The Seagull (Vera Stanhope #8)

by Ann Cleeves

She was about to make an excuse when John Brace appeared in front of her, blocking her way. His legs might not be much use, but he was still a big man. Broad shoulders and thick neck. Still a bully. ‘We need to talk.’ ‘I’m sorry?’ Because she’d never appeared in court. She’d pointed her colleagues in the right direction, helped them build their case, but the prosecutors had decided she’d be toxic. Hector might have been dead by the time Brace was charged, but her father’s involvement with the detective had gone back years. Brace called over to the chaplain, ‘Any chance we could use your office, Father? The inspector and I would like to chew over old times.’ ‘Sure.’ A pause. ‘I suppose you two must be old friends.’ ‘Not quite, Father.’ This was Brace. Oily, confident. That confidence had persuaded his superiors that they could trust him. ‘I knew the inspector’s father, though. I have some information, and I’m sure she’d like to hear it.’ That had Vera hooked, as Brace had known it would. Even as a child, curiosity had been her undoing.