The Dead Hand of History by Sally Spencer Page B

end.
    What was Walker doing in there, he wondered.
    And wonder was all he could do – because, despite the fact that the sergeant was clearly excited, he’d shown no signs of wishing to share the source of that excitement with his partner.
    The door swung open, and Walker stepped jubilantly into the corridor, clutching a piece of paper in his hand.
    â€˜We’ve got a lead,’ he said. ‘And not just any old lead, but a bloody good one.’
    â€˜What kind of lead, Sarge?’ Crane asked.
    â€˜Nothing you should worry your little head about,’ Walker replied, clearly enjoying himself. ‘Only the name of the second victim!’
    â€˜That’s great!’ Crane exclaimed. ‘We’d better find the boss right away, and tell her.’
    Walker scowled. ‘Tell her ?’ he said. ‘Why should we want to go and do something like that?’
    â€˜Well, you know, she is supposed to be the one in charge of the investigation,’ Crane pointed out.
    â€˜And so we have to go running to her with every little thing that we find, do we?’
    â€˜No, not every little thing,’ Crane conceded. ‘But as you said yourself, Sarge, this is a major lead.’
    â€˜And it’s also something we’re perfectly capable of handling by ourselves,’ Walker said.
    He marched off down the corridor, and had covered half the distance to the fire door when he realized Crane wasn’t with him. He stopped, spun round and saw that the detective constable was loitering uncertainly by the Criminal Records Department.
    â€˜What’s the matter with you?’ Walker demanded. ‘Got a bone in your leg or something?’
    A couple of years earlier, when he was new to the area, Crane would not have known what the sergeant was talking about, but now he understood well enough.
    â€˜Got a bone in your leg or something’ was ‘deep Lancashire’ for ‘Why the hell are you still standing there when there’s work to be done?’
    Even so, the DC hesitated. This wasn’t right, he told himself. The boss should be informed immediately of any new developments, and it was up to her to decide what to do next.
    â€˜Come on, lad, shape yourself!’ Walker called out. ‘There’s not a minute to lose.’
    Still, Walker was the sergeant, while he himself was only the constable, Crane argued. So it wasn’t really up to him to judge what was appropriate and what wasn’t.
    â€˜Coming, Sarge,’ he said, striding quickly – though still reluctantly – to where Walker was waiting for him.
    There was a lift down to the car-park level, but Walker didn’t have the patience to wait for it to arrive, and so they took the stairs instead.
    â€˜Now you’ll get to see the sharp end of policing for yourself,’ Walker promised Crane, as the two men almost raced across the car park to Walker’s Ford Escort.
    â€˜Yes, now you’ll see how it’s done,’ Walker continued, once they were in the car and he had fired the engine.
    â€˜Can I ask you a question, Sarge?’ Crane asked, as the sergeant set off at what was almost a racing start.
    â€˜Ask away,’ Walker told him.
    â€˜Just as a matter of interest, Sarge, what’s the real reason we aren’t telling the boss what we’re doing?’
    Walker sighed. ‘We’re not telling her because I don’t think she’s got the stomach to do what needs to be done,’ he said. ‘We’re not telling her because I’m worried she’ll take the best lead we’re likely to get on this case, and make a complete balls-up of it. All right?’
    â€˜All right,’ Crane said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
    And despite having given the reasons himself, Walker wasn’t convinced either.
    The truth – the real truth – which he was still fighting off acknowledging as best he could, was not so much that he