‘All right, go for it. Anything else?’
Slider sighed. ‘I think we have to interview her school friends and find out if she said anything to any of them about a new boyfriend, or about her plans for that weekend.’
Porson eyed him sympathetically. Interviewing young girls was nobody’s favourite job. Boys were much easier. They gave you lip but, as with horses, after the wild bucking generally came submission. But with girls you never got to the end of the attitude, and if you tried to press them they took refuge in tears, hysteria or, worst case, accusations of mental or physical assault.
‘Well, don’t get hung up about it. It’s a rotten job but somebody’s got to do it. Just make sure you don’t get left alone with any of ’em. I can do without any of my officers being suspended on the say-so of some little madam with more mummy than sense.’
FIVE
All Creatures Grunt and Smell
It was late when Slider got home, but Joanna was there to greet him with a kiss, and there was a welcome fragrance of cooking in the air. He understood completely why married men were said to live longer than single ones.
‘I bet you haven’t eaten all day,’ she said. ‘I made a big soup. It’s all hot and ready, on the table as soon as you like.’
He only had to shed his jacket and tie and wash his hands. Joanna’s soups were a meal in themselves, so packed with good things you practically needed a knife and fork to eat them. After a large bowlful, accompanied by the heel end of a chunky loaf (she always saved the heels for him, though he suspected she liked them herself – she took wifehood very seriously, he realized humbly), he was feeling revived enough to pay proper attention to a morsel of cheese, with which she thoughtfully put out a glass of Bruichladdich. He sighed and looked at her. ‘I’d marry you if you weren’t a married woman.’
She batted her eyelashes. ‘I love you, too. So, how’s it going?’
‘Too early to say. Thousands of canvasses to go through, lots of sightings of young people and young couples in and around the area but nothing stands out yet. One obvious suspect but only because he’s a bad hat and he knew her. We’ve nothing on him.’
‘Oh, well that all sounds wonderfully positive,’ she said. ‘You look bushed. Another Brutal Laddie?’
‘Just a tiny one. Have one with me?’
‘Just a tiny one.’
‘I interviewed the victim’s best friend today,’ he said while she poured. ‘Or I should say “mate”. God, it was depressing. Girl from a well-to-do middle-class family, attending a fee-paying school, and she talks and behaves like a trollop. It made me think of Kate. I don’t want her becoming like that, but I suspect there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent it. I don’t suppose the Cooper-Hutchinsons planned their Sophy to be like that, but the culture is stronger than the people.’
‘Don’t be silly – the culture is the people,’ she said briskly. ‘Mostly people are too indolent. It’s a huge effort to take a stand over things, and they can’t be bothered. They’d sooner be friends with their children than try to discipline them.’
‘Tough talk.’ Slider smiled wearily at her. ‘I can’t even influence Kate now, let alone discipline her. We really have to find somewhere with another bedroom, so I can have them to stay. I can’t be a part of her life when I can only see her for a couple of hours at an amusement park like a Divorce Dad. Did you have any luck today?’
‘Oh, I saw the details of a lot of properties, but nothing we can afford. One estate agent recommended looking at the auction sites. There are a lot of repossessed properties coming on at the moment, at rock-bottom prices. I’ve got the details of a couple of sites. I’ll have a go at it tomorrow when the baby’s napping.’
‘Talking of the baby, have you found a sitter for Thursday night?’
‘I asked Emily, and she jumped at it. You’d think I was doing her the favour.’
‘Oh good! Funny Atherton didn’t say anything to me.’
‘She probably hasn’t spoken to him, any more than I spoke to you,’ she pointed out kindly. ‘She’s thrilled about it, bless her. Says she’s never looked after a baby before, and can’t wait.’
Slider stirred. ‘Never looked after a baby? Is that a good idea, then?’
‘Good practice for her, for when she and Jim get at it.’
‘I think they’re at it already.’
‘Parenthood, rather than mere vigorous bonking.’
‘But I meant, is it a good idea for the baby?’
‘Oh, what could go wrong?’ she said. ‘Worst case he howls all evening, which won’t hurt him, and will prepare her for the realities of life.’
He smiled. ‘I love your cavalier attitude to our only offspring.’
‘You’re a worrier. Probably comes from being an only child. When you come from a big family like me, you’re expected to get on with it and survive. My older sisters used to use me for netball practice,’ she boasted largely. ‘Never did me any harm.’
‘I used to sit in for the smoking beagles for pocket money,’ he capped her.
She smiled, glad to see he had relaxed: that tense, grey look had gone out of his face. ‘I’m ready for bed,’ she said. ‘How do you feel about sleeping with a married woman?’
He pretended to consider. ‘Sounds good to me. Have you got her number?’
‘I’ve got your number, you Lothario. Leave the dishes,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ll clear it in the morning. I want my cot.’
He caught her up, slid an arm round her waist, and nibbled her neck. ‘How do you feel about making love with a married man?’
‘As long as you don’t wake up my baby.’
They headed for the bedroom, where the bedside lamp was already on to guide them home. ‘I can’t help feeling,’ he said, ‘that learning how to do it really quietly has got to come in handy some time.’
Detective Inspector Douglas ‘call me Duggie’ Sweyback of Woodley Green nick (which had responsibility for the Woodley South Estate) had trotted out the tea and biscuits – custard cream, coconut ring and Abbey Crunch – as soon as Slider arrived, and was plainly spoiling for a chat, so it was some time before Slider was able to get down to the matter in hand.
Sweyback’s name owed more to Nabisco than Quasimodo, as he had revealed during an etymological discussion at a junket they had both attended: in fact, he was as tall and straight as a reasonable man needed to be, taller and more heavily built than Slider, only somewhat under-endowed in the follicular department – something that was often on his mind. Slider had more than once heard his treatise on Why Bald Men Don’t Get On (subheading No Bald Man Will Ever Be Prime Minister Again). Sweyback regarded Slider as a bit of a soul mate, largely because it was unusual for an older copper to remain at station level rather than levitating to the SOs, or copping out to the cushy desk jobs. When they turned up at the same do, as happened from time to time, Sweyback would hasten to Slider’s side with the glad eagerness of a German tourist spotting a sausage, and would bend his ear about the sheer awfulness of the Job these days.
The last such occasion had been a seminar on Policing By Intelligence, and Sweyback reverted to it now, dunking his Abbey Crunch in the PG Tips, and reeling out a few things he had thought of since and hadn’t had a chance to air to anyone yet.
‘Policing By Intelligence? What we need is policing with intelligence, but fat chance of getting any of that these days! You know what the other thing means: crouching over a computer all day, never going out on the street, fiddling your figures to make it look as if you’re doing your job properly. You can’t police from a desk. But these youngsters don’t know what I’m talking about. Do you know, I haven’t got a single person over thirty-five on my firm? I’m saddled with kids still wet behind the ears, and of course that’s the way they’ve been brought up. If it’s not in the computer they don’t want to know. You talk about knowing your own ground and knowing your own villains and working up your own snouts, and they look at you as if you were talking Chinese. You know what I mean, Bill. You’re like me. We’re from the old school. I’m a copper’s copper, and I’m not ashamed to say it, I don’t care who’s listening. But the Job’s going to the dogs. I don’t know why I carry on sometimes. They won’t let you catch criminals, and when you do catch them, the CPS won’t prosecute. Did you see that statistic in the paper the other day? Only fifteen per cent of serious crimes end up with a jail sentence.’