It opened bang on time and the nervous PC from yesterday stuck his head into the room. God knew what facial expression he’d been aiming for, but he’d wound up with a cross between a smile and a grimace. Like he’d tried for a fart and got an unpleasant surprise instead. ‘DS Steel? They’re ready for you.’
‘Course they are.’ She stood, slapped a hand down on Tufty’s shoulder. ‘Come on, then. You can hold me back if I try to kill anyone.’
They’d arranged themselves down one side of the meeting room table, like this was some sort of job interview. Or a firing squad.
DCI Rutherford, DI Vine, Jack Wallace, and his solicitor Moir-Farquharson. The first two looked like someone had just rammed a lit Catherine wheel up their backsides, Wallace smugging it up big-time in the middle, the lawyer deadpan.
Leaving Steel and Tufty to stand on the other side of the table.
Rutherford scowled at them. ‘Detective Sergeant Steel, do you have anything to say in your defence?’
‘Aye. Constable Quirrel had nothing to do with it. He was there trying to talk me out of confronting Jack Wallace.’
‘I see.’
She nodded. ‘He did good. This is all on me.’
Which was really nice of her. Given the option, most senior officers would shoot you in the kneecap so the bear would eat you while they ran away. Wouldn’t even blink.
Rutherford poked the table. ‘I specifically ordered you to stay away from Mr Wallace and you went there anyway.’
She bared her teeth. ‘All that smiling and waving at the CCTV cameras — he knew we’d check, so—’
‘Stop — right — there!’ The finger stopped poking and pointed right at her. ‘You had no business harassing Mr Wallace. You were ordered not to.’
Steel shrugged. Her shoulders might have been all nonchalant and ‘whatever’, but her face looked one red button away from going intercontinental. BOOOOOOOOM... At least three megatons.
Tufty hissed it out the side of his mouth, as quietly as possible so no one but her would hear. ‘Please don’t.’
DI Vine opened the manila folder in front of him and pulled out three sheets of paper. ‘The results of Miss Edwards’ rape kit came back from the lab. The DNA they found doesn’t match Mr Wallace. He has an alibi for the evening. He has a witness who stayed with him until eight in the morning. Do you understand, Sergeant?’
Steel’s chin came up. ‘So whose DNA did it match?’
‘Say it with me: “Mr Wallace had nothing to do with it.”’
‘Then how come he knew he’d need an alibi?’
Wallace spread his hands, palm up. ‘Didn’t. But I know you and your wee mates like to keep an eye on me, so I smile and wave when I pass a CCTV camera. Just to show there’s no hard feelings.’
The lawyer glanced at his watch. ‘If I may, gentlemen, time is moving on.’ He smiled at Steel. ‘Detective Sergeant: my client has very generously asked your superiors not to demote or fire you for your actions. In exchange for which he will not sue Police Scotland for harassment.’
OK, that was a bit unexpected.
Tufty smiled.
Woot — they were going to get away with it!
So how come Steel didn’t look so happy?
She stared back, one eyebrow slowly creeping its way up her forehead.
Hissing Sid nodded. ‘This is on one condition: you apologise.’
The eyebrow slammed back down again, joining its neighbour in a scowl.
Sitting there, flanked by Vine and the lawyer, Wallace grinned. ‘And you do it like you mean it.’
Oh God...
Time to sound the four-minute warning...
DCI Rutherford thumped down behind his desk and treated Steel and Tufty to a family-sized portion of the evil eye. Morning sunlight streamed in through the office window, turning the whole room into one big microwave oven, great sticky waves of heat making sweat prickle across the back of Tufty’s neck. Or maybe it was the upcoming bollocking?
Steel moved towards one of the visitors’ chairs.
‘Don’t even think about it!’
She slouched to attention instead. ‘Boss.’
Rutherford shuffled some paperwork out of his in-tray and back again. ‘I think you understand what’s coming next.’
‘Aye, got a fair idea.’
‘You will not go anywhere near Jack Wallace. And Constable Quirrel here is going to be held responsible if you do.’
What?
No, no, no, no, no.
Tufty pulled his chin in. ‘But that’s not—’
‘You clearly don’t give a toss about your own career, Roberta, so let’s see if you care about his. Your crimes will be his crimes. One more complaint from Jack Wallace and DC Quirrel gets a black mark on his record so big they’ll be able to see it from the International Space Station. Are we clear?’
He held up a hand. ‘Boss, sir, can I just—’
‘No you can’t.’ Rutherford leaned forwards, half out of his seat, fists on the desk again. ‘Well, Sergeant?’
Tufty stared at her. Tell him no! Tell him it’s not fair to lumber poor Tufty with the sins of the Sergeant! Tell him—
Steel nodded. ‘Guv.’
Nooooooooooooo!
‘Good.’ A nasty little smile appeared beneath Rutherford’s nose. He selected a sheet of paper from his in-tray. ‘And to make sure: I have a very special assignment for you and your team. Maybe this time you’ll learn your lesson?’
Something inside Tufty curdled a little.
It was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it?
‘Now, children, we’ve got a real treat for you.’ Mrs Wilson clapped her hands and beamed out at the rows and rows of little kiddies sitting cross-legged on the gym hall floor. Standing there on the little stage, she looked more like the kind of person who sold life insurance than ran a primary school — black suit, purple top, kitten heels, hair piled up in a plume of smoky curls.
Had to be at least a hundred kids in here, all staring up at her. About thirty of them were dressed as Disney princesses — boys as well as girls — all sitting in a sequin-and-lace clump at the back. Clearly, St Henry’s Primary was a lot less strict with its dress code than the school Tufty went to.
A dozen teachers sat in plastic chairs dotted around the room. Eyes scanning the kids like the searchlights on a prison watchtower.
Steel slumped against the wall bars at the side of the stage, with her head in her hands. ‘Susan was right: I should’ve just resigned.’
Harmsworth and Barrett shifted from foot to foot, like they were getting ready to bolt at any minute. But Lund was rubbing her hands, a cheery smile on her face. Was she actually looking forward to this?
She was.
Freak.
Mrs Wilson pointed at the five of them. ‘These nice police officers have come here to talk to you all about staying safe! Isn’t that lovely?’
The kids chorused back, ‘Yes, Mrs Wilson.’
‘Look at them.’ Steel curled her top lip, like she’d caught a whiff of something stinky. ‘Sticky wee children. Thousands of them.’
Tufty nudged her in the ribs. ‘Thought you liked kids?’
‘This is all Jack Raping Turdbadger Wallace’s fault.’
‘Is it? I thought we were being punished because you were round his place harassing...’ Yeah, the look on her face meant it probably wasn’t a good idea to finish that sentence. Tufty cleared his throat. ‘I mean, look on the bright side: they could’ve fired you. And me. Both of us. And I don’t want fired.’