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the letter of twenty-four hours.’
    Fielding paused with the zip halfway over her small bosom. She frowned, olive skin crinkling into a relief map of shallow furrows and ridges. ‘That’s because he’s been trained to follow protocols. Protocols that are put in place so detectives like us don’t waste our time on folk having a spur-of-the-moment night out.’
    Paula shoved a second leg into the suit, annoyed by her trouser leg rucking up around the knee. ‘I’ve always understood that when there’s a child or a vulnerable adult left at risk by a disappearance, we take action straight away.’ According to the grapevine, Fielding was a mother. She should get it.
    Fielding grunted. ‘Been a while since you’ve been at the sharp end, McIntyre. Major Incident Team’s spoiled you.’ She pulled a face. ‘In an ideal world, you’d be right. But we’re not in an ideal world. Cuts and redundancies have fucked us all up.’ She frowned again, brown eyes glaring at Paula. ‘We haven’t got the bodies to jump in early on mispers. We leave that to uniforms. I need you here. Not fucking about on the tail of somebody who’s probably chosen not to be where they’re expected to be.’ She held up a hand to shut Paula up before she could speak. ‘I know. The reasons for those choices are usually fucking horrible. But we’re not social workers.’
    ‘Ma’am.’ Angered but not chastened, Paula turned away and finished zipping herself into the suit. OK, Fielding had a point, but that didn’t mean Paula had to hang up her humanity at the door. She’d check Bev’s movements on her own time. Somehow. Still facing away from Fielding, who had the kind of physical presence that filled more space than seemed possible, she dragged the conversation away from her supposed transgression. ‘So what are we looking at here?’
    ‘Junkie squatters have been using one of the houses on and off for a few months now. They were at some music festival near Sheffield at the weekend. They got back a couple of hours ago and found the body of a woman in the middle of the living room.’ Her voice muffled as she bent to pull on the blue plastic shoe covers. ‘I suppose we should be grateful they phoned us instead of doing a runner.’
    ‘Did they recognise her?’
    ‘They say not.’
    Paula raised the hood to cover her hair and pulled on the chilly blue nitrile gloves. ‘Given that they phoned it in and didn’t leg it, they’re probably telling the truth. If they’d known her, they’d have been less likely to report it. People who live outside the mainstream tend not to trust us to do an unbiased job.’
    Fielding cocked her head to acknowledge the comment. ‘Good point. OK, let’s do it.’ She didn’t mess around holding the door open for Paula, who caught it seconds before the spring slammed it shut. As they headed for the house, Fielding looked over her shoulder. ‘I’d have liked a quieter start, so we could be clear about how it’s going to work between us. I am aware this is your first assignment as a sergeant.’
    ‘I worked as DCI Jordan’s bagman on MIT, ma’am.’ Paula was quick to stand up for herself. Fielding needed to understand she wasn’t someone who could be pushed around. She needed to know she could count on Paula. ‘I understand about having your back.’
    Fielding’s expression shifted, cold assessment giving way to acceptance. ‘I’m proud of my team. We might not have the specialists you had at MIT, but we get more than our share of results. I’ve heard good things about you. Don’t prove your friends wrong.’
    It wasn’t the most welcoming speech Paula had ever heard. But it was a start. And given how much she wanted her career to have a future, she’d make the most of it.
    Just as soon as she’d found out what had happened to Bev McAndrew.

9
     
    T he carefully chosen furniture was gone now, carried off by the man and a van she’d picked from the small ads in the local paper. Actually, it