The Last Girl by Jane Casey

interest in our conversation. He stood upright and stretched.
    ‘Get back to the office by twelve, Kerrigan. We’ll go over to Kennford’s chambers together.’
    ‘Can’t wait.’ I watched him walk away, pursuing his own agenda as usual.
    ‘He seems cheery.’
    ‘Even more than usual.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘We didn’t get much sleep last night.’
    ‘Oh yeah?’ Liv managed to get a world of meaning into just two words.
    ‘Because of work, obviously. Have you heard about the mother and daughter who got stabbed in Wimbledon?’
    ‘Philip Kennford’s family? Of course. It was all over the news.’
    ‘They weren’t named.’
    She shrugged. ‘It’s common knowledge. More than a few people are delighted to pass on the news that Philip Kennford’s involved. Not a popular fellow.’
    ‘Derwent and I spent the night going through the house and found a whole lot of nothing. If you’re free, can you give me a hand with questioning a witness?’
    ‘Here?’
    ‘In Twickenham. She’s at her aunt’s house. It’s the other daughter – I didn’t think it was a good idea to bring her in. And Godley didn’t think it was a good idea to let Derwent loose on someone who’s bound to be feeling a bit vulnerable.’
    ‘Whereas I’m notoriously sensitive, being a woman.’ Liv pushed back from her desk and stood up, straightening her immaculate white shirt. ‘Anything that gets me out of the office is fine by me. This place smells of armpits.’
    ‘That’s man smell,’ DC Ben Dornton said in an ultra-masculine voice from his desk opposite where Liv had been sitting. ‘No wonder you don’t like it.’
    ‘That’s I-can’t-be-bothered-with-deodorant-even-though-this-room-isn’t-air-conditioned smell,’ I said. ‘Not raw testosterone, or whatever you think it is.’
    He braced his hands on the top of his head, airing out his underarms. ‘Breathe deep, ladies. Fresh sweat is a known aphrodisiac and there’s no need to thank me.’
    ‘I’m not convinced,’ Liv said, holding her nose.
    ‘You’ll miss it when you’re gone.’
    ‘Gone where?’ Like a gopher on the prairie, Peter Belcott popped up from behind his computer. Afflicted with rampant small-man syndrome, he was easily my least favourite colleague and I didn’t bother to answer him, or even look at him. I liked to pretend he wasn’t there, not least because I knew it annoyed the crap out of him.
    ‘Out for an interview on Maeve’s new case.’ Liv was logging out of her computer.
    ‘Oh, right. You’ve found something more interesting to do than the gangland shootings. Fair enough. What’s so important about a load of drug dealers being murdered? In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’m sure we’ll manage without you.’
    ‘The boss approved it,’ I said tiredly. ‘And given that most of the team is currently working on the shootings, I doubt it will make a huge difference if Liv isn’t here for one morning.’
    It was fatal to attract Belcott’s attention. ‘Yeah, and I noticed you managed to get yourself onto this new case somehow. I’ve been watching for a while, Kerrigan. You’re always the boss’s first choice. Why would that be?’
    ‘Because I’m good at my job.’
    ‘We’re all good. That’s why we’re here. What I want to know is why you’re his favourite.’
    I laughed. ‘Belcott, you’re paranoid.’
    ‘I’ve been keeping track.’ His face had flushed red, which didn’t suit him. ‘You get special treatment. Just makes me wonder if it has something to do with the boss’s marriage being on the skids. Stands to reason he’s gone over the side with someone.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, genuinely confused.
    ‘I’m talking about Godley shagging around. Seems to me you’re a likely suspect. There’s no other explanation for why you keep getting preferential treatment.’
    Dornton looked over his shoulder at Godley’s office, where the blinds were drawn and the door was