FORTY-SEVEN
‘DCI Swan?’ she answered when her phone rang.
‘Grace, good morning, Martin Vickers here.’
‘Good morning, sir,’ she answered hesitantly, her heart beginning to pound fiercely. Vickers always meant bad news, ever since she had rejected his advances at the Police Conference in Birmingham, he had been determined to bring her down.
‘Just wanted to congratulate you on solving that case in Garthorpe, the murder of that elderly widow all those years ago. Good job. Grace. Excellent!’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Grace answered, almost falling off her chair in surprise.
‘All you need to do now is solve this current case. Isn’t it’? Don’t take too long over it, will you?’ Vickers added, smoothly injecting the sting in the tail, and putting down the phone.
Bastard, Grace swore. Not for the fir
