Her senses were on red alert. Baby-snatch, kidnap, abduction, call it what you like. A dictionary couldn’t come close to describing the horror, the emotional fall-out
when a baby’s taken, a young life’s at stake. Priority didn’t get much higher. So why the shifty look?
    “Uniform’s there,” Byford said. “Les called it in. He reckons there’s something fishy. Wants another pair of eyes.”
    Les King. Laziest copper on the force. Christ, if Kingie thought it was fishy, there must be shoals of the bloody things. It was a time-waster. And there was none to spare. Byford knew it. She knew it. “With respect, guv...”
    “Don’t even go there.” He stood, mentally elsewhere already.
    “But...”
    “But nothing.” He handed her a slip of paper. “I want you to take a look.”
    She clocked the address and snarled. Blake Way, Balsall Heath. Better known as Asbo Alley. What fun. She gave a theatrical sigh, tapped fingers on thigh.
    “And you can stop that soon as you like.” Byford read bodies as well as minds.
    “What I’d like is to talk to Laura Kenyon.”
    “You should have thought about that before inserting yourself in her mother’s nostrils.”
    “That is so unfair.”
    “That’s life.” He shrugged half-heartedly. “Think yourself lucky she isn’t filing a complaint.”
    In his office on the fourth floor, Byford watched through the window as Bev crossed the car park. Even from this distance, he could read the signs. The slumped shoulders and head down had nothing to do with heavy rain falling from a
leaden sky; she was seriously pissed off. He sighed, absentmindedly tipping the dregs of a canteen coffee on to a parched cactus languishing on the windowsill. The plant was the latest in a long horticultural line of Morriss peace offerings. Indeed, had
all the cacti flourished, he could have opened a garden centre. Was the choice of plant significant?
    He gave it a passing thought, his focus still on the woman sending smoke signals from below. Detective Sergeant Beverley Morriss didn’t need to open her mouth