by Alan Fisher
Up Close and Personal
A DC Oliver Cole Mystery (Book 5)
Alan Fisher
Copyright © 2019 Alan Fisher
All rights reserved
Other books by the same author;
Humour
The Pet Budgie Died This Morning
Bugger All – That’s How Much!
The 11.46 to Southampton – via Stalingrad
Romance
Hold On Tight To Your Dreams
Crime
The Hangman Murders – A DC Oliver Cole Mystery (Book 1)
Under The Crown – A DC Oliver Cole Mystery (Book 2)
Murder at The Midland – A DC Oliver Cole Mystery (Book 3)
A Lesson in Murder – A DC Oliver Cole Mystery (Book 4)
Chapter 1
The train journey back from Hendon Police College had been slow and irritating for DC Oliver Cole due to several delays caused by frozen points on the main east coast line. By the time he arrived at Darlington station, the train was already over an hour behind schedule and Oliver was one of only four passengers left in the quiet carriage of the London to Edinburgh express.
But as he reflected on his short return visit home, and to the Police College, he was relatively happy. It was barely less than two years ago that he’d left the college as a newly qualified detective constable and, in record time, he’d returned to sit his sergeants exams.
The exams had gone well, he thought. Of course, there was no guarantee that he’d passed them, but he felt confident that he’d done as well as he could. And as his mother had frequently reminded him, no-one could ask for anything more than to do one’s best.
She had reminded him of that even as recently as yesterday when he’d left his parents’ home in a quiet village on the outskirts of Oxford to head for Hendon College, and sit the final part of the exams.
It had been a while since he’d seen his parents, even longer since he’d returned to the family home in Oxfordshire for a visit. Work, it seems, had just overtaken his every waking moment.
His father James, or Jimmy to his friends, had retired some five years ago from his job as a construction engineer and had taken up long distance walking as part of his retirement activity programme. He’d told Oliver it was his way of keeping fit and controlling his weight, but Oliver knew it was more to do with giving Alice, Oliver’s mother, some freedom around the house.
Alice had also retired from her job, as an accounts clerk, a few years previously when she had turned 60 years of age. She’d taken up gardening and joined the local gym keep-fit classes to fill in her time.
Both his parents were in extremely good health, comfortably off financially, and equally desperate to hear all about his exploits in Northumberland.
He’d kept them up to date, of course, speaking to his mother as often as time allowed. But he’d spoken little with his father since he’d left for Newcastle, his father always seeming to be out walking or tinkering in the garage when Oliver called.
So it came as no surprise that Oliver had spent many hours over the dinner table and late into the evening over a glass of whisky or two talking through all of his cases with his father. James even insisted that he have a crack at solving some of the clues Oliver had been dealing with over the last couple of years.
It had been a hugely enjoyable stay at home catching up with James and Alice whilst he awaited the forthcoming exams and relaxing in the comfort of his old room, putting in a last few hours of revision.
As he stared out of the train window at the tall and elegantly dressed young girl jogging along the station platform towards the first class carriage, he made a mental note to try not to leave the next home visit so long. He watched as the young girl leapt onto the train just before the doors closed and the train slowly started to pull away from Darlington.
He knew that provided there were no further delays, he would be home in little more than another hour and a half. Home to his new apartment in Thorntree Drive in West Monkseaton on the outskirts of Whitley Bay. He’d only moved in a few weeks ago and he shook with cold discomfort at the thought that he might have been returning to his previous clapped-out excuse for a flat in Wallsend.
He’d been settled in Wallsend, but never particularly comfortable; and he’d never seen it as a place he would like to have stayed long term. So he’d been extremely fortunate to have found an apartment more to his liking when on his last murder case. It wasn’t something he’d given any thought to at the time, and perhaps the timing of his interest in the apartment block could have been better placed. But when the opportunity had arisen, he’d grabbed it with both hands, and now looked forward to returning home on an evening rather than dreading the prospect.
As the train finally pulled out of Darlington station, he glanced through the window at the late evening darkness and the glint of the heavy white frost on the roads reflected by the streetlights. It was going to be a cold night, but at least he didn’t need to worry about the heating giving up on him. That wouldn’t happen in his new home.
But as the train slowly trundled along the tracks towards Durham, he started to wonder about what would happen next. He’d had no word from Jack Collier, his DCI, that any case had broken whilst he’d been away, but it wasn’t the lack of a case that was preying on his mind.
He was content with his job working with DCI Jack Collier at Northumbria Police, and was fond of all of his colleagues too. If he’d failed the exams, then nothing would change. He might get a rollicking from his DCI, but he could re-sit the exams in another year. Perhaps he had sat them too early anyway; it was considered by many a bit premature to be sitting them after less than two years as a DC after all.
But what if, by some miracle, he’d actually managed to pass the exams? What would happen then?
There was no vacancy to work with Jack Collier. His current sergeant, Colin Davis, was still in post and although talking about retirement, had shown no signs of actually doing it.
He felt certain that a post would be available, somewhere. But he could be sent anywhere in the country to achieve his promotion. The thought did not please him at all. By the time the train pulled into Durham station, Oliver had convinced himself that he would be posted either to the Orkneys, or worse, to the Met in London.
He tried to dismiss the notion. He was not, after all, in control of the situation. He hadn’t really been in control of anything since he’d qualified as a DC when he’d opted to join Jack Collier at Northumbria.
Since then he’d been quickly involved in the arrest of a serial killer, been dragged down to Morecambe to help catch another serial killer running riot in Lancashire, and been press-ganged into putting on a training course for final year police graduates whilst working on catching yet another serial killer in his spare time.
He knew that his destiny lay in the hands of others, and he would just have to wait and see how it all played out.
When he finally arrived home at number 12 Orchid Mews, all thoughts of what might lie ahead for him in the distant future had left him. The hot coffee he’d made as soon as he’d arrived home tasted so much better than the splodge that was served on the train, and the papers he’d left on the dining table when he’d departed for Hendon College reminded him that he had other worries to take care of before he needed to worry about the future.
Whilst he’d been away visiting his parents and taking the sergeants exams, the rest of his team had been busy with other matters. Matters that he knew he would soon have to undertake despite his reluctance to do so.
Because first thing on Monday morning he was due to meet with his DCI, Jack Collier; it was time for his first annual appraisal, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Chapter 2
> Monday morning brought a brief rest bite from the cold Arctic winds that had battered the region over the weekend, and from the overnight ice that had made walking anywhere dangerous and driving conditions even worse.
Oliver was pleased to see that the weather had improved when he looked out of his kitchen window, but he’d lived in the area for long enough now to realise that any improvement in the weather in November, although very welcome, was likely to be extremely short lived.
Perhaps the bright sunshine and the disappearance of a white blanket from the nearby fields as he drove towards headquarters was a sign that today would be a good day. Perhaps his appraisal would go well. He had, after all, achieved a great deal in his relatively short time at Northumbria Police and acknowledgement of that had come from far and wide, despite his reluctance to accept it.
Or perhaps a case would break, and his appraisal would be postponed, as it had been twice already.
But he knew that if a case had broken, he would already have been made aware of it. On previous occasions he’d always received a phone call from Sergeant Colin Davis, and he’d always seemed to sense when something was happening anyway.
Today his phone had stayed silent, and he sensed nothing. Nothing other than nerves that is. Nerves making his stomach sound like he’d swallowed a thunderstorm. Nerves making his mouth feel like the inside of a hoover bag. Nerves arguing with his fragile confidence about what Jack Collier was about to discuss with him.
As was the custom, Jack Collier’s car was already parked when Oliver arrived at Northumbria Police Headquarters at a little after 8.30am. He’d made reasonable time and would at least be able to try and force a coffee down before heading towards Jack’s office for his 9am appointment.
He parked the car and headed indoors.
“Morning Oliver” said a cheerful Robbie Wainwright as Oliver entered the main office, heading in the direction of his desk.
“Morning Robbie, how’s it going?” replied Oliver, staring upwards at the baby face perched on top of Robbie’s huge frame.
“Pretty good thanks. How was the week off? Parent’s ok?”
“They’re fine thanks. It was good to go home though; it’s been a while since I was last there you know. It was nice to be able to relax for a bit and sample mum’s home cooking again”.
“And the Sergeant’s exams?”
“Ok. I think. You just don’t know with these things, do you? Anyway, it’s done. No sense in worrying about it now, I’ll know soon enough. Anything happening here?”
“Not much. Couple of burglaries and the usual drug running stuff, nothing out of the ordinary. We’ve all had our appraisals now of course; you’ll be the last I would think”.
“How did yours go?”
“Oh, you know. Bit of a mix really. Some ok bits and some not too clever like. You know the Chief, gives praise where it’s due but he doesn’t pull any punches if he’s not happy. Tells you straight out he does”.
“That’s what worries me” said Oliver, suddenly feeling a bit nauseous.
“You’ll be ok mate; you’ve done great since you got here. No worries there” smiled Robbie as he slapped Oliver rather too enthusiastically on the back.
“Erm right. Cheers Robbie, I hope you’re right. Anyway, I’d better grab a drink before I get called in. I’m on at 9”.
Oliver dumped his jacket on his desk and made straight for the canteen before anyone else could catch his eye. He didn’t really need any more conversations like the one he’d just had with Robbie.
Ten minutes later, Oliver wandered back into the main office with what was left of his coffee in hand and met Debbie Swan heading in the opposite direction.
“Morning Oliver” she smiled. “Can’t stop to chat, you’re to go straight into the DCI’s office as soon as you’re ready. We can catch up later if we get a minute”.
“Right. Of course. Will do” said Oliver as he brushed past, forgetting to return Debbie’s greeting.
Ignoring the, rather too sympathetic, look from Paul Moore as he walked past his desk, Oliver put his empty coffee cup down on his desk and went straight towards Jack’s office. In a brief moment of despair, he wondered if this is what a prisoner would feel like being led up the stairs to the dock to hear the verdict of his trial.
The door to Jack’s office was half open and he could hear Jack’s voice as he approached the door. He hesitated for a few seconds before nervously knocking.
“Come in” sounded the familiar voice.
Oliver entered Jack’s office to see the hard-backed chair that he normally pulled up from the corner of the room already in position on the other side of Jack’s desk. He closed the door behind him and automatically tried to clear his throat as he crossed the room. Jack pointed to indicate that he should sit rather than wait for Jack to finish off his phone call.
“Ok Colin. I’ve got Oliver here, so I’ll talk to you a little later. Mind how you go and my regards to Eleanor”.
He put down the phone and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a buff coloured file which appeared rather thick for an appraisal, or so it looked to Oliver. Jack noticed the look and smiled to himself.
“No need to look so worried. This is an appraisal not an execution”.
“Yes sir” croaked Oliver, “I wasn’t worried. Sergeant Davis ok sir? I haven’t seen him this morning, is there a case breaking?”
“Right” said Jack noticing the nerves. “Yes you are, and there’s no need. Yes he is and we’ll get to that later. And no, nothing significant anyway”.
Oliver absorbed the answers that he neither expected nor even wanted, and shuffled uncomfortably on his chair.
“How was the week off Oliver? Parent’s ok? I imagine it was good to get home for a while” said Jack as he opened the file and pulled out a handful of papers.
“Great, fine, and yes it was, sir” replied Oliver mirroring Jack’s earlier riposte.
Jack looked up from his papers and sat back in his chair, smiling.
“Another senior officer in similar circumstances might have taken that reply as a sign of bare faced cheek”.
“But you’re not another senior officer sir” smiled Oliver as he started to relax just a little.
“Lucky for you. Now, what about the Sergeant’s exams? Any problems?”
“I don’t think so. But it’s impossible to say sir. I think I did ok”.
“Which probably means you passed with flying colours. You can be accused of many things, but I doubt if cockiness will ever be one of them – despite your reply earlier”.
“I call it as I see it sir. I think I did ok, but you can never be sure what the examiners are looking for. And whilst I think the answers were sound and logical, it doesn’t necessarily mean anyone else will, that’s all”.
“Well we’ll know soon enough, about two or three weeks as far as I understand it. Given any thought as to what you want to do when you get the results?”
“Not really sir. It pretty much depends on what they are”
“Well if, to everyone’s shock and amazement, you’ve failed, it’s simple – you re-apply and sit them again in a years’ time. But what do you want to do if you’ve passed?”
“If I’ve passed sir, I’ll have to see what’s available. I’m not in any hurry to make a decision but I’d prefer not to head back south again if I can avoid it”.
“Understood. Sometimes these things are out of our hands. I had to wait nearly a year to get the job I wanted. Turned down a couple of decent offers as well. Anyway, time for that later when we see which way the wind blows. Now to the appraisal. I know it’s a bit late what with one thing and another but how would you assess your own performance since you arrived here?”
Chapter 3
Even though he’d been expecting to face a frank and honest discussion, the directness of the first question shattered his fragile composure and he poured himself a glass of water from the jug already placed on the desk in front of him as
he tried to gather his thoughts.
“Not too bad I would say sir” he croaked. “I think I’ve learnt a lot and managed to make a contribution here and there”.
“You think catching three serial killers and putting away a notorious gangland villain inside your first 18 months can be classified as not too bad, eh” smiled Jack.
“Well perhaps a little better than that sir, but it’s not as if I did all that on my own. Team effort you know” replied Oliver nervously.
“True. Every resolution to a case involves teamwork, no doubt about that. But you would have to acknowledge that your input into all of these cases was critical”.
“Yes sir, I can see that” said Oliver, feeling his way into the conversation.
“Look, we both know that you’re not the type that likes to mess around with the normal type of appraisal questions so, cards on the table. You have all the makings of a good detective, if not a great one. I know no-one says that out loud, but it’s what everyone thinks, including me” said Jack.
“Thank you sir, it’s kind of you to say so” said Oliver sheepishly, “And yet, why do I get the feeling there might be a but coming”.
“Because there is. There’s no doubt you have what it takes to make a great detective. You have the ability to think like no-one else does, to see things that no-one else can see, and your attention to detail is second to none. Aye, you’ll make a great detective one day, I’m just not sure you’ll make a very good policeman”.
Oliver felt his heart plummet to meet the turmoil that was going on in his stomach. He fought to regain his departing composure and give an impression of calmness.
