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‘He'll go anywhere he needs to. I realise that now. Should have realised it before.' She could feel the emotion building again. ‘Christ, Keith, how do we stop him?'

‘We need to do it by the book, I reckon, girl. You need to take that stuff you've got to Standards.'

‘They won't take it seriously. Salter will have come up with smart answers to all of it by now. I'll just make an idiot of myself.'

‘No, you won't. You just got to take care how you do it. You raise it as something that's come into your hands. Something you've got concerns about. That's just you doing your job. It's up to them to look into it. But if you do that, it puts him on their radar. It obliges them to do something about it. Even if it goes nowhere in the short term, it'll start to put some pressure on him.'

‘And is that the best we can do? Put some fucking pressure on him? Jesus, Keith–'

‘Just trust me, girl. We'll get the bastard. One way or another.' He paused, and she could hear his rough breathing down the line. ‘I'll get that bastard, girl, if it's the last fucking thing I do.'

‘Ms Donovan? Come in. Take a seat. First of all, let me offer my sincere commiserations.'

He didn't sound particularly sincere, she thought, but he'd clearly done his homework. That was impressive, but slightly worrying. Did that mean he'd spoken to Salter? She decided there was no merit in being tentative. ‘I'm impressed,' she said. ‘Who told you?'

He frowned and looked momentarily puzzled. ‘It's the talk of the building, I'm afraid, Ms Donovan. I'm sorry these things get spread as tittle-tattle, but I'm sure people's intentions are good.'

So that was it, then? Not good research. Just the usual grapevine. She wondered whether everyone also knew she'd asked them to treat Liam's death as murder. Quite probably. Shit. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘It wasn't entirely a surprise, given his condition, but it was still a shock. I think I'm a little over-sensitive.'

‘We can never entirely prepare ourselves for these things, can we?' He had the air of an Anglican vicar, she thought. Never more than a sentence away from a comforting platitude. ‘Jonathan, by the way,' he added, holding out his hand, ‘Jonathan Caulfield. I'm in charge here. Jon.'

‘Please,' she said, ‘call me Marie.' She could feel herself wanting to scream at the suffocating politeness of it. No doubt Caulfield was the one they wheeled out to the press when they wanted to demonstrate that one bad apple hadn't caused the whole barrel to decay.

‘I must confess, Marie,' Caulfield went on, treating her name with the nervous care of a scientist handling a radioactive specimen, ‘I was a little surprised that you asked to see us today. I'd rather assumed you'd be taking a few days off.'

‘I was offered the opportunity,' she said, conscious that she was coming close to mimicking his circumlocutory style. ‘And I'll probably take it. That was really why I wanted to deal with this now. So that I could take some leave with a clear conscience.'

‘I see. And would this be concerned in some way with the sad death of your, um, partner?' The ecclesiastical air was again evident in the awkward emphasis he gave to the final word. But his question suggested that he was aware of the questions she'd raised about the nature of Liam's death.

She shook her head. ‘No. This is something different.' She felt almost treacherous in denying the link to Liam, but she knew that it was better to present this as objectively as possible. She didn't want to give Caulfield any excuse to dismiss her as hysterical or unbalanced.

‘I understand that there are some potentially serious allegations against a senior officer?'

She shook her head. ‘I'm making no allegations.'

He blinked. ‘But I'd understood from your phone message–'

‘Mr Caulfield – Jon – I've worked regularly as an investigating officer and as an evidence officer. I understand the standards of evidence required to sustain a criminal conviction or even to bring a misconduct case. I don't think that anything I can give you will meet those standards at present.' She'd prepared this speech in her head while waiting outside for Caulfield to see her. She hoped that she was striking the right note. ‘But I also know what kinds of issues would prompt us to begin an investigation. And I think what I've got to say at least merits your attention.'

Caulfield nodded slowly. ‘But your – comments do involve a senior officer?'

She nodded. ‘Yes. Relatively senior.'

‘Have you read our policy on whistleblowers, Marie?' His tone implied that their policy might involve throwing them into a prison cell and tossing away the key.

‘Yes, I have.' She'd skimmed it quickly on the intranet when she'd arrived at the office at the start of the afternoon. She'd attracted a few odd looks from her co-workers for appearing at the office on the day of Liam's death. ‘I needed to get away from the house,' she'd said, wondering quite why she felt the need to make excuses. ‘Just for an hour or two. Thought I'd come in and tie up a few loose ends. Then I can take some time off properly.' They'd all nodded sympathetically, clearly thinking that grief affected people in strange ways.

‘We take whistleblowing very seriously,' Caulfield went on. ‘First, if there's any potential substance in what you're telling us, I can promise you it will be investigated thoroughly.'

‘There's substance,' she said. ‘Enough to merit an investigation.'

‘I don't doubt it,' he said. ‘You've a good reputation, Marie. I took the liberty of looking at your file when you called. So I'm sure you're not wasting our time. You'll appreciate that, once in a while, we do get what appears to be a malicious accusation so we have to take care. But I'm sure this won't fall into that category.'

At another time, she might have felt offended at Caulfield's innuendo. Now she was thinking; you wouldn't begin to believe quite how much malice there is in my accusation, Mr Caulfield. Doesn't make it any less true, though. ‘As I say, Jon, I'm not making any allegations. I don't think it's my position to do that. All I'm doing is bringing some intelligence to your attention. I'll leave it to you to decide how significant or otherwise it is.' Christ, she thought, can we stop dancing around this? She was beginning to understand why there were so few misconduct cases.

‘I should just spell out a few ground rules,' Caulfield said. ‘We'll deal with anonymous allegations, but we much prefer it if people come forward openly as you have. But equally, from our side, we'll guarantee your confidentiality, if that's what you prefer.'

‘For the moment,' she said. ‘At least until you've decided whether there's anything worth pursuing further. If you think not, that's fair enough. If you think there is, then I'm happy to discuss what you need from me.'

‘So what's this about? I have to confess I'm intrigued.'

She reached into her handbag and, between her forefinger and thumb, she brought out Brennan's disc. She'd made another copy before coming out. ‘It's about this,' she said, placing the disc carefully before Caulfield.

He looked back at her and raised his eyebrows. ‘And this is what?'

‘It's a disc that – well, let's just say that it came into my possession. It contains various files which I think raise questions about the behaviour of a certain senior officer.'

‘And can I ask who the officer is?'

‘Hugh Salter.'

The eyebrows remained elevated. ‘Your manager, if I'm not mistaken.'

‘You're not mistaken. I'm assuming that's why the material was sent to me.'

‘And may I enquire about the provenance of this – material?'

‘You'll appreciate I have to protect my sources,' she said. ‘Again, at least for the moment. If you decide to take the investigation further, I'll see what I can do.' She hoped that this would satisfy Caulfield for the present. She'd found that those who were away from the operational front line tended to have an excessive respect for the security of informants.

‘Understood. So what's the nature of the material.'

‘There are basically two types of files on the disc,' she said. ‘First, there are photographs. Photographs which appear to show Hugh – Mr Salter – associating with – well, individuals on our target lists.'

‘But there's no indication of the nature of this association?'

She shrugged. ‘They're simply photographs. I recognise Hugh, and I recognise some of the individuals he's talking to.'

‘But there could be legitimate reasons for him to associate with those individuals?'

‘Potentially,' she said, carefully. ‘Although it would be odd for someone in Hugh's role to have extensive direct contact with those kinds of people.'

‘Okay. And the second type of file?'

‘Audio files,' she said. ‘They appear to be surveillance tapes of Hugh in discussion with others. On the face of it, the content of the discussions appears to indicate that Hugh is involved in dealings which are inappropriate to his role or status.' Jesus, she thought, Caulfield's prolix style was catching.

‘And you don't think the conversations might have an innocent explanation?'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘I appreciate that it's all too easy to take snatches of conversation out of context. It's conceivable that there might be an explanation.'

‘And who are the individuals involved? The other speakers, I mean.'

‘There are names given in the file names. I recognise the names, again as individuals on our target list. I think I recognise one or two of the voices. But I can't say to you definitively that those are really the people on the tape. As far as I can judge, it does sound like Hugh speaking.'

Caulfield had been languidly making the occasional note as she spoke. Most of them seemed to be little more than one or two words, unreadable upside down. ‘And do you believe the tape to be genuine? From what you know of its provenance.'

‘I've no reason to doubt it,' she said, conscious that her reply fell short of an affirmative. ‘In its own terms, I mean. I think it's unlikely that the photographs have been doctored or the tapes faked, if that's what you mean.' She hoped that he wouldn't ask her quite why she thought this. For all she knew, the files might be utterly phony. For her purposes, such as they were, that hardly mattered. ‘But, as I say, that doesn't mean that there isn't a perfectly innocent explanation for them.'

‘Quite,' he said. He picked up the disc and stared at it for a few moments, as if he might be able to read it without recourse to a computer. ‘No, you were quite right to bring this to our attention. Corruption is always a concern.' He paused, and she could see that he was thinking. ‘Salter was the chap who was involved in the Welsby case, wasn't he?'

She nodded. ‘We both were. It was rather a bonding experience, as you can imagine. One reason why I'm finding this so difficult.'

He nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, of course. I suppose the Welsby connection could cut both ways. It's interesting that he worked closely with an officer who turned out to be corrupt. But equally it could be that there are people who're out to get him.' He gazed back at Marie, as if she might potentially fall into either category.

‘That was very much my thinking,' she said. ‘I'm struggling to see Hugh as corrupt. But then I'd never have guessed that Keith Welsby was bent. That's why I thought I ought to put it in your hands.'

‘No. Quite right. You've done entirely the right thing. I'd rather think the best of our people, and it's quite possible there's an innocent explanation for all this.' He gestured vaguely towards the disc. ‘But, as the Welsby case shows, we have to be vigilant.' He looked up at her. ‘Rest assured that we'll take this seriously. If we decide to pursue it, you'll almost certainly hear from me again once we decide on next steps. If we don't, we won't risk compromising your confidentiality by coming back to you about it. So you can assume that silence means we've decided there's nothing to follow up.'

She nodded. That sounded to her rather as if he was intending to file the disc in the bin the moment she left the room. Disappointing, she thought, but not surprising. So much for doing it by the book. ‘That's fine,' she said. ‘I hope for Hugh's sake that it's the latter outcome, of course.' May God forgive me, she thought.

‘But we won't let it lie until we've got a credible explanation for what's on the disc,' Caulfield concluded. ‘Trust me on that, Marie.'

She returned to her desk, feeling even more deflated and miserable than before. Shit, she thought. That was all they had, and Caulfield was probably even now preparing to use the evidence as a drinks coaster. She was conscious that she'd been channelling all her grief at Liam's death into her quest to expose Salter. Now she was beginning to feel something close to real despair.

Worse still, Salter was back in his office, sitting gazing at something on his computer screen. As she walked back towards her desk, he caught sight of her and gestured for her to join him.

‘Christ, Marie. What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to take some time off.'

She repeated the explanation she'd given earlier, aware that it sounded thin even to her own ears.

‘What loose ends?' he said, and for a moment it felt almost as if he were accusing her. ‘You need to look after yourself. You've been through a hell of a lot.'

She could almost bring herself to believe that he cared, she thought. ‘I know, Hugh. It's just that things would have been hanging over me. I just wanted to make sure I'd cleared the decks before I went off.'

‘Okay. But make sure you take some proper time off now. As long as it takes.' He paused, and she could sense that he was moving on to the issue that he'd really wanted to raise with her. ‘By the way, Welsby's asked to see me now. He's obviously catching up on all his old acquaintances.'