by David Blake
Instinctively, he glanced around, looking for its source. In the corner, beneath the glass partition that looked out into the open-plan office, sat a chrome coffee percolator on a low table, burbling away quietly to itself.
Seeing what he was looking at, Barrington closed the door and asked, ‘Can I get you anything to drink? A coffee, perhaps?’
‘Oh, um…’ began Tanner. Normally when asked such a question he’d automatically say no, but not because he didn’t like coffee. Quite the opposite; he loved the stuff, and was a self-confessed addict. However, he was also something of a connoisseur, and would only drink the instant variety that was normally offered to him, like the one he’d been forced to buy for his boat, out of pure desperation. However, on this occasion, he was happy to break with tradition, and said, ‘That would be good, thank you.’
As Barrington began pouring coffee into two white china cups, he asked, ‘When did you arrive?’
‘Yesterday afternoon,’ said Tanner.
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk, thank you.’
‘Whereabouts are you staying?’
‘Oh, er, on a boat, actually,’ he replied, a little self-consciously. ‘But it’s only until I can find something more permanent.’
Barrington passed one of the cups to Tanner. ‘A boat! That sounds very adventurous!’
With the hint of a smile, Tanner said, ‘If by that you mean uncomfortable, then I’d have to agree with you.’
Barrington gestured for Tanner to sit, as he did so himself. He took a sip from his coffee, and then set down the cup on its matching saucer. ‘Now listen, Tanner, I’m going to be completely honest with you. You weren’t my first choice for this position. In fact, I’d have to say that you weren’t my choice at all! It’s nothing personal, it’s just that I prefer officers with local knowledge, preferably those who’ve been brought up in the area, or at least who’ve spent a good few years working in Norfolk. I personally believe that local knowledge is the key to successful policing, especially here, and frankly, you don’t have any!’
‘I know, but–’ began Tanner, but Barrington interrupted him. ‘On top of that are the reasons you asked for the transfer.’
Tanner could feel a hot surge of anger flow through his body, pumping blood up towards his neck and face as it did. He wasn’t expecting to have what had happened to his daughter brought up in the conversation, at least not in such a disparaging manner, and found himself already beginning to resent the man sitting opposite him for doing so.
Forcing himself to remain calm, Tanner said, ‘And as I’ve explained before, the circumstances–’
‘You don’t need to explain, Tanner,’ interrupted Barrington. ‘I’ve read your file. What happened to your daughter was just… Well… I have children myself. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for you. But that aside, it’s hardly a reason to offer someone a job, now is it?’
‘No, but–’
‘I don’t need a bunch of lame ducks working here whose only interest in doing so is that they fancy a cushy alternative to life in the Met. We may not be London, but the Broads can be just as challenging, especially during the silly season. I don’t know if anyone has bothered to tell you, but we have over eight million visitors piling into the place every summer, which puts a tremendous strain on staff and budget alike. I really can’t afford to have people stationed here whose sole interest is to mope about feeling sorry for themselves!’
From the seething look on Tanner’s face, it was fairly obvious that even if someone had told him that they had over eight million visitors a year, at that moment he didn’t give a shit.
Realising that he may have been a little indelicate when bringing up his guest’s presumed reason for putting in for a transfer, Barrington said, ‘Anyway, you’re here now, and you certainly had a glowing reference. Who was your referee again? I seem to remember it was someone fairly high up.’
As Barrington took hold of his mouse and glanced at his monitor, Tanner replied, ‘Commander Matthew Bardsley.’
His referee, the man who’d offered him the use of his yacht, was one of the highest-ranking police officers in the UK.
‘He’s a close family friend,’ he added, with deliberate intent. Tagging that on to the end would make him virtually untouchable; at least it would stop Barrington from making any more snide remarks concerning either himself or his daughter.
Barrington repeated, ‘Commander Bardsley, that’s right!’ After pretending to re-read what had been a glowing reference, he added, ‘Well, he certainly holds you in high regard.’
‘He and my father were friends long before joining the police. He’s known me all my life.’
Before Barrington discovered that they were members of the same golf club, and played together every Sunday afternoon, he clicked the file closed and said, ‘Well anyway, as I said, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that we prefer to take on locals. And it’s for that reason I’m going to put you on Missing Persons, for now at least.’
Barrington studied Tanner, trying to gauge his reaction to the news that he was going to be working on what they’d normally assign to a lowly police constable. He was even half-expecting to have to defend his decision. But all Tanner did was to stare straight back at him.
Tanner wouldn’t care even if he’d been put on Missing Pets. He wasn’t going to admit it, but Barrington was right; he had been looking for a less challenging role. He’d happily quit the Force if he had the slightest clue as to what he could do instead. He couldn’t afford to retire, which would have been his first choice. Taking up a position within the Norfolk Constabulary had been Commander Bardsley’s suggestion. Bardsley had grown up in the Broads, and had heard on the grapevine that Wroxham had an opening for a Detective Inspector.
Admittedly there’d been a time, and not all that long ago either, when Tanner would have laughed at anyone suggesting he’d actively seek a position in what his colleagues referred to as Holiday Land, a term they gave to any constabulary located outside of the Metropolitan Police catchment. Back then he’d thrived on working within the pumping heart of one of the world’s largest cities, feeding from its energy like so many millions of others did. When he’d first joined, he’d even been naïve enough to think that he could make a difference, in the same way he thought his father had. But everything had changed when he found himself sitting helplessly by as his only child was slowly sucked ever deeper into what he now thought of as London’s putrefying core, to end up half-naked in a gutter as just another discarded corpse. Only then did he understand that he’d been kidding himself. What he’d actually been doing was trying to make a name for himself. That was what had pushed him to spend an ever-increasing amount of time away from home: the pursuit of self-gratification. Nothing more! He knew that if he’d made an effort to be around for her, she wouldn’t have deliberately started to hang out with boys she knew he’d disapprove of in a desperate attempt to get his attention. They were the ones who introduced her to the club scene, always leaving her to catch a cab on her own afterwards, high on God knows what. It was only after she’d been murdered that he found out about the cocaine-fuelled sex parties she’d started to frequent with the same group of so-called “friends”. Not being allowed to investigate her murder had been the last straw, even though he knew it was the rule, and it left him resenting the very establishment he worked for, who didn’t seem to understand that he had to find out who’d killed her. After all, what was the point of working for the CID if he wasn’t even allowed to help?
Barrington began to feel a little uncomfortable. ‘Anyway, Missing Persons will help you to familiarise yourself with the area and get to know some of the locals. It will also give you a chance to settle in and find your feet. I know it’s a long way beneath your pay grade, and tracking down husbands who’ve left their wives, and vice versa, is going to be a little dull, but you’ll have to put up with it, for now at least. One came in this morning. Someone’s wife. Probably aft
er a domestic. So if it’s OK by you, we’ll start you off on that.’
With still no response forthcoming, Barrington pushed himself away from his desk. ‘Right then! I’d better introduce you to everyone.’
CHAPTER SIX
AS SOON AS they were outside the office, DCI Barrington called out, ‘May I have everyone’s attention, please?’ He gazed around the open plan area, waiting patiently for those who weren’t on the phone to turn towards him, and for those who were, to either end their calls, or at least to lower their voices.
It had been a very long time since Tanner had been introduced like this, not since he’d first started working at Colindale Police Station. He’d not liked it then, and he certainly didn’t like it now.
When he was sure that virtually everyone in the office was looking his way, Barrington continued, ‘I’d like to introduce you all to Detective Inspector John Tanner. He’s here to replace Tommy, who as you all know is now enjoying a very much deserved retirement.’
A murmur of approval followed.
Until his retirement a few weeks earlier, Tom, or Tommy as he’d been affectionately known, had been based at Wroxham Police Station since he’d first joined the Force, way back in the early 1970s.
‘Having worked for the Metropolitan Police for over twenty years, Detective Inspector Tanner brings with him a vast amount of experience, which I’m sure we’re all going to find invaluable.’
The news that the DI was from London sent a series of whispered comments around the room. It was unusual for a Detective Inspector to move up from London to Norfolk, especially one who still looked relatively young, and the suspicion would be that there must be a reason behind it, other than as being part of a promotion.
‘He comes highly recommended,’ added Barrington. ‘Now, obviously he doesn’t have the local knowledge that you all have, but I’m relying on you to give him the support and guidance he’ll need. To help speed up that process, I’ve temporarily assigned him to Missing Persons. I think that’ll probably be the quickest way for him to find his feet.’
Barrington took a moment to glare around at everyone, so driving home the point of his intended remarks; that although none of them probably wanted Tanner there, especially him, the sooner they accepted the fact that he was, the sooner they could get things back to how they were before Tommy had shuffled into his office to announce his retirement.
‘Good. Right! And I believe we had a report come in this morning that someone’s wife isn’t where she’s supposed to be. Who’s working on that?’
Near the door that led out into reception, a girl wearing blue jeans and a dark top raised her hand. She was slim and attractive, had shoulder-length black hair, pale skin, and sparkling blue eyes.
‘Detective Constable Evans, if you could brief DI Tanner on where you’re at with it. And as you know the Broads just about as well as anyone around here, it would be helpful if you could work together on Missing Persons for a while.’
‘But sir!’ came a voice of protest from the other side of the room, near the whiteboard.
Tanner saw that it was the same man he’d seen answer the phone earlier, when he’d first walked in.
‘Yes, Burgess, what is it?’ asked Barrington, his voice taking on a distinct edge of irritability.
‘Well, DC Evans has been working with us on the boat break-ins for months now, sir.’
‘You’ve still got Cooper and Gilbert, haven’t you?’
‘Yes sir, but–’
‘And as you said, it has been months!’
It was clear from the emphasis that Barrington intended it as a reprimand, albeit a veiled one, and it was enough to end the discussion. To further ensure that the subject was closed, Barrington rounded off the brief introduction by saying, ‘Right! That’s it for now. Carry on!’
As everyone in the room returned to what they’d been doing before, Barrington led Tanner over to the young Detective Constable who’d raised her hand earlier. She was sitting within a cluster of desks along with two uniformed officers, a man and a woman, both in their early twenties, who were now staring at their computer monitors with some intensity as the senior officers approached.
‘Good morning, Jenny. I trust you had a good weekend?’
Without smiling, she stood up and said, ‘Very good, thank you, sir,’ stealing a quick glance at the new DI as she did.
‘Detective Inspector John Tanner, this is Detective Constable Jenny Evans. So, what’s this missing persons report about? I hear someone’s wife has gone walkabout.’
‘The person in question is Jane Richardson, sir,’ Jenny said. ‘Her husband is Simon Richardson. They live just the other side of the railway bridge. He called it in this morning. He’d been away for the weekend, and she wasn’t around when he came back last night.’
‘I assume she was supposed to be?’
‘He seemed to think that she was, sir, yes.’
‘Do you think it sounds serious?’
‘I’d say probably not, sir, no. Not yet, at any rate. When I questioned him, he said that it wasn’t the first time she’d gone off to stay with friends for a few days without letting him know. So at the moment we’re rating it as a low priority.’
‘That sounds about right, but you may as well head out to have a chat with him anyway, face to face. It will give you the opportunity to give DI Tanner a tour of the town.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jenny, glancing momentarily at Tanner.
‘Before you do that, if you could show him where Tommy’s desk was, I believe we agreed to set him up there. And assuming the space is still free next to him, you may as well move over there yourself, when you get a chance.’
‘Yes, sir!’ she repeated, this time with the merest hint of a smile.
‘By the way, when’s your Sergeant’s exam?’
‘Not until October, sir.’
Turning to Tanner, Barrington said, ‘Jenny’s just come off one of the new trainee detective courses, and she’s already eying up her Sergeant’s! Anyway, I’d better leave you to it.’ He headed back to his office, leaving Tanner and Jenny alone together, unsure as to which one of them was going to say something first.
With a flirtatious smile, Jenny eventually said, ‘I suppose I’d better show you where your new desk is, hadn’t I?’
Leading him over to the next cluster of desks along, she stopped behind a chair and rested her hands on the back of it.
‘This is where Tommy sat.’
Stopping beside her, Tanner looked at his new desk, which appeared to have only just been cleared in preparation for his arrival, as it was dust free and had nothing on it but the basic essentials.
‘I assume you’ve been set up to use the intranet?’ Jenny said.
Tanner stared back down at his desk again, but this time with a tight feeling of nervous expectation. ‘I’ve been sent a login and password, yes,’ he replied. He had no choice but to look at this as being a fresh start, even if it wasn’t one he particularly wanted. He knew that if he didn’t, his life would effectively be over. Squaring his shoulders, he looked back at Jenny, and with a deep intake of breath said, ‘Sorry, what was your name again?’
With a not very amused smile, Jenny replied, ‘It’s DC Evans, but everyone around here calls me Jenny.’
‘Right, DC Evans who everyone calls Jenny, I suppose we’d better arrange to have a chat with that Mr – Richards, wasn’t it?’
‘Richardson,’ she corrected. ‘Let me give him a call to find out when he’s free.’
Tanner watched her return to her own desk before sitting cautiously down in his new chair.
Having swivelled it from side to side a couple of times he checked the eye level of the monitor, then felt for the lever to adjust the chair’s height. Once it was set to his satisfaction, he peered under the desk and reached to turn on the computer that he found lurking there. When it sprang into life, he pulled out his phone to look up his login and password.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a cold, overcast day, more like January than April. Tanner walked briskly towards his car, unlocking it with the key fob.
Catching up to him, Jenny was surprised to see the rather dated Jaguar in desperate need of a good clean. ‘Is that yours?’
Feeling it was probably too early in their relationship to come back with a sarcastic remark, such as, ‘Actually no. I stole it on my way over here,’ instead Tanner replied, ‘It is, yes.’
‘And you bought it on purpose, or was it the second prize in a lucky dip competition?’
Reaching the driver’s side door, Tanner paused. For someone so young, she certainly seemed confident enough; perhaps a little too much so. But at least she had a sense of humour.
‘It was actually the first prize,’ he said, placing his hand under the unpolished chrome handle and pulling the door open.
Jenny looked the car up and down as if it was a friend who’d made a very poor wardrobe choice, and wrinkling up her small pointed nose said, ‘You don’t think it’s a little…Eighties?’
Having been about to climb in, Tanner stared over the car’s low roof at her. He was used to colleagues making remarks about his car, but they were normally more complimentary. He’d had complete strangers walk up to him to comment on it, but again in more positive ways, often relating a story about how they’d either once had one, or knew someone who had. A few years earlier, he’d even had it pawed over by a group of firemen. He’d found them surrounding it after he’d left it parked on a London street. At first he’d assumed the worst, that it had caught fire somehow, but that hadn’t been the case. They’d finished attending a nearby false alarm and before heading back, had decided to take a closer look. Of course, in those days he’d kept it spotless, but even though that was hardly the case now, that was the sort of reaction he was used to. The XJS was after all becoming increasingly rare, certainly ones in the condition his was in, or would be if he could motivate himself enough to give it a clean.
