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criminals.

5
    StayC’s death attracted national media attention, and Greater Manchester Police forked out the cash to rent the Park Suite at the Ramada in Piccadilly Square. So what was to have been a simple statement drafted by the press office and read by DCI Simms to a few local newspaper journos became a full press conference for TV, radio and press, chaired by Assistant Chief Constable Gifford. The other members of the panel were Detective Superintendent Tanford, head of the Drugs Squad; Professor Phillip Underwood, director of South Manchester Substance Misuse Services; and Simms’s own immediate boss, Detective Superintendent Spry.
    The suite had been partitioned off with room dividers – one panel left open for ease of access between the two sections. Simms glanced in as she passed the press briefing room. Her heart skipped a beat – it was crammed. She counted six TV cameras, their cables snaking from various sockets around the room. Every chair was occupied, and more people milled about at the back. Simms took a few calming breaths as she walked to the GMP section next door. Briefing notes had been set out on a desk just inside the room, and she was offered a copy by a smiling clerk.
    ‘Thanks,’ she said, raising a hand in polite refusal. ‘I know what’s in it – I wrote it.’
    ‘Take a copy.’
    Simms turned to face Jim Allen, head of the press office. She had worked with Jim on a couple of community initiatives when she first came to Manchester. He reminded her of a Jack Russell terrier. Small, fast, keen and constantly aquiver, as if his muscles were wired to a high voltage. Jim had come to the GMP Press Office after fifteen years as a crime reporter for the Mirror newspaper. He could summarize any story in fifteen words, tell you the weak spots in your briefing notes, and he had a particular knack for the visual cues that journalists used to manipulate the opinions of their readership. He took the booklet from the clerk and thrust it into Simms’s hand.
    ‘Sharks are circling, Kate. You’ll look badly prepped if you walk in there empty-handed.’ The suggestion of poor preparation caused a few heads to turn.
    Kate raised the briefing notes with a weak smile and, satisfied, they returned to their conversations. Spry and Gifford, both in uniform, stood to one side in earnest conversation. Spry was the taller of the two, grey-haired and distinguished-looking in his uniform. He spent weekends and holidays on his narrow boat on the Cheshire canals, and those who knew said he was looking to drift gently along the byways of policing into an easy retirement.
    ‘The big three are here,’ Jim said, meaning BBC, ITV and Channel Four News. ‘Plus Sky, a local cable network and Music Plus – it’s a Hungarian music station – apparently, StayC was very popular over there.’
    On the other side of the partition, the buzz of conversation from the gathered press and media sounded like a hive of bees that had been poked with a sharp stick.
    ‘Want some help with make-up?’ Jim asked, looking for someone who might give her a few tips.
    Simms had already dabbed concealer under her eyes to hide the shadows caused by two days of lost sleep.
    ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Thanks.’
    He eyed her doubtfully, but seemed to decide it wasn’t worth an argument. ‘Keep your head up,’ he said. ‘Minimize the panda look.’
    ‘Thanks for the advice, Sir Galahad,’ she said, but he wasn’t listening. One of the press officers had presented him with a note. ‘Who?’ he asked.
    ‘ Weekly News ,’ she said. ‘They say they want the human angle.’
    ‘No.’ He monitored the room constantly as he spoke. ‘No interviews. They want to ask questions, they can ask them now.’
    Simms listened to Jim Allen with half an ear as she watched one of his staff guide a man in a light grey suit over to the two senior officers. The psychologist, she guessed. They greeted him, speaking in low, grave tones, and the three