by Bill James
‘I tell them all, including Dill, that we like to keep in touch – face-to-face, not just personnel files at headquarters,’ he said. ‘The human approach. Very much a part of modern police practice.’
‘Who?’
‘In what sense, ma’am?’
‘You said “we like to keep in touch”. Who likes to keep in touch?’
‘The whole command structure.’
‘Oh? Myself?’
‘Yourself, myself, the Chief Constable, Mr Tesler. Everyone concerned with leadership, surely. And a natural departmental interest – CID. I’m there at East Stead as CID Number Two, after all. Keep in touch with all levels. Oh, yes, very much a feature of modern police practice.’
‘Do you think they wear it?’
‘Who?’
‘The people you talk to. The officer who provided the people for you to talk to in a routine fashion.’
‘“Wear it” in what sense, ma’am?’
‘Do you think they believe there’s nothing exceptional in the visit, nothing secret – just some humanizing face-to-face, very much a feature of modern police practice?’
‘I keep it all informal.’
‘And general.’
‘Yes, and general.’
‘So, is it of any use to you?’ Esther said.
‘In what sense?’
‘If it’s all informal and general, what are you getting out of it? You’re there to discover more about Dill – her suitability or not for Out-location. In depth. That’s crucial. How do you do that if the talk is general? A tonne of chat with her and others and where does it take us?’
‘It has to be oblique, yes, so far. Uncommitted. Secure, at this juncture. I’m not going to come out with, “Look, Amy, I’d like you to think about undercover.” It would be premature.’
‘General in what sense?’ Esther replied.
‘Oh, yes, I’ll range across a number of seemingly random topics, always in a lightish tone, putting her and the others at ease.’
‘This is a clever girl, isn’t it?’
‘Dill?’
‘She’s the reason you’re over there.’
‘I’d say she’s clever, yes,’ Channing said.
‘We don’t really want her for the Cormax Turton job if she’s not, do we, Richard? She’s got to be clever enough to come back alive eventually, with usable insights and her legs the same length.’
‘It will be a big help if she’s clever, yes.’
‘That’s what I mean when I ask did she wear it.’
‘In what sense, ma’am?’
‘Did she guess you were bullshitting her by talking general in a lightish tone? Did she realize that the other people you met were only masks? Will the word go around?’
They were in Channing’s room at headquarters. He had a page of Dill’s CV on the computer screen and now replaced it by a series of dossier photographs captioned with dates and locations and covering her career from uniformed basic training depot and early service to plainclothes detective a few months ago.
‘What kind of general topics?’ Esther said.
‘Although they might be general, I could get good insights into her. That’s what I meant by oblique,’ Channing replied. ‘It’s a listening skill. I’m very much a believer in listening skills. I’d start an idea and then wait to see what she’d make of it, where she’d take it. This is how the listening comes in. What she opts for. It can be character-revealing.’
‘Do we know anything about her sex life?’
‘Listeners might appear merely passive, but not a bit of it in my case – something is happening throughout, and very much so,’ Channing replied. ‘Oh, very much so.’
‘There’s a poem called “The Listeners”.’
‘No surprise,’ he said.
‘It seems to be about a traveller banging very insistently and forcefully on a door while his horse champs the grass in the moonlight, but really it’s about those inside simply staying quiet and listening to him banging on the door.’
‘That would catch what I’m after exactly,’ Channing replied.
‘You’re not the one banging on her door?’
‘No, a listener.’
‘When you say “topics”, were they police topics?’
‘A range. I imposed no limits. It’s more productive. That’s why I call the chats informal.’
‘Where did she take it?’
‘What?’
‘The idea. The one you started.’
‘Yes, very various. A range.’
‘But not to do with undercover?’
‘Not at this juncture.’
‘Do you think she guessed it was actually to do with undercover? Maybe there’s a buzz about. People know we’re stymied on Cormax Turton after using ordinary methods for months and months. Would she pick up your real purpose? We agree she’s smart.’
‘Politics, sport, cookery – a spectrum,’ Channing replied.
‘Well, take cookery. What could you learn about her from that as a topic – relevant to undercover? Does she favour a particular kind of cuisine – say Mex or Estonian? Can you deduce something about her from that?
‘And then by a sort of lateral thinking on to some other subject. An amazingly smooth switch. Speedy.’
‘Is lateral thinking good for undercover? Well, I can see it might be.’
‘And all the time I’m observing her, without getting obtrusive, I hope, but really observing – her breathing, her eyes, speech patterns, hand movements. That kind of thing.’
‘Well, yes.’ Esther had seen the pictures of Dill before. They worried her then, and still did. Part of that worry she recognized as inane. It centred on the photographs of her in uniform. She looked so totally right as a police officer, although more beautiful than most. Strangers might queue to ask her street directions. Thieves might flee from her across warehouse roofs. Esther knew that almost anyone stuck into a police uniform would look like police, and it was absurd to think these photographs eliminated Dill from undercover because she seemed too obviously cop. Esther’s worries lingered, though.
‘Chief, when I say “lateral thinking” – that’s just a phrase, perhaps a bit high-falutin – when I say “lateral thinking” I don’t mean her mind skids about all over the place willy-nilly. She can bring it to bear, really bring it to bear. Your word – “clever”. A true brain there. If, for instance, we got her into Cormax Turton as a pusher she could handle all the selling side, no bother. She wouldn’t have trouble with price changes day by day on the street, or bulk discounts on stuff for, say, a wedding reception or Social Services conference in the Mutalle Centre. She’d be able to keep all that in her head and when she handed over takings to Palliative or Ambrose they’d be spot on, no cause for possibly awkward queries. This is important. We need to establish competence, reliability. We’ve got to lull. Someone who can give them an assured trading flair like that is sure to move up the system. And that’s what we’re after, isn’t it? She must get to the leadership and get trusted by the leadership – where the real information is.’
‘She’s a looker, isn’t she?’ Esther replied.
‘In what sense?’
‘The usual sense. A man about somewhere?’
He took a good squint at the pictures. ‘Yes, I suppose to a degree she could be called a looker.’
‘Is she as good as this in the flesh?’
‘In the flesh?’
‘Face-to-face. While you were observing her breathing and so on, I expect you noticed whether the photographs had her right.’
‘When I say “observing” I don’t so much mean gazing at her face and body in the usual sense, but observing her various reactions to what was going on. This is coupled with the “listening” technique I mentioned previously. It’s the sort of dual function of the interview, the two things complementary. I’m waiting for her to, as it were, emerge – letting her emerge.’
‘From?’
‘Yes, “emerge” is the word,
I think. I want the complete Amy Dill.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Time is necessary.’
‘When you observed her breath alternately emerging and getting sucked in what struck you about it?’ Esther replied.
‘About her breathing?’
‘This told you something?’
‘Very much in line.’
‘In line with what?’
‘When combined with other evidence.’
‘Her eyes, speech patterns, hand movements?’
‘The totality. One’s overall impression of her. The, as it were, Amy Dillness of her. Consistent.’
‘Consistent breathing must be a real plus,’ Esther said.
‘This is a remarkable officer, in my view.’
‘And did she do any listening?’
‘In what sense?’
‘You said you went in for a lot of listening, as in a quite passive state, but not really – seemingly passive, but in fact the opposite. All the time you were geared up. What about her, did she listen, or was she chewing the various topics non-stop? Did you do any of the talking, say about cookery or sport, while she listened? Reciprocal, as you mentioned. For instance, did you tell her about some hop-skip-and-jump at your school sports?’
‘My main aim was –’
‘It’s obviously vital she should be a listener, isn’t it? Undercover, she’s got to be able to manage that appearance of passivity we’ve spoken of. She has to find and record what Ambrose or Palliative, or Cornelius himself, are thinking and bring it back to you. That’s the acme of listening jobs. She needs to be present when such talk is taking place, but part of the background only, forgotten about, blending in. It’s what Keats calls “negative capability”. If you ask me, there’ll be a lot of blokes in Cormax Turton banging away and longing to get her door open, like the horseman in the poem, but she has to ignore all that and stick with the listening.’
‘I must have a look at this poem, and Keats.’
‘“The Listeners” is by Walter de la Mare. Clearly, he knew undercover first hand. They should get him into the Out-loc manual.’
‘Poise,’ Channing replied.
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘She has poise, you think?’
He chuckled with bemused satisfaction: ‘You know, ma’am, I’ve been trawling for the single word to describe her, and suddenly it was here, with me, and is so suitable I can hardly believe it took that long to surface. It must have been all the while in my subconscious.’
‘Break it down.’
‘In what sense?’
‘The subconscious idea of poise sneaked into your subconscious subconsciously because of her conversation and behaviour. But when you think back consciously instead of subconsciously you’ll probably say to yourself, “Yes, this, or this, or this, showed something that can only be called poise.” How exactly did it show itself?’
‘Not ostentatious. Not arrogance or presumptuousness. Those could go against her in undercover,’ Channing said. ‘They’d push her into prominence. They’d be the reverse of that passivity we spoke of as necessary.’
‘Poise is to be at the point of balance, as I understand it. Between what and what, though?’
‘In her case, poise will certainly turn out a plus.’
‘How do you see it functioning if she’s Out-located? What kind of situations?’
‘Yes, when she gets to Hilston Manor I’m certain the psychometrics will prove she’s exceptionally high on poise,’ he replied. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me to hear they’ve never recorded anything comparable in the poise category. The data reading will come up on her profile screen there and people will whistle and call others over to see.’
‘What about you?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘How do you respond to it?’
‘What?’
‘The poise.’
‘In what sense?’
‘The usual sense. Men could find it exciting in a woman, I imagine.’
‘Selling at street corners, or clubs or raves – that sounds furtive, menial, but some poise is needed even there,’ Channing said. ‘Customers have to be made to feel all right – safe and secure. Poise in the dealer will settle them, and bring them back next time. The recommendation goes around. They don’t use the word “poise” themselves – that’s a special sort of term. But they say about a dealer, “He/she’s all right,” “She/he knows the scene, really knows the scene,” “He/she’s always where he/she says he/she’ll be and at the time she/he says.” But what they’re really getting at is poise.’
‘It’s part of the charge if a dealer’s caught, isn’t it – trading in illegal substances while poised?’
Esther drove herself over to East Stead. She felt she owed that to Channing. Afterwards, she would tell him she’d been there. Definitely, she would. She wanted him to see she gave very serious attention to his approval of Amy Dill, before, of course, overruling him and turning her down. In fact, Esther had absolutely rejected Dill before leaving for East Stead and knew that nothing she saw there could affect her view. But so that Channing would not feel slighted or trampled, Esther meant to make a considerate show of open-mindedness. Channing obviously wanted Dill for the undercover duty. Her poise had won him and whatever poise meant for (a) the coming Cormax Turton infiltration; and also for (b) Channing personally.
Esther couldn’t tell which was the more influential with him, (a) or (b), but thought (b), though with (a) not a total non-starter. After all, if Dill failed in the job he would have no chance of scoring with her, because she would most likely be dead. So he could not altogether forget about (a) – because (b) depended on it.
For a few seconds Esther felt ashamed. God, what a cynical bit of reasoning that was. Where did such viciousness come from? Jealousy? Well, yes, maybe a kind of jealousy. ‘A kind of’? Which kind? Jealousy was jealousy, wasn’t it, destructive and pathetic? Did it anger her that Channing so gibberingly and obviously and verbosely fancied Dill? Yes, a bit. So, how big a bit? Esther thought she could fairly honestly say Channing rang few sexual bells for her, although to a point she liked him. He was affable, sceptical and sensible in a style she admired, and bright enough to keep up with her waggish talk and to tease her in mild, playful fashion: for instance, the way he had picked up her question, ‘In what sense?’ and repeatedly returned it; and his manner of killing certain questions by answering different ones; another trick he might have lifted from Esther, or from lags under interrogation.
He was thirty-eight, slim-to-thin, small-featured, un-tattooed on his arms, mousy hair very fashionably cut and arranged, nimble, cleft-chinned, alert. She found it pleasant to look at him after Gerald as he had become lately, but this amounted to very faint faint praise. No, Channing didn’t get to her hormones, at least so far, but, as to jealousy, she envied and nostalgized for Dill’s youthfulness, beauty, poise, if that meant anything. These combined could reach out and plainly, devastatingly wow a middle-aged, married-with-children, generally wise senior policeman. The pretence that he hadn’t noticed Dill’s attractiveness until Esther referred to it tickled her. And riled her. Esther might not want him herself at this juncture but it infuriated her to see the pull someone like Amy Dill worked on him. So, OK, a kind of jealousy, but a kind that Esther could tell herself, and keep telling herself, was sane, businesslike, responsible and humane.
Her reasoning – sharply slanted, as she knew – went like this: Channing seemed enraptured by Dill and this must affect his verdict on her suitability or not for Out-location; perhaps dangerously affect: his judgement had gone black-berrying. If the choice were left to Channing it would probably be made mainly for the wrong reason: pussy. One of the questions he’d dodged had been about her sex life. Perhaps he’d discovered she had one, a serious one, but Channing didn’t want to give it recognition, because he had plans. This could mean Dill suited Channing but not Out-loc. And that would increase the already plentiful hazards of
undercover: she might be unfit for the job and very liable to fail. Therefore, Esther decided she had a duty to veto Channing and possibly save Dill, but to show him managerial consideration while doing it. She wanted him to see that she gave every respectful attention to his selection before booting it out. Esther would be able to concoct major, credible reasons to give Channing for the rejection: probable harassment in Cormax Turton because of her looks; and possible Stockholm Syndrome. And these did count for something in her mind. Yes, for something. Memories of those sexual complications during her own undercover stint counted, too.
The scrutiny of Dill at East Stead could be kept to a glimpse, and should be kept to a glimpse. Esther would not give it much time. Certainly there would be no meeting and no talk. These might have affected Esther’s verdict. She wanted quick, formal confirmation that Dill emphatically ruled herself out of undercover by being too lovely. ‘You’re gorgeous, so no go, kid.’ ‘She’s a doll, Channing, so hard luck.’ It pissed Esther off in retrospect that nobody had considered her too sexy to be Out-located.
She got Dill’s shift pattern for the month on screen and then her private address. Today Dill should be working from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. Esther went to East Stead in an unrecognizable car from the pool and waited around lunchtime near the flat. It was like secret surveillance. Secret it had to be: she knew that a call at East Stead nick by yet another big-timer from headquarters would up the suspicions there that something special must be under way. Police lived by suspicion, especially of one another.
Dill had a flat at the top of a stately, stone-built Edwardian house in a suburban road near a big park. At just after 1 p.m., she came out alone and walked to her Clio on hard standing that must once have been the noble property’s noble front lawn. It was a dozen paces from the door to the car. That would do for what Esther wanted from this visit. Anything would do for what Esther wanted. She could now safely and destructively certify Amy Dill was beautiful in the way the screen pictures had shown her to be beautiful: skin perfect, nose straight, mouth wide and friendly, hair dark and cut short, eyes of indeterminate colour at this distance through the car window, but the dossier said brown, and they were unquestionably set in the right spots. Channing must have appreciated face-to-face with such a face. Esther thought that at one moment she caught a gleam from a diamond ring on Dill’s left hand. There was a fiancé, then? Did he share the flat with her?
