The Judgement Book by Simon Hall Page A

Dan joined the back, wondering on a whim whether one day, if he continued working so closely with the police, he might be entitled to a flashing blue light that could help him cut through such irritants. It was only four o’clock, but the weekend exodus from the city had begun.
    No such luck for him, despite Lizzie’s promise of allowing him home. He had more work to do. Adam wanted another chat about the case and how it was playing in the media and naturally no, it couldn’t wait. Around Dan, the faces in the windscreens wore a mix of resignation and frustration at the hold up, and relief that the long-awaited Friday afternoon had finally arrived.
    Dan stared at the ruined Charles Church as he queued to get through the roundabout. The traffic was moving in random staggering steps, like a drunkard’s uncertain progress home. The sun was still strong in the sky and all the cars’ windows were down, a line of elbows leaning out. He’d lived in Plymouth for ten years now, but still found it hard to believe that, despite the nationwide abundance of evidence of their insensitivity, the faceless planners could ever have thought the fitting way to treat such a powerful and dignified memorial as the church was to encircle it with a roundabout.
    Dandelions spotted the thin lake of grass around the ruin with their vivid yellow heads. A bare-chested man worked at cutting back some of the waxy ivy weeping from the empty stone arches of the windows. The church was blind, the rainbow eyes of its stained-glass windows lost to the screaming shrapnel of the Blitz. Almost 70 years ago it was now, the monument standing as a reminder of Europe’s descent into barbaric darkness, and the terrible price paid in the struggle to stay in the light.
    Dan realised he’d driven around the church so many times, but never got out of his car to walk through the ruins. He must, he told himself. He owed it to the past and the bygone people who had suffered for his present. Maybe he would explore it with Claire when they were next in town. It would be an experience the better for sharing.
    Dan reminded himself to call Claire later and was pleased at the thrill the thought brought. He was looking forward to their walk tomorrow. Him, Claire and Rutherford, atop a windy cliff, gazing down on an azure sea, with an old inn, dinner, and a few pints of ale to follow. A perfect Saturday.
    Adam stood waiting in the MIR, staring out of the windows, arms folded and apparently drifting in thought. A couple of uniformed officers worked away at computers, but otherwise the room was deserted. Dan noticed several new pieces of paper had been stuck onto the felt boards.
    The detective sensed his look. ‘Some progress,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you about it in a minute. Don’t get comfortable,’ he added, as Dan went to sit down. ‘I thought we’d go out for a beer and have a chat. I’ve had enough of this place. Worked all right, didn’t it?’
    ‘Our little scene in the press conference?’
    ‘I thought so,’ said Adam.
    ‘Me too.’ Dan nodded. ‘I couldn’t see any other way to make sure the prostitute angle was confirmed unless it was by you. The way we played it saves you the hassle of being accused of sullying a man’s reputation and getting drawn into a political row about sleaze. But it still ensures the story’s splashed everywhere.’
    ‘Spot on and just what we need,’ replied Adam. ‘It’s been all over the national radio and TV, and the internet news sites too. I’m told all the papers are running it tomorrow. You’re a cunning one, aren’t you? Maybe you should have been a crook.’
    Or a detective, Dan thought to himself wryly.
    They walked into the city centre, towards the waterfront and Barbican. It was one of the few areas of Plymouth that hadn’t been levelled in the war and still boasted the white buildings and dark wooden beams of the Tudors. The jam at the roundabout had eased and the traffic flowed smoothly out of the