‘Maybe he should just take the day,’ Dave said.
‘His exams start in January,’ she said, ‘he can’t afford to miss anything.’
He sighed. ‘OK, what time’s lunch?’
‘They break at twelve twenty,’ she said. Couldn’t resist adding, ‘You do remember where the school is?’
He hung up on her. The phone rang again almost immediately.
‘Now what?’ she snapped.
‘Gill?’ Not Dave. Fuck.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Matthew, Matthew Parkinson.’
‘Oh, hello. Sorry, thought it was someone else.’
‘How’s Sammy?’
‘He’s fine, really. Probably be fit for school tomorrow.’
‘Good. I… erm… got a quote from the garage for the car.’
‘That was quick!’
‘Called on my way home yesterday – bloke’s a marvel, workaholic.’
‘And…?’ Gill steeled herself.
‘Seven five nine,’ he said.
Ouch! ‘Fine.’
‘There’s no hurry.’
‘No, no. I’ll drop you a cheque in. If you’re there now…’ Gill did not want to put it off and forget it and then find herself even more embarrassed.
It was a twenty-minute walk along the dirt track to the farm and Matthew’s barn. The bad weather had left the lane churned up with black mud from the surrounding peat, scattered with pockets of water. Gill had her wellies on. She should get out more, walk more, she never seemed to have a moment to do so. Certainly not when she was heading a major inquiry. She could hear the whine of a power tool growing louder as she got closer to the dwellings. Sheep were grazing in one of the farm meadows and the farmer had left a bale of hay there for them.
The lane divided in two and she took the fork to the barn. Matthew’s car was parked outside the building. She felt nauseous when she saw the damage, the crumpled metal and shattered headlamp. It was a miracle that Sammy had survived with only a fractured wrist.
The outside of the barn looked finished, large windows and door, slate roof, the stone walls repointed. He must be raking it in. The door was ajar and the drone of the power tool came from inside. She waited for the sound to stop, then called out, ‘Hello?’
Matthew came out, looking dishevelled and dusty. Pulling a dust-mask from his nose. ‘Hi, come in. Come in.’
Gill looked down at her wellies.
‘Don’t worry, the floors are covered.’ There were dustsheets underfoot.
Inside, a wide central hall led through to doors at the back and a flagged patio overlooking the moor and the reservoir beyond. Either side of the hallway freshly plastered walls divided off the rooms.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said.
‘Will be,’ he said. ‘Let me give you the tour.’
He walked her through, discussing the choices he’d made for the heating system (wood burning stoves and back boilers), how he’d found a drystone waller to repair some of the boundary at the rear, and showed her the job he was currently occupied with: sanding reclaimed timber for surfaces in the kitchen. His enthusiasm reminded Gill of her own when she and Dave were planning their home. She took her wellies off to go up to one of the mezzanine rooms; the new wooden staircases glowed clean, the colour of honey. ‘This will be a twin room,’ he said. ‘I’ve a daughter, first year at uni, so she can visit – and friends, of course. The other side is bigger and the bathroom’s in between.’
He offered her tea: a microwave and a calor gas stove served as a makeshift kitchen.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks. I’d better be getting back, let you get on with your sanding,’ Gill said. ‘Here,’ she passed him the cheque.
‘Thanks for this,’ he said.
She nodded. He walked her to the door. She pulled her boots on. As she stepped out, he spoke in a rush, ‘I wondered if you’d like to go out for a meal sometime?’
Oh. My. God! Gill coughed. A date! He was asking her on a date! ‘I’m pretty busy at the moment…’ she began.
‘When it’s quieter?’
Is it ever? ‘Yes, yes, that’d be lovely, thank you.’
‘Good,’ he smiled.
Gill felt a fresh spring in her step and had a daft grin on her face as she went back up the lane, deliberately walking in all the puddles.
36
‘MADAM.’ MONDAY MORNING and Gill stood at her office door, her dark eyes sparkling, but not with humour.
‘Boss?’ Rachel said.
With a twitch of her head, Gill indicated that Rachel should join her. Had the IPCC been on? Was there some problem about Rosie’s death? Apart from the fact it had happened? Had Gill found out that she had called Dalbeattie?
‘You know what an order is, do you?’
She wasn’t a happy bunny. Rachel’s stomach tightened.
‘Because from where I’m standing it’s hard to tell. Marlene Potter?’
Fuck.
‘Now, I don’t videotape our conversations, but I could swear I told you to ask Ryelands about residents, looked-after kids, any scrotes or scallies among them with form for sexual violence or knife crime. I’m not imagining that, am I?’
‘No, boss.’
‘You heard it too?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Then where in buggeration do you get off making totally unfounded allegations about staff?’
‘Boss.’
‘Tunnel vision, Rachel. You go around like that in this job, banging on about your pet theory and not looking at the wider picture, you’ll either walk into a wall or off a sodding cliff. Marlene wants to make an official complaint.’
Oh fuck-a-duck with knobs on.
‘I have asked her to reconsider. One professional,’ she weighted the word, sticking her neb forward, implying that Rachel was a far cry from belonging to that club, ‘to another. Told her you’d witnessed the suicide, messed your head up, robbing you of sense and manners.’
‘Thanks, boss.’
Gill snorted. ‘Don’t thank me yet. You got right up her nose, girl, and she doesn’t rattle easily. She’ll be back to us tomorrow. I’ll ask her to wait in line.’
Rachel frowned.
‘Me, Janet…’
‘What about Janet?’ Rachel said.
‘She’d like to live long enough to collect her pension, see her daughters grown up.’
The car chase. But she’s over that, Rachel thought, she stood up for me on Friday. ‘But she-’
Gill glared. She jabbed a finger in her direction. ‘Out. Now. Go.’
Bet she’s going through the change, evil-tempered witch.
‘Maybe I made a mistake,’ Gill said to Janet.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I can ship her back to Sutton.’
‘Is that fair?’ Janet said.
‘Not five minutes ago you wanted her head on a platter. You begged me to get shot. Why are you batting for her now?’
‘Look at her, Gill; we were like that once, remember?’ Janet had joined the force not long after Gill. Still a man’s world back then, the training course at Bramshill an ordeal of sweaty men oozing testosterone, a minefield of sexist innuendo and harassment. Andy a higher life form among the Neanderthals. Janet felt a flare of heat in her cheeks. Bloody Andy. She avoided Gill’s eyes, not wanting her friend to read anything there that shouldn’t be. The hardest thing wasn’t going to be keeping it from Ade (he probably wouldn’t notice if she brought the Chippendales home for a group shag) but keeping it from Gill. Who would come down on them both like a ton of bricks, if she ever found out. Gill knew only too well what it was like to be cuckolded. She’d hate Janet for this. ‘We had it so hard, we fought every step of the way, we even made mistakes.’
‘I was never like that,’ Gill said disparagingly, arms crossed.
‘No, you sprang fully formed, tits, teeth and political savvy, detective chief inspector.’
‘She’s a mad bitch, she’s not house-trained. She’s out of control,’ said Gill.
‘She’s scared witless. You know that feeling, the sickness at the pit of your stomach. She reminds me of you.’