Bev was speechless. As in goldfish. “Don’t be under any illusion,” Byford said, “she’s this close to slapping in an official complaint.” Bev glanced at the guv’s finger and thumb – they were butt-joined. Post-brief, she’d tailed the big man to his office expecting a dressing down. Now they faced each across his executive desk, he’d not even asked her to sit. Charlotte Masters had phoned Highgate first thing apparently. She’d seen Byford’s name in the press, knew he was the officer in charge. Currently he was only just keeping a lid on his anger. “Objectionable, amateur and incompetent were among the adjectives she used.” He glanced at a Post-it note on the desk. “Not forgetting a disgrace to the force.” Four or five screaming gulls patrolled a roof opposite. Sodding racket. Shame she hadn’t got a gun. She waited until Byford closed the window. “Charlotte Masters wants me off the case, that’s all.”
