‘Did you want to see Chris Chinley charged with murder? Does that make anything better? For them? For you?’ There was a pause, his face remained impassive. ‘You should have told me. You should never have been assigned to this case. Why didn’t you say anything?’ He didn’t answer her, just stood there rocking ever so slightly on his heels. ‘If people can’t trust us then we might as well all go home now. This is a disciplinary matter. If you hadn’t the wit to think about the damage you could do to Chris Chinley – or Jeremy Gleason for that matter – you could at least have thought of what it might do to you. Didn’t you consider what it might mean? Kicked out or demoted. After all the years you’ve put in. The work you’ve done. Good work.’ Butchers gripped his hands tighter; his face was set and gloomy. She saw any hope die in his eyes. She paused, deliberately letting him think the worst. Then she spoke quietly. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are. Chris Chinley is clear on the gun residue test, his clothes are fine.’ His shoulders fell, his clenched hands slackened, his eyes shot up to scan her face then away again.
