It was now behind them.
“Mother of God,” Steve Arnott breathed from the doorway, having just walked in. “Is that… him?”
Kate’s gun didn’t waver, but her heart stuttered.
She tossed a USB stick onto the table. “Lawrence Christopher’s real murderers. Three serving officers. A goldmine. But you don’t get it for free.”
“I was promoted,” she corrected, voice now clear and cold. “To a desk no one knows exists. The Office of Police Conduct. I am the appeal you never win. I am the leak that never drips. I am the fourth ‘H’, you idiots. And you’ve been looking at a bloody spreadsheet.”
“You’re Papadustream?” Kate asked, stepping into the light, weapon low.
