‘No,’ said Henry firmly, remembering Verner’s boastful admission. ‘She wouldn’t hurt a horse. I saw her with one the day that Coulton threw me off your property. What it was,’ he said, ‘was the Mob putting pressure on John. You’ve read The Godfather, seen the film? They like hurting horses. Did John like horses?’
‘He was passionate about them. It was the only thing he cared about outside work. I wish he’d been half as passionate about me,’ Tara said wistfully.
‘They probably knew that. They hit people where it hurts them.’
‘And it was destroying Charlotte, too, finding horses mutilated. That and the discovery that the man she thought was her father wasn’t sent her into orbit. I feel like I’ve failed her very badly.’
‘I don’t think you have. You love her, she knows that and she’ll be fine,’ Henry said reassuringly. ‘Children are very resilient.’
‘Only because we adults oblige them to be.’
It was a sentence spoken with passion and Henry had to agree. It was the actions of adults that dragged kids along in their wake. He should know. His stupidity in the past must have had deep and long-lasting effects on his two girls. He was intelligent enough to know that, even though they appeared to be straight-down-the-line kids now, there would be scars there somewhere.
‘But I do think we’ll be OK,’ Tara said resolutely. ‘I’ll make damn sure we will be.’
‘Good,’ Henry said.
Tara chewed on her bottom lip, held Henry’s gaze and said, ‘Why did you lie for me, Henry?’
He shifted. His neck reddened and his bottom tightened. ‘I’m not a hundred per cent sure myself.’
‘You didn’t have to. I would have faced what I did, answered to the law.’
‘I know. . and my instincts as a police officer told me you should be punished for what you did, but I thought you’d suffered enough. Justice, to me, is a peculiar creature. It’s not black, it’s not white, it’s just a murky grey, and as far as I’m concerned, justice is done. . and it’s something I’ll have to deal with, so don’t press me on it.’ He paused. ‘Not a particularly good explanation, I’m afraid.’
‘I won’t push you, then.’ She leaned forward and touched his cheek with her fingertips. ‘Thank you, Henry Christie. I believe you saved my life.’
‘I’d love to say it was a pleasure.’
They both laughed and the moment lightened.
‘Immediate plans?’
‘Getting away from it all, just for a couple of weeks. I know we’ll have to come back to it, but I think we need a break. My friend has a villa on Lanzarote. We’ll chill out and burn brown, I reckon.’
‘Sounds good.’ He hesitated. ‘Is that guy in the car Charlotte’s father?’ Tara nodded. ‘Does she know?’
‘One thing at a time, Henry. If ever. At the moment he’s just a friend, OK?’
At the door Henry waved them away. Charlotte looked back, waving madly at him until the Jaguar turned out of sight. As Henry closed the door, the house phone started to ring. It was answered by Kate.
‘For you,’ she said, holding the receiver out, a disapproving look on her face.
‘Henry? It’s me, your Chief Constable,’ FB’s voice machine-gunned down the line. ‘Seven a.m. — my office — headquarters — tomorrow morning, please.’
‘Seven. .?’
‘Yes — I start that early to keep the bastards on their toes. Be there.’ He hung up.
Henry slowly replaced the phone on the hook with a feeling of horror. ‘Shithead,’ he said.
At 6.50 a.m. next morning Headquarters was quiet, it being a place where, generally, nobody started work before eight. He had no trouble parking Kate’s car at the front of the building, having been allowed access on to the campus through the security barriers with no fuss whatsoever, which surprised him somewhat. That had felt rather good, like old times. He looked across the playing fields to the new major-crime unit building — known as the Pavilion as it had been constructed on the site of the old cricket pavilion — behind which was the block that housed the SIO team. Henry’s heart juddered as he thought he would dearly have liked to have a job in either of the buildings. Fat chance of that, he thought.
He went into HQ, was given a visitor’s badge to pin on, and made his way up to the Chief Constable’s office on the quiet middle floor. He knocked on the outer door and entered the secretary’s office, as it was impossible walk straight into the Chief’s office from the corridor these days. In times gone by, not very long ago, each chief officer had their secretary and that was it. Now there were desks for an assorted bunch of people as the police service desperately tried to modernize. The Chief now had a secretary, a staff officer, an assistant to the staff officer and an assortment of administrative staff. A clan of people ministering to his every whim.
The Chief’s staff officer, a chief inspector called Ray Collier, who Henry knew reasonably well, was already at his desk, obviously already cute to the new bosses’ working arrangements. He looked up when Henry came in and gave him a pleasant nod. ‘Go straight in, Henry,’ he said brightly.
‘Cheers, Ray.’ How could anyone who worked directly for FB seem so happy? Henry wondered.
Henry bore left to the Chief’s office, finding the door propped open and FB inside behind his desk. He knocked and stood on the threshold.
FB did not look up from his paperwork. ‘Come in, shut the door, grab a coffee and siddown.’
Not surprised by this manner, Henry did as bid, taking a seat opposite the wide, leather-topped desk, more suited to a Victorian industrialist than a 21st-century police chief. He had poured himself a coffee from the filter machine, no milk. He sipped it, his hand shaking ever so slightly, either from nerves or the alcohol he had imbibed the night before. He could not be sure.
FB continued to read some important document or other and Henry almost chuckled. FB’s psychological games continue, he thought.
Git.
Finally he looked up as though Henry’s presence was a surprise.
‘Good news or bad news?’ he said.
‘Er. .’ Henry hesitated.
‘I’ll start with the good news,’ FB decided for him. ‘As from Monday you’re officially reinstated and disciplinary proceedings have been dispensed with.’
Henry was gobsmacked. He quickly put the coffee down on FB’s desk before he spilled it.
‘Pick that up,’ FB said, glaring. ‘It’ll mark the wood.’
‘S. . sorry,’ Henry was bewildered. He picked up the mug and held it with both hands. ‘How?’
‘I’ve spent the last two days, pretty much, reviewing the case as I promised and got to the bottom of it. I’ve spoken to several people at length, not least Detective Chief Superintendent Bernie flaming Fleming, who I put the screws on.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Basically he stitched you up to save his own sorry hide, didn’t he?’
‘I would say that — but I’m biased.’
‘And so would I, actually, having looked at the balance of probabilities. I weedled it out of the miserable little toad that you had requested a full-blown firearms operation and he turned it down. That’s why you did what you did, isn’t it?’
Henry nodded, but kept quiet. He was not one to look a gift horse in the gob.
‘Anyway, big sods, little sods, you’re back on Monday and he’s decided to retire.’ FB gave him a leerful smile.
‘So he really is going to suffer?’ Henry could not help but blurt sarcastically, thinking that a chief super’s pension was worth about twenty-five grand a year with a lump sum of about?150,000.
‘Just be thankful I’m batting for you, Henry. You just don’t appreciate me, do you? Anyway — but — and it is a big BUT, I don’t have any sway at all in the trial and inquest that’re coming up, so expect a very rough ride there, Henry. You were suspended because you disobeyed a lawful order and your judgement was called to account, so don’t expect any defence lawyers to give you an easy time.’