Tanya pulled a face. ‘Why are you being like that, Mr Banks? You never used to tell me off for putting my feet on the dashboard. You used to say that I had nice legs when you were stroking them.’ Tanya ran her hand slowly up her thigh, provocatively. ‘Don’t you like me any more?’
‘You never used to smoke or drink or, worse, sleep around.’
Tanya sat bolt upright. Larry pulled onto the side of the road, just short of the security lights. ‘I’ve got myself a boyfriend now, you know. He’s called Tariq and him and his friend are very good to me and my friends. I was supposed to be meeting him tonight.’ She pulled a face. ‘He’s going to go ape when I don’t turn up for the party. If I told him what that Faz, his brother, and the others did to me he’d kill ’em. I think Tariq loves me, Mr Banks.’
‘How old is this Tariq, Tanya?’
‘Not as old as you, Mr Banks.’ Tanya opened the door. ‘I can walk from here.’
‘And you promise me you’re going straight home, right?’
‘Aw, don’t be a spoilsport, Mr Banks. You’re going to have your little bit of fun, aren’t you?’ she said, winking an eye. As she got out of the car she said, ‘Thank you for the ride, Mr Banks. I know you’re only being protective, but I’m okay, really I am. I do what I have to do. You know, just like you.’
Larry scowled at her.
‘Do you want me to kiss you, or do you want something else? I’ll do anything you want for you, you know – just like old times.’
‘Get lost,’ Larry said. ‘I’m afraid you’re a lost cause, Tanya King.’
Chapter Eight
Tall, heavy set and bronzed, Terry Spence had recently completed thirty years in the force, having avoided dismissal by the skin of his teeth. Twenty-six of those years had been spent in the Traffic department. If Dylan had expected the typical mundane retirement ceremony that came together with the usual hollow accolades from the hierarchy and the customary goodbye speeches, then he couldn’t have been more wrong; but then Inspector Spence had survived the good ol’ boy system in the days when being a cop with a working two-way radio meant that you ruled the streets of Harrowfield.
Still only fifty years of age, Terry had a love of travel and, he told them in his speech, that was precisely what he intended to do for the rest of his time on this mortal sphere – use the skills he had gained in the force to inspect the rest of the world, with his beloved wife travelling alongside him in their newly purchased mobile home.
After he had spoken, various colleagues and family members stood up to say something. Their speeches all tended to include tales of various fixes the man who’d been nicknamed Teflon Terry had found himself in.
Throughout the speeches, the inspector appeared emotional, showing a side to his personality Dylan had never seen before. It seemed that he was yet another who had worn his professional mask well. Terry shook his head in denial when he received recognition for his ability and leadership and applauded those around him for their help in making his career all that it had been, often saving his neck.
During his wife’s short speech, she spoke of how much she loved and respected Terry, not only as her husband, but as a man and as her best friend.
During his own speech, broken up with raw emotion and near to tears, Terry had held his wife’s hand, gazing lovingly into her eyes as he spoke of his gratitude for her commitment, love and undying devotion to him and not least for her comradeship.
‘After the sights I’ve seen and the hefty workload we all endure, I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve often been driven to the depths of despair but, petite as she is, she has always managed to pick me up … No, I couldn’t have done any of it without this lady’s love and support.’
After the speeches, Terry stood up to hug his comrades in the same way that he hugged the members of his family. Finally, he looked about the room and wished his colleagues well, obviously aware that his life would never be the same again.
‘I’m one of the lucky ones,’ he said to Dylan afterwards. ‘I have been given the precious gift of being able to leave it all behind and to live my life as I choose from now on. Not everyone has that privilege. There’s only so much trauma, sadness and inhumanity that one person can digest. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it; but there comes a time when we are forced to admit it to ourselves. And now the time has come for me to leave everything in the capable hands of the next generation and just hope that I’ve managed to teach my brood enough to be able to cope with whatever life throws at them.’ Terry nodded towards his young team congregated round the bar and smiled the smile of a proud man.
What Dylan had heard in Terry’s speech had stuck a chord. He felt a twinge of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was it envy? And, if so, what exactly was he envious of? Was it that Terry had done his time? Retirement sounded fun. Or was it the way in which he and his wife behaved together?
The DJ stopped the music and announced a request for a record. Terry searched the room for his wife. Dylan watched him go to her, take her by the hand and lead her to the dance floor where he put his arms around her and whispered in her ear. She looked down, a little coy. Then he put one hand on the back of her head and gently laid it on his shoulder. There was no doubt, like Frank Sinatra sang, Terry did it ‘My Way’.
What Dylan could see in front of him was real, longstanding love and what he had with Kay, at home, was far from it. He didn’t want to live that way any more …
Jennifer Jones had been delighted to be asked to Teflon’s retirement do. Although she was quiet and unassuming, she felt as if she was beginning to be an accepted part of the social scene of the police family. It hadn’t been easy for her to relocate, moving three hundred miles from her birthplace – a little village on the slow-paced Isle of Wight where she’d had the most idyllic childhood – to live in a multicultural town which was very different from what she’d been used to. But, as she saw it, she’d had no choice. The further away she was from the island the better. Either Shaun needed to move away when he ended their relationship (and that was never going to happen with a new woman in his sights), or she did.
‘How are you coping with our Northern climate? I hear it’s ten degrees colder up here than where you come from,’ Dawn asked the tall blonde, who was standing alongside their colleague, the even taller, highly efficient and experienced CID administrative assistant, Rita Murray. After spending twenty-five years in police admin, what Reet didn’t know about the job, or about the officers who confided in her, was nobody’s business. One of the lads, Rita could knock up any file from an officer’s pocket book and make it fit for court purposes and for that reason alone, the officers would have loved and respected her above many of their superiors.
Jen smiled. ‘It’s certainly different from what I’m used to. But I remembered to bring my woollies.’
Rita put an arm around her shoulders. ‘She’s already joined the aerobics class. And I’ve told her, if she moves fast enough, she’ll not catch her death.’
Jen looked around the room, running her eyes along the line of dark wooden four-legged stools with their red velvet seats lined up in front of the bar. To the right of the bar mirror was an assortment of spirit bottles and different sized drinking glasses placed on two glass shelves. A fire door stood at the top of the steps, which lead to the gym, changing rooms and viewing balcony. Surrounded by her new colleagues, Jen felt safe in a way she hadn’t done for a long while, secure in the knowledge that her new police family would protect her. So secure, in fact, that as she listened to their banter in the happy and supportive environment, she could finally visualise having the courage to tell Martin it was over.
Starting a relationship so soon after the break-up of another, especially a long-standing relationship, had never been a good idea, she had to admit – but she’d been lonely. Martin had helped her through the loneliness and then, like others before her she now knew, she had been well and truly won over by Martin’s mask of bonhomie and charm.
/> Her new role in the police had opened her eyes in many ways and, one day, as she typed up some files on cases involving victims of domestic abuse, she had started to recognise her own situation in them. She became aware that Martin was luring her into a dangerous cycle, one in which idealisation sat alongside a cruel devaluation of her self-worth. It was a comfort-punishment dynamic which would end up destroying her if she allowed it to continue. To have been given these files to work on seemed like serendipity.
She had already questioned several times the stupidity of his behaviour, having come up against his seemingly boundless jealousy. She had discovered first-hand that his ex-partner wasn’t crazy, as he’d delighted in telling her when they’d first got together. Jen had worked with her in the last few days of the temporary employment where she’d first met Martin, and she and Jo had got along just fine. And, although she had refused point blank Jo’s offer of help and support to get away from him, Jo had confided in Jen her reasons for finally having the courage to end the relationship.
Now Jen had come to her senses at long last, realising that Martin was a malignant narcissist whose actions had depleted and drained her. He tried to make her question her own actions simply because he feared she was growing in courage and strength. The truth was she had only stayed with Martin so long because she couldn’t bear to think she had failed again already, and so soon after leaving the Isle of Wight. She’d been with Shaun since she was a schoolgirl. What would her parents say if they knew she’d already had a failed relationship in the North.
Earlier in the evening, though, Martin had thrown another tantrum when she had announced she was going out with her colleagues, threatening that he might not be at home when she returned. Fortunately for her, her new post as a police civilian had given her the courage to stand up for herself and her own happiness. Never again would she allow anyone to dominate her. From now on she would be her own person.
Leaving one group of people to talk to another, Larry Banks fleetingly grabbed Dylan’s arm as he passed. It broke Dylan’s reverie. ‘I’ll be back in just a second. I’ll just get us a refill,’ he said after devouring everything on his heavily laden plate and swilling it down with the remainder of his pint.
At the bar Larry bought a glass of red wine too and, on his way back to Dylan, after gently placing his hand on Jennifer Jones’s shoulder and smiling into her upturned face, he put it down on the table in front of her. The music was extremely loud. ‘Welcome to the Division,’ he whispered in her ear.
Jen, who had her back to where Larry had gone to stand back with Dylan, looked bemusedly at Rita.
‘Detective Sergeant Larry Banks,’ Rita said. ‘He should really have been called Reynard, it would have been far more suitable.’
‘Reynard?’ Jen looked puzzled.
‘He’s as crafty as an old fox. You want the run-down? Spends more time on the sun bed,’ she nodded towards the gym, ‘than any woman I know. Chases anything in a skirt.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry, kiddo.’
Jen drew back. ‘Oh, God no, don’t be. Please go on.’
‘He’s been married twice, no kids. He’s a charmer.’ Rita’s face turned serious. ‘Look, you’re the new girl on the block. First few weeks, they’ll all be like bees around a honey pot, and rest assured, that sort, they’re all bad news. Most of ’em carry a lot of baggage and their latest conquests soon become common knowledge. You mark my words, girl. He’s after one thing and one thing only. Don’t be fooled by the charm.’
Dylan shook his head at Larry. ‘You never give up, do you?’
Larry’s eyes were still on Jen and Rita. ‘Have you met the new member of admin? I copped her in the gym. I think I’m in there …’ he said with a wink.
Chubby Ned Granger was within earshot. ‘She’s way out of your league, boss. More my type, I think,’ he said, nodding his curly head and giving Larry one of his greasy smiles.
Dylan looked at Larry and slowly shook his head. ‘Have you ever thought that she might be married, or already have a partner?’
Larry’s eagerness would not be dampened. ‘Ah, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s happy, though, does it? She might just fancy a taste of the finer things in life.’
‘And maybe she’s intelligent enough to know that all that sparkles is not golden, in your case.’ Dylan laughed. ‘You’re like a dog on heat. Do you think of nothing else but getting your leg over?’
‘Hey, I don’t force them, you know.’ Larry raised his glass. ‘It’s going down a treat tonight,’ he said. His voice rose. ‘Your very good health everyone.’ He toasted them all, raising his glass higher. A cheer went up and Jen looked round.
‘Look at her. She looks as if she needs a little bit of care and attention so, let’s face it, she may as well try the best first.’ Larry sniggered. ‘That’s all I’m saying, boss, all I’m saying.’
‘Seems it’s anything with a pulse in your world, Larry,’ said Ned. ‘When you gonna grow up and not be led by your dick?’
‘At least, for me, they have to have a pulse,’ Larry said, rewarding himself with a head-thrown-back laugh. ‘I think it’s your round.’
Ned looked a little embarrassed as he turned the coins over in his pocket. Dylan sensed his unease and took both his glass and Larry’s to the bar, apologising to those he had to sidestep as he wove his way through the crowd, dodging tables and chairs.
Jen turned as he walked by on his way back from the bar, her smile lingering until his eyes fell on her. He passed by without stopping, heading towards Dawn who, with her bobbed dark hair, bore a striking resemblance to her namesake, Dawn French, Jen thought.
‘Isn’t she the lucky one to have a husband who’s a chef?’ said Rita.
The two watched Dawn join the men and Jen stood in awe of any woman who could hold her own with those formidable characters.
‘You’re drinking too much these days, Larry,’ Dawn said.
‘Who are you, my mother? I only drink until I fall over and start spilling it.’
‘That’s not funny. You need to be more careful.’
‘I am careful. I hardly spill any!’ Again, he threw back his head and laughed raucously.
‘I’ve told him, women and booze will be his downfall, but will he listen?’ said Dylan.
‘Hey, I’m not hitched like you two. I don’t have to answer to anyone.’ He lifted an unsteady head and counted off his fingers one by one. ‘Sex, booze and money to buy other nice things,’ he said, ‘and in that order. Grab it while you can, that’s my motto. Live, and let live!’ Larry leaned in towards Dawn. ‘Have you heard those bastards at headquarters are trying to close down this bar?’
‘Being chased down the street by a knife-wielding husband or receiving death threats from another is not my idea of fun, but whatever floats your boat,’ said Dawn.
‘Ah …’ he said, as he tried to focus on the beautifully embroidered hankie she had taken from up her sleeve to wipe her mouth. ‘I’m more careful these days. I’ve taken to not wearing socks so I can get away quicker when the chase is on.’ Larry wobbled on one foot in an attempt to show her his feet. He tittered as he grabbed her arm to steady himself. ‘I have to use all the tricks of the trade nowadays. I can’t run as fast as I used to.’
Didn’t Dawn know it well, the way the demon drink innocently crept up on people and, before they knew it, they had a problem: a massive problem.
Larry excused himself and headed for the toilet.
‘Sadly, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,’ said Dylan.
‘At least he’ll die happy,’ said Dawn.
Terry’s wife had planned the tribute painstakingly, right down to the last detail. Her choice of song was from his favourite artist, Matt Monro, and soon the DJ announced the last dance. When the tune to ‘Softly As I Leave You’ filled the room the lyrics were apt in more ways than one and brought a tear to the most hardened of hearts as they waved goodbye, leading Dylan to wonder whether he would ever be loved in the same way
as Terry’s wife loved him.
He sincerely hoped so …
Chapter Nine
By the time Kenny Fisher had found a good spot from which to view the house, the sun had nearly set and, although the moon was almost full, he chose to remain in its shadows.
Kay woke up alone and in almost complete darkness, her face mashed into her favourite cushion. The only light was from the flashing of the TV. Tentatively, she lifted her head very slightly and, with a plaintive moan, immediately dropped it back down. Her neck ached and the pink velvet cushion felt soggy, thoroughly dampened by her drool. As she was shocked back into reality, a warm fuzziness began to pound inside her brain, swelling to a crescendo in time with the beat, it seemed, of the loud banging at the door.
‘For God’s sake,’ she groaned between gritted teeth as she propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Why’d you not take your key?’ Sitting up sharply, and grimacing from the resultant pain, she slowly rubbed her jaw, turning to look towards the door. Had she only imagined it? Then it came again: bang … Bang … BANG!
No, there was nothing wrong with her hearing. Kay rolled off the sofa.
‘Do you want to wake …?’ she began, as she unlocked the front door. When she saw who was there, her stomach lurched and her heart began to race. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said to Kenny. Instinctively, she wrapped her robe tightly around her. She stepped out into the darkness, goosebumps covering her bare arms. ‘I thought we had an understanding?’ She pulled the door to behind her, in the hope that Isla wouldn’t hear them. ‘You know the house is off limits now that he’s back.’
Poetic Justice Page 7
