Roberts had cleared three more cases. One was a hit and run, which he solved by going round to see the family of the victim. Turned out a brother had been the driver and had been nursing an imagined slight for years. As soon as Roberts began talking to him, he confessed, which was police work at its most basic — talking to those involved. Next, a purse-snatcher operating in Kennington Park. A snitch had given up the perp in five minutes flat. The third was a stolen-car operation out of Streatham. Again, simple procedure had solved the case. Roberts placed surveillance on dodgy garages in the area and caught the gang red-handed. Admittedly, these were not the brightest of villains but their apprehension appeared greater than it was.
The station was buzzing with his triumph, cops had been congratulating him at every opportunity. His success made them all look good. The Super was astounded, sent for Roberts and got the bottle out of the drawer. Roberts said,
‘No thanks, sir; not while I’m on duty.’
The bottle went back in the desk.
‘By jove, Roberts, you’ve done a commendable body of work there.’
Roberts put it down to luck and having no home life. What else was there to do? The cases kept him from brooding. He said,
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I believe you’ve been putting in Trojan hours of extra hours.’
‘I felt it was necessary, sir.’
‘And you were right. By God, you’re an example to us all. I thought after your wife died, well, I thought you were finished.’
‘Your faith kept me going, sir.’
The Super examined Roberts’ face for a sign of impertinence, didn’t see any and continued:
‘Pity Porter Nash and his team won’t take a leaf out of your book. I can’t promise anything but it’s very likely you’ll be replacing him. As acting inspector, he has proved sadly inadequate. Those people — queers — they don’t have the staying power.’
Roberts had no answer to the blatant homophobia and didn’t attempt one. The Super straightened his back, said,
‘You’re somewhat close to Falls?’
‘Close, sir?’
‘As well as being her superior officer, you two have a friendship, I mean, you can talk to her?’
‘Yes sir, I can talk to her.’
The Super sighed.
‘Yer darkies, I never fully trust them; they hate us, you know.’
‘Do they, sir?’
‘By God they do, resent us for being on top. Don’t you ever forget you’re a white man, Chief Inspector.’
Roberts considered the many insane replies available but instead just nodded. It seemed to be what the Super expected, he continued:
‘Good man. When they come rioting down the Brixton Road — and they will, mark my words — you’ll do well to know on which side of the barricade you belong.’
Roberts was seriously regretting his refusal of the drink. Much more of this and he’d lunge for the bottle, but the tirade was winding down, the Super lowered his voice.
‘You’ll know she had some connection to the Nazi who got killed?’
‘Ahm, I heard he saved her life.’
The Super waved a hand in scornful dismissal.
‘She intends going to the funeral, can you imagine?’
‘Well, sir, they were friends.’
‘Balls, friends! A Nazi and a nigger. Weren’t you paying attention before?’
‘Yes sir, I hung on every word and believe me, I won’t forget it ever.’
‘See you don’t. Now, the Hitler boys will be out in force, a fallen comrade and all that rubbish, so you’re to keep her from going.’
‘Stop her?’
‘Use your charm, man. I’m told you used to have buckets of it. Failing that, threaten her. Don’t forget, you’ll be heading up the murder inquiry soon, you’ll need mettle for that. Here’s a chance to get some practice.’
‘Is that all, sir?’
‘Yes, tell my secretary I’m ready for my tea.’
Outside, Roberts took a deep breath. Brant approached, said,
‘I hear you’ll be heading the inquiry.’
‘Maybe. Meantime I have to talk to Falls.’
‘Good luck.’
‘Want to tag along? Be like old times.’
‘Can’t, I’m going to a wedding.’
‘Oh, anyone I know?’
Brant looked him full in the face, smiled, said,
‘I very much doubt it.’
Roberts forgot to tell the secretary about the tea.
Outside Falls’ place, a Rover was parked. Roberts clocked it straightaway, tapped on the window, said,
‘Nelson.’
He opened the door and got in. The car reeked of booze and curry. Nelson looked rough, red-eyed and unshaven. Roberts, not long from the same situation, asked,
‘What’s this, a stakeout?’
‘Sort of. I’m keeping an eye on who calls.’
Nelson’s voice was ragged, a hoarseness as if he’d been shouting all night. Roberts realised the man was seriously wired, said,
‘Does she know you’re here?’
‘Yes, but she won’t talk to me.’
‘Give her some time, she’s had a close call.’
Nelson turned to Roberts, his eyes fucked, said,
‘But I screwed up, literally delivered her to the killer.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t know? We’d been out and I drove her back here, didn’t even get out of the car, just let her go and I drove off. The guy waiting there with a hammer.’
Roberts didn’t think platitudes would help so he went with:
‘You fucked up.’
‘Big time.’
‘We all do, she’ll get over it.’
‘You think?’
‘I don’t know.’
He started to get out and Nelson asked,
‘Will you put a word in for me?’
‘Sure.’
See
no matter what you have done
I am still here
And it has made me dangerous and wise
And brother
You cannot whore, perfume and
Suppress me any more
I have my own business in this skin
And on this planet.
Roberts found himself anxious as he rang Falls’ bell. He expected to find her in a terrible state and wasn’t sure he had what it took to haul her back. No answer. A guilty relief began to sweep over him, but then the door opened. Falls was dressed in a spotless white sweatshirt with dark navy jeans. Her feet were bare, giving her an air of relaxation. She said,
‘Oh.’
He couldn’t think of a single form of greeting and stood there like an idiot. She glanced over his shoulder at Nelson sitting in the car, grimaced and said,
‘Come in.’
The place was neat, tidy and smelling of airfreshener. She indicated a chair and as he sat, she said,
‘Tea?’
‘Great.’
She arrived back with a tray holding teapot, cups, biscuits. While she poured, Roberts took a good look at her and had to admit she was looking good, no, looking great. Catching his scrutiny, she went:
‘What?’
‘I was thinking how well you seem.’
Anger in her eyes, she snapped,
‘You expected what? Tears? Hysteria? Let me tell you, I’m all through with that grieving shit. After Rosie, I went to pieces. You want to know something? I’m glad that maniac didn’t kill me. But let me guess, they sent you to talk me out of the funeral? Don’t waste your time, I’m going.’