The Well of Lost Plots (Thursday Next 3)

'Listen, Jack,' went on Briggs, 'you're a good officer if a little sprung loaded at times and I want you on my team without any mishaps.'

'Is this where I say thank you?'

'You do. Mop it up nice and neat and give me an initial report as soon as you can. Okay?'

Briggs nodded in the direction of the young lady who had been waiting patiently.

'Jack, I want you to meet Thurs – I mean, DS Mary Jones.'

'Hello,' said Jack.

'Pleased to meet you, sir,' said the young woman.

'And you. Who are you working with?'

'Next – I mean Jones is your new Detective Sergeant,' said Briggs beginning to sweat for some inexplicable reason. 'Transferred with an A1 record from Swindon.'

'Basingstoke,' corrected Mary.

'Sorry. Basingstoke.'

'No offence to DS Jones, sir, but I was hoping for Butcher, Spooner or—'

'Not possible, Jack,' said Briggs in the tone of voice that made arguing useless. 'Well, I'm off. I'll leave you here with, er—'

'Jones.'

'Yes, Jones, so you can get acquainted. Remember: I need that report as soon as possible. Got it?'

Jack did indeed get it and Briggs departed.

He shivered in the cold and looked at the young DS again.

'Mary Jones, eh?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What have you found out so far?'

She dug in her pocket for a notebook, couldn't find it so counted the points off on her fingers instead.

'Deceased's name is Sonny DeFablio.'

There was a pause. Jack didn't say anything so Jones, now slightly startled, continued as though he had.

'Time of death? Too early to tell. Probably 3 a.m. last night, give or take an hour. We'll know more when we get the corpse. Gun? We'll know when…'

'… Jack, are you okay?'

He had sat down wearily and was staring at the ground, head in hands.

I looked around but Dr Singh, her assistants and the unnamed officers were busily getting on with their parts, unwilling, it seemed, to get embroiled – or perhaps they were just embarrassed.

'I can't do this any more,' muttered Jack.

'Sir,' I persisted, trying to ad-lib, 'do you want to see the body or can we remove it?'

'What's the use?' sobbed the crushed protagonist. 'No one is reading us; it doesn't matter.'