Lots to do. Not much time to do it in.
Firstly he called the hospital.
Nina had pulled through after a fraught night when they thought they were going to lose her. She had not regained consciousness, but showed slight improvement. She would undergo another operation today.
The news made Henry feel better and put his own problems into perspective.
The zoo told him Boris was much better too. But still in a real bad mood.
A cup of coffee was placed down on his desk. Henry spun round in his chair to see two smiling Chief Superintendents — FB and Tony Morton. They both looked smug, pleased with themselves — rather as if they were in co-hoots.
‘ Morning, Henry,’ they said.
‘ Sirs.’
‘ Got some good news and some good news for you. Which do you want first?’ Morton asked, beaming.
‘ I’ll start with the good news.’
Chapter Fifteen
Detective Constable Dave Seymour was a raving homophobic. He could not countenance the thought of men ‘doing it together’. Despite Equal Opportunity training, which sought to raise his awareness in such matters, gay men left him cold. ‘Shit-shovellers’ he called them.
The thought of lesbians was a completely different matter. When he visualised two women rolling around naked, frigging each other off, he was quite turned on. To him, a lesbian was just a woman who hadn’t found the right man yet, whereas gays were dangerous, perverted individuals who should be put to death.
Which was why he wasn’t too concerned to be taken off the Dundaven enquiry at short notice and drafted onto the Marie Cullen murder case, where he was teamed up with Lucy Crane. Lucy was a lesbian — a well known fact because she had openly ‘come out’, and Seymour felt that, although married, he could be the right man for her.
‘ Once you’ve tasted the real stuff, you’ll never go back,’ he told her. ‘A quality piece of meat is a million times better than any dildo.’
Lucy was driving; he was passenger. And ever since they had set off from Blackpool to go to Blackburn, he had never once let up with his sexual banter. By the time they hit the M6, she was heartily sick of it.
‘ Dave, shut up, will you?’ she ordered him. ‘You’re getting on my tits.’ As soon as she’d said it, she knew it was the wrong phrase to use.
‘ If only I was,’ he cut in with a sly grin.
‘ And if you don’t keep quiet I’ll make a complaint against you for sexual harassment.’
‘ You’d never prove it,’ he said smugly. ‘My word against yours.’
She sighed deeply. ‘Guess what, Dave? I’ve got a voice-activated tape recorder in my pocket and I’ve recorded your nonstop innuendo, requests for sexual favours and digs about my sexuality ever since we set off — and I’ll use it if you don’t shut your effing mouth. Yes, I’m a lesbian, I’m open about it and quite happy. No, I don’t want to suck your cock. End of story. Let’s get on with the job, shall we?’
Seymour had nothing to say. He glared nastily at her, grated his teeth for a moment and then mouthed the word, ‘Bitch.’
He didn’t know whether or not to believe her about the tape recorder. He wouldn’t take any chances until he knew for sure.
The journey continued in silence, the atmosphere between them as thick as fog.
They were en-route to see if they could find some more of Marie Cullen’s colleagues in the profession of prostitution.
Prostitutes! Seymour hated ‘em.
The infrastructure of the British police service is riddled with bureaucracy. It has a slow, mechanistic structure within which it can take an eon for decisions to be made and then acted on. The militaristic lines on which the service is operated are being slowly whittled away as the police respond positively to the ever-changing society they serve; certain ranks have been abolished and the management structure has been flattened. But it is still slow, painfully so.
Except on the occasions when it wants to move quickly.
Particularly when high-ranking officers want to make things happen.
Which is why lowly Henry Christie felt he was in a world of unreality when Detective Chief Superintendent Tony Morton and his old bosom-buddy Bob Fanshaw-Bayley beckoned him into an empty office, sat him down and revealed the good news.
‘ Henry,’ Morton began. ‘As you already know I’ve earmarked you as a possible future member of the NWOCS. As such I’ve had a word with FB here to sound him out about it.’
Henry waited. Both senior officers were smiling.
‘ I know about your reputation and now I’m interested to see how you work first-hand,’ Morton continued. ‘So I went down on bended knee to Bob’ — here the two high-rankers exchanged a glance — ‘and begged him to let me borrow you for a few days to give us a chuck-up with this newsagents job.’
‘ And I agreed,’ declared FB ‘Depending on your feelings, that is. We’re not pushing you.’
Henry thought about it. He winced sadly. ‘I’ve got too much on my plate at the moment. Otherwise I’d jump at the chance. It’s happening a bit quick.’
‘ Henry, I like you. You know that. If you come and help us out now, then I can fix up a further six-month secondment, starting in April. That could possibly become permanent. Not possibly — definitely. I’ll ensure it.’
‘ I’d like to, but there’s Marie Cullen’s murder, Dundaven… Derek Luton… I feel responsible. I couldn’t really leave them in mid-air.’
‘ I understand that,’ said Morton empathetically, ‘but we’re close to cracking the newsagents job. I’d like to see you working alongside my men just for the next few days, by which time we’ll have a result. Then you can go back to your own stuff. Apart from anything else, this’ll give you a chance to be in at the kill, as it were. And give me a chance to assess your suitability for the squad.’
‘ You’ll only be absent for a few days,’ FB pointed out. ‘I’ll keep an eye on your work, make sure it doesn’t dry up.’
Henry leaned back. It sounded good.
‘ Think about it, Henry,’ Morton said.
He didn’t need to. A grin cracked across his face.
Morton held out his hand. ‘Welcome to the squad, the cream of the crop.’ His grip was firm and dry and he had the look of an angler who’d just netted a black marlin.
Completely bemused, Henry made his way back to his desk, chuffed to hell and back.
And yet… slightly disconcerted. Steamrollered was a word which sprang to mind.
Think this through, he told himself. What are the implications, professionally and personally?
Professionally, going on the squad would probably affect his chances of promotion. But he had always been in two minds about going for Inspector anyway as it would take him one rung further up the ladder away from ‘real’ policework. He’d have to talk management issues and strategies, all that crap. Stuff like that bored him shitless. He liked being operational, hands on, arresting people.
Going onto the squad would give him the opportunity to stay at this level and yet deal with high-class criminals. And maybe it would give him the time and space to delve into Dundaven and try to find the remainder of those firearms, the details of which Karl had sent him.
Personally… well, Kate should be told immediately, but he didn’t dare pick up the phone. She would go ape. Henry decided to keep it until he went home that night so he could break it gently to her, face to face. That would be better than a phone call.
‘ DS Christie?’
Shaken out of his reverie, Henry jumped up at the mention of his name by DC Robson, the female detective on the squad whom he had briefly met before.
Henry had never been in a position to inspect her from close quarters. With her standing next to him, he had to admit that she was stunning. Black hair in a well-cut bob, shining brown eyes, small nose and a wide, soft mouth which needed to be kissed forcefully. He was aware that her complexion was porcelain perfect, dabbed with only the hint of make-up which made her high cheekbones stand out even more prominently. She was wearing a practical work suit — jacket, blouse and skirt — but it was nicely tailored and expensive.