Scanning her face, Carlyle thought there was something missing. And then he saw it: the loss of sparkle in her eyes as she looked at him made him wonder if she could really recover from her tussles with Alain Costello. Stepping forward, she greeted him with a limp handshake. ‘Hello, Inspector.’ ‘Sergeant.’ She looked him up and down. ‘Like the specs. They make you look . . . different.’ ‘So I’m told.’ Carlyle glanced down the suburban street. There was no sign of the two dozen or so police officers stationed within 100 yards of where they were standing. The neighbourhood looked deserted. ‘Are you ready to go?’ ‘Just about.’ Roche pointed to a large, unmarked van parked twenty yards down the road. ‘My boss is in there,’ she mumbled. ‘I’d introduce you, but you wouldn’t like her.’ ‘Fair enough.’ Roche might have lost her edge but she still knew him well enough. There were already plenty of police officers the inspector didn’t like; he didn’t need to meet another one.
