22
The coffee machine in the major incident room’s kitchenette was seeing plenty of action that morning, the veneer cupboard fronts coated with a layer of moisture from the machine’s expelled steam. Wendy was trying to insert a capsule into the machine without success when Culverhouse approached her.
‘Load of s**t, these new ones. All cost-cutting, I suppose. You’d think they could buy pods that actually fit into the machine, though, wouldn’t you?’ he said, taking a dessert spoon from the cutlery drawer and stabbing at the capsule until it had been forced far enough into the machine to allow Culverhouse to close the lid.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Might taste a bit plasticky now, but it’ll be an improvement on the coffee.’
‘Are you having one?’ she asked, opening the box of capsules.
‘No chan
