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After spending most of the day at the Crown Court, they’d stopped for a coffee at the top of the path leading to the ‘roof’ of Liverpool One.
“Seems to be going well,” Degsy commented. “I wasn’t asked anything particularly testing.”
“No, me neither. I think they’re going after the witnesses at the scene and then they’ll try to discredit the forensics.” Thurstan replied.
Degs looked at him searchingly, wanting to know if there were any complications or issues visible in his face when he asked his next question. “Chief Con have much to say to you today?”
Thurstan sipped his drink, no untoward reaction. “I wanted to speak to you about it, Derek, but there wasn’t time before. Yep. The South Road job. He wants us to bottom it soonest. It seems he’s got important people stalking him at every turn and it’s getting on his tits. I’m not ready to let go just yet and we need to make sure the child porn site our victim was running is properly documented; we don’t want it mysteriously going missing.”
Degsy, satisfied he wasn’t being kept out of the loop, countered, “I can speak to someone I know who deals in that stuff. God knows how they keep that up, but I’d trust him, make him aware and get it on the radar, just in case.”
His DCI nodded. “Yeah, would be good, not that I think the Chief would do anything. It’s those lower down I don’t trust.”
Finished, they wandered idly through Chavasse Park, along its pathways, in no great hurry to return to HQ and the office. The main topic of conversation was Degsy’s intended kitchen extension.
It all sounded nice but what he wasn’t telling Thurstan was the truth of the matter. They were still in the planning stage. She was planning what would go where and what colour it would be and Degsy was planning to fake his own death to pay for it. An exaggeration, but it was still a viable option he thought, should she fail to come down from her high and refuse to listen to what he was telling her. Another year and they could pay off the old loan. Now was not the time to take on another.
She’d a friend, Jackie, a gaslighter, but she refused to see it. Jackie said this and Jackie said that. Her husband was the same rank as him and they were able to afford all manner of things, so Jenny told him. He couldn’t figure out how but he had his suspicions.
After the twins, she’d been fine, but since the arrival of their daughter, last year, and her becoming friends with the pain in the arse that was Jackie, she’d become somewhat manic. Had he had a choice of things to preoccupy her, he’d have ticked mild postnatal depression in preference to this.