Kill and Tell by Adam Creed

plate and I’d like the two of you to work side by side on this – like equals, not at each other’s throats.’
    *
    Josie is in the snug of the Hand and Shears, sharing a plate of corned-beef hash with a sinuous man with a sleeve tattoo on his left arm and hair cut into a bob like a woman’s. He has dark rings around his eyes. Josie, too, is short of a couple of hours’ sleep. She and Staffe clock each other and her eyes avert, as if she has been caught mid-mischief.
    Staffe extends his hand to the man, says, ‘I’m Will.’
    ‘Conor,’ says the man, shaking his hand and smiling easily.
    ‘My boss,’ says Josie.
    ‘I’m going to see Pulford,’ says Staffe.
    ‘Now?’
    ‘That’s the guy in jail, isn’t it?’ says Conor.
    Staffe looks daggers at Josie and she busies herself with another forkful of the corned-beef hash. She chews it and the men talk about what Conor does for a living. He is a video film-maker and Staffe makes a fine fist of showing interest while Josie eats. Conor doesn’t touch the food and when Staffe stands, they shake hands again. Josie puts a fiver down and stands, too.
    Staffe says, ‘No, you stay. Stay with Conor.’
    ‘It’s OK, Will. I understand. The job comes with her. I’m cool with that,’ says Conor, smiling benignly. He kisses her on the mouth. ‘Just cool.’
    When they get out onto Cloth Fair, Josie says, ‘You could have called me. I’d have met you at Pentonville.’
    ‘You’d have been cool with that?’
    ‘Don’t take the piss, sir.’
    ‘He just seems different.’
    ‘Different to what?’
    ‘Never mind.’ Staffe hails a cab, asks for Pentonville. Once they’re on the Farringdon Road, he says to Josie, ‘Do you have the printout from Haddaway’s computer?’
    Josie plucks a piece of paper from her bag. ‘How did you know that he’d been on Google Earth?’
    ‘I saw the logo sticking up from Pulford’s file. Let’s put the rest down to guesswork.’
    ‘You know the significance of Whitley Bay?’
    ‘His mother lives there. It’s what I feared as soon as I saw the logo. They’re threatening him – to keep him quiet.’
    ‘Shouldn’t we lay off? Imagine if it was you. Wouldn’t you want to make your own call on something like this? I know I would.’
    ‘I can’t watch Pulford go down for this, Josie. You know that.’
    ‘And you think the rest of us want it?’
    ‘It was me who Golding shot.’
    ‘It’s not your fault that Golding is dead, or that Pulford’s on remand for it.’
    ‘Pulford didn’t do it. There is a murderer to find here, but our hands are tied because of bloody Internal Investigations. It stinks. Pennington’s shitting his St Michaels in case there’s a backlash. You can see it: “Policeman remanded on murder charge. Despite rising crime figures, City prioritise clearing killer’s name.” That’s why we’re working on scraps. It comes down to people building their bastard careers. That’s why we have to look like we’re just working the Trapani case.’
    ‘But you can see where Pennington’s coming from.’ Josie looks out of the window, watches the Grays Inn Road roll by. ‘Pulford crossed a line, the way he hounded Jasmine Cash, and now the father of her little girl is dead. Pulford was up to something, sir. I know it. You weren’t here, but I saw him. He was unhinged.’
    ‘And we should have helped him. He was being loyal. Pennington sent you to Spain to get me, and now you’re being reticent.’
    ‘All I’m saying is, it has to be Pulford’s decision. It’s his mother.’ Josie reaches into her bag again, pulls out the photocopy of an itemised phone bill. ‘This is from Pulford’s phone.’ A series of calls have been highlighted in luminous yellow. Alongside the seventeen items are two names: ‘Golding’ and ‘Latymer’.
    Staffe says, ‘Brandon Latymer is e.gang, and they’re putting the pressure on Pulford from the inside. And they can manipulate the mood on the Limekiln and Attlee,