by L M Krier
The Ice Queen had already had a press release prepared, ready for if and when Jenny Holden decided to go to the papers with her story. They had known all along that it was just a matter of time. Ted wanted to go over it with her, just to check exactly what he could and could not say at his meeting.
'We knew this moment was likely to come, especially after the fatality. Coffee, Inspector?' she asked, lifting up the jug of the coffee machine.
Ted nodded his thanks. His discussions with the Ice Queen were not, and probably never would be, the relaxed sessions he'd enjoyed with his former boss and great friend, Jim Baker. But at least her coffee was much better than the evil black brew he used to serve.
'Of course, if the reporter were to get wind of the fact that the person Jenny Holden accused is now dead, I presume there would be nothing to stop him making that distressing part of the affair public? Including the circumstances of the death?' the Ice Queen speculated. 'I am already dismissing the hope that any sense of decency would stop him from doing that.'
'I imagine Jenny Holden will have told him Kenny Norman's name. It would be tragic, and wrong, if he were to go round to his sister's house, badgering her for a comment, but I fear that's what might happen,' Ted said in agreement.
'Unless, of course, you bring your not inconsiderable powers of persuasion to bear to stop him from doing so.'
Ted took a gulp of his coffee to buy himself some time. He wasn't entirely sure what the Ice Queen meant. She had a habit of giving hints that he was supposed to fathom out, so they could both legitimately deny any such conversation had ever taken place. Except that, sometimes, Ted was not entirely sure he had interpreted her meaning correctly.
'He's going to want something pretty big in exchange, if I ask him to ease off on the Kenny Norman line,' he said thoughtfully.
She was looking at him shrewdly over the top of her coffee cup. 'I'm sure that with the press release we have prepared, you can steer him away from naming the man and onto the bigger, wider implications of the case. Without, of course, being in any way indiscreet.'
It was at moments like these that Ted wished he was better at cryptic crossword clues. She was clearly hinting at what she did want him to tell the journalist, but he was not sure he had grasped the right end of the stick. If he got it wrong, it could be disastrous.
He wanted to make sure he arrived at the pub well ahead of the journalist so he could set things up. He was taking an enormous gamble, he knew. He hoped the reporter would react as he expected, and that he was intelligent enough to make something of the information which was about to come his way.
He also fervently hoped that he had not totally misinterpreted the hidden message from the Ice Queen. Ted was not hugely ambitious. He didn't mind if Detective Inspector was as far as he got in his career. But he would hate to slip back down the ranks, especially now he had taken on more debt, based on his current salary.
The Grapes was the local for the station and Ted was a regular there, despite not being a drinker. He ate there occasionally and liked to take his team there for morale-boosting purposes. He was greeted warmly by Dave, the landlord, who started preparing his Gunner without being asked.
'All set for your Christmas do here, Ted? Time flies, eh?'
Ted found a quiet table in the corner. Lunchtime trade was sparse, especially in the run-up to Christmas, when a lot of the regulars were using every spare minute for their shopping. He spread papers and a book around on the table, trying to make it look convincingly casual, then sat down and waited for Pocket Billiards to arrive.
He found the reporter intensely irritating, not just because of his personal habits, but because of his obsequious manner. He had to admit, though, that he was quite good at digging out a story, and tenacious in going after the facts, even if he bent some of them slightly from time to time.
Under orders from the Ice Queen, Ted had been at pains lately to try to forge more of a working relationship with him. He was still not convinced it was working. Now would be his chance to find out. He was hoping to play the journalist on the end of his line like a fish. He just hoped that he would have more success than on the fishing trips of long ago with his father, up at Roman Lakes.
'Alastair, good to see you,' Ted said, trying to sound sincere, when the man arrived and held out a hand to shake his. Ted always cringed at the contact, not knowing where the hand had been or what it had been up to. 'Sit down, I'll go and get the drinks in. Lager top? And what about a sandwich? What do you fancy?'
'I wouldn't say no to a steak butty, if we're just doing sandwiches,' he said hopefully. 'With perhaps a side order of chips? It's cold as a witch's tit out there today, fair works up an appetite.'
Ted headed back to the bar and ordered the drinks and Alastair's food. 'Can you give me the menu, Dave? I want to study it at length. And take your time with my next Gunner. In fact, if you needed to go and pick the fresh limes first, that would be fine.'
Dave looked shrewdly past Ted to the table, where the journalist was busy going through the paperwork left scattered there, as well as picking up the book to thumb through it.
'What are you up to, Ted?' he asked curiously. 'Whatever it is, your man has swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker.'
Ted spread his hands in feigned innocence. 'Me? Up to something? Not at all. Just getting a bit absent-minded in my old age. I keep leaving things lying about.'
Dave chuckled as he prepared the drinks and put them on a tray for Ted to carry over. He kept glancing across at the table, then said, 'I think you might be all right to head back there now. Tell me what you want to eat and I'll bring the food across.'
As Ted turned round, picking up the drinks tray, he saw Alastair hastily shuffling papers round on the table. By the time Ted walked back across, he was sitting with a studied look of innocence on his face. It didn't take a detective to see that everything had been moved.
'Here's your drink, Alastair, the food's just coming.' Ted put the tray on the next table and made a show of tidying things away. Just in case Alastair was more dense than he hoped, he surreptitiously pushed a brochure off the far side of the table so that it landed near his feet. As he moved the drinks across, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man bend to pick it up and stuff it into his pocket.
'Right,' Ted said, sitting down and becoming business-like. 'This call you've had from Jenny Holden, and the information she's given you. Here's the official statement about it.' He withdrew a sheet of paper from the stack and pushed it across to him. 'Now let me ask you something. Do you trust me?'
'More than I trust any other copper,' came the guarded reply, after a slight hesitation.
'That'll have to do,' Ted smiled. 'I hope you'll believe me when I say, the man whose name she no doubt gave you was eliminated from police enquiries for a very valid reason. But it's one which I cannot share with you, because of confidentiality issues. That's why I need you to trust me on this. I've also made extensive enquiries and can assure you that he is no longer in the country and therefore is not implicated in any way in the current enquiry.'
He tried to hold eye contact with the other man to show his sincerity, but Pocket Billiards' gaze had a way of sliding about all over the place.
'But there is another aspect to this and it's likely to be a much bigger story. Again, you'll just have to trust me when I say I'm going to do all I can to point you in the direction of where the real story is. I may need a little time. I also need to be able to trust you, in turn, that you will keep your source confidential. Otherwise the consequences for me could be very compromising.'
'Of course you can trust me, Ted. A journalist never reveals their sources,' he said smoothly.
Dave appeared at that moment with their food. They broke off their conversation until he had put the food on the table for them, after Ted had tidied everything away into his briefcase.
'I also need your word that you won't use the name Jenny Holden gave you in any way in connection with this case. All I
can say to you is that it will be in your interest to let that line drop and wait a short time for me to get the information of a much bigger story for you. One which you can certainly sell to the nationals, if you play your cards right.'
He could see the avaricious glint in the journalist's eyes as he took a large bite out of the middle of his steak sandwich. The mustard which he had just drizzled over the meat squirted out of the bread and dribbled down the sides of his chin, apparently without him being aware.
Trev had remarked that Ted was losing weight. He risked not being able to eat anything if he had to watch Pocket Billiards eating for much longer, but he needed to be sure he really had taken the bait. He concentrated on looking at his own steak sandwich, cutting it up into manageable pieces, trying not to listen to the other man's noisy eating.
Alastair spoke with his mouth full, revealing bad teeth and partly chewed meat. 'Okay, Ted, I'll agree to that, as a gesture of good faith. But you better not be having me on about the bigger story. This is a good 'un that I could go with now. I'm counting on you to turn it into a better one.'
They ate in relative silence for a while, apart from the sound of the journalist's mastication. Then, with a carefully studied casual air, Alastair asked, 'By the way, Ted, if I wanted to ask around about something to do with people like you, where would I go?'
'People like me? You mean policemen?' Ted asked innocently.
'No, you know, gay people.'
'Ah, right. I don't know that there's much of a gay scene in Stockport, really. You might be better off going to Canal Street. You've got something with a gay angle that you're working on, then?' he asked, trying to keep a straight face.
They finished up their drinks and sandwiches. Ted endured another hand shake, then they went their separate ways. Ted went first to find the Ice Queen, to report in broad terms on how the meeting had gone.
'I'm playing the long game, ma'am, and I hope to heaven I'm playing by the right rules. But I have got his word, for what it's worth, that he won't name Kenny Norman or follow that line of enquiry. At least not for now. I hinted at something much bigger. I hope that was right?'
'I'm sure you handled the situation perfectly, Inspector. I have every faith in you. As long as you did not say anything in the least indiscreet in front of the press.'
'No, ma'am, I can assure you I didn't say anything indiscreet.' Ted was about to leave then turned back to her and said, 'I should, of course, have said before now, but I always have a small get-together for the team and one or two others just before Christmas. It's on Friday evening, after work, in The Grapes, and I'd be pleased if you could come. With your husband, of course. Partners are very welcome. Trev bakes. It's worth coming just for his mince pies.'
'That's extremely kind of you. I would like that very much, and I'm sure Robin would too.'
When he told Trev about it later that evening, as they walked back from their martial arts session, he said, 'It was quite sweet really, she looked almost a little flustered, as if she hadn't expected to be asked. By the way, would you mind if I asked Bizzie to Christmas dinner as well as my mother? I'm not sure if she has anywhere to go and I'd hate to think of her being alone if not. And what about Siobhan? Will she be spending it with your parents, or should we invite her?'
Trev made a scornful noise. 'That's not how they do things. The Olds will be staying abroad for the social side of the festivities. They have a house here but they won't open it up just for Shewee. She'll be staying at school, but she'll have a far better time there than we could give her here, with plenty of riding, and hunting on Boxing Day, of course. But thanks for thinking of her. You caring about the waifs and strays is just one of the things I love about you.'
Chapter Fifteen
Their attacker had gone quiet for the moment. No more reported cases, not on their patch, not further afield. Ted fervently hoped the man had simply gone to ground for the festive season and that for once, he might get a quiet Christmas at home with Trev. Also, for the first time in many long years, with his mother.
Like Ted, Professor Nelson would be on call for Christmas Day so was not going to visit her mother until Boxing Day. She'd gratefully accepted the invitation to dine with them but had declined the offer to be collected. As she was on call, she told Ted, she wouldn't be drinking and would need her car with her.
Christmas Day was a Sunday, so Ted had planned his usual drinks get-together for the Friday evening, after work. After the morning briefing on the Friday, he asked Mike if the two of them could get together at lunch-time for a brainstorming session over a sandwich, and offered to go out and get something for them.
'I fancy a smoked salmon bagel. I've got a bit of an addiction for them at the moment,' he told him. 'Can I get you one?'
Mike made a face. 'I'm not much of a one for smoked salmon. Maybe some plain cheese?'
Ted had come in on the bus, leaving his car for Trev to pick up later on and bring in the buffet he had prepared. He would go and set it all up at The Grapes before Ted and the team adjourned there after work at the end of the day. As well as the team and the Ice Queen, Ted had also invited his old boss, Jim Baker, and the new woman in his life, Bella. Jim had headed the team for many years and was still held in high regard and affection by those who had served under him.
Ted had mixed feelings about the evening ahead. Part of him was looking forward to it, a chance to relax with his team in an informal setting. Part of him was dreading it. Memories were still raw of the team member they had lost last Christmas. That aspect would be hard for all of them.
'Plain cheese, or cheese with tomato?' Ted asked, waving two paper bags in front of Mike Hallam as they both sat down at Ted's desk when he returned from buying their lunch. 'Or both, if you like. I've got two salmon bagels. Trev says I'm losing weight and need to eat more.'
'I think we've all been forgetting the odd meal, working this case, boss,' Mike said, gratefully accepting both sandwiches.
'Is your wife coming this evening, Mike?' Ted asked him, putting coffee in front of his sergeant and making green tea for himself.
Mike grinned at him. 'She is. She's looking forward to it. And I'm glad you'll have the chance to see her back to her normal self, now she's better.'
'Is everything all right between you now, then?'
'Back to normal. No, better than ever, I would say. The person you saw last year is not the real Joan, at all. Neither of us had fully realised how ill she was. Now she's on medication to help her find balance again, she's back to being my missus. Just like the woman I married.'
Ted was pleased to hear it. He took a bite of his first bagel, washing it down with a gulp of hot tea, then sounded businesslike.
'Right, what are we missing about our man? I still favour the ex-forces angle myself, but that's just a hunch. It's not just his knife use. He's pretty good at disappearing, too, and that's not as easy as people think.'
Mike smiled. 'You think ex-forces, Jezza's still convinced he's a lorry driver.'
'We could both be right, of course. Ex-military, now driving for a living? Mike, I'm not sure if it's even possible, but can you try to see if we can get details of ex-forces from our area who have been discharged and moved back here, particularly recently?'
'I'll try, boss, but I have a horrible feeling I'll be slapped down with the confidentiality card,' Mike said, with a sigh. 'Wouldn't it be great if we could all just work together to try to get the bad guys?'
'And let's not ease up on trying to identify the Sprinter van that's been mentioned. How can it just disappear off the scene, if it does have any connection?'
'At least we've wound up another couple of cases before Christmas, if we can't yet nail this one. His luck can't hold forever, boss. Sooner or later we'll get him, or someone else will.'
'I'd just like it to be us, Mike. It's our patch he's killed on, and there are three other young women here whose lives he's ruined.' Ted finished off his bagel, then wondered if he really could manage the secon
d. 'By the way, I wanted to ask your opinion. I was going to suggest we raise a glass to Tina tonight. Do you think that would be all right?'
'I think the team would really appreciate that, boss,' Mike said, then looked searchingly at him. 'And are you all right? It's not been an easy year for you, one way or another.'
'Me?' Ted queried, surprised. 'I'm fine. A bit tired, but then I think we all are. Looking forward to this evening.'
Trev had done them proud, as usual, with the spread. He loved cooking, especially baking, and his mince pies were legendary. Maurice was, as ever, first to arrive, with young Steve in tow, and headed straight for the buffet table. All the team members were there, some with partners. Ted was amazed at the transformation in Mike's wife. She was smiling and friendly, and found a moment to have a quiet word with him.
'I'm sorry about last year, Inspector. I wasn't well, not well at all. I think I came across very badly, and I just wanted to apologise. And to thank you for all your kindness to Mike, and in getting help for me.'
'You're very welcome, and please, call me Ted. It's informal this evening.'
Virgil Tibbs was there with his wife, who was pregnant with their first child. Sal was with his long-term girlfriend, Rob with his girlfriend, now fiancée. Ted and Trev had been at their recent engagement party, and they no doubt had another one to look forward to. Jim Baker seemed serious about his new lady-friend, Bella. They were both there. Jim had, as usual, greeted Ted with a handshake and a thump on the back. There was a great deal of affection between the two men, even if it was sometimes awkwardly shown by Jim.
The Ice Queen and her husband were the last to arrive, fashionably late. Ted had not yet met her husband, an inspector in traffic. He was as tall as his wife, slim, dark hair, greying at the temples.
'Ted, I'm so sorry we're late,' she began, her message clear. It would be first name terms for an informal evening. 'We got horribly held up in traffic, somewhat ironically. This is my husband, Robin, and this is Ted Darling.'
