by Faith Martin
Hillary glanced over at the movable tray beside her bed. It was filled with bags of fruit, a couple of vases of flowers, a book of crossword puzzles and now, a bottle of lemon barley squash.
‘You brought lemon barley?’ Hillary said. ‘Most people bring grapes.’
‘I know you like lemon barley,’ Mel said, surprised.
‘Yeah, and how do you know?’ Hillary asked. ‘Because we’ve been friends for ever, that’s why,’ she answered her own question. ‘So let’s not indulge in any more breast-beating, yeah? Someone was going to shoot us, and I made sure we both hit the deck. I only got winged because there was more of me to get shot at, that’s all. I always said you were a skinny little git.’
* * *
After Mel left, the nurses came round to take blood, check pills had been taken, and monitor blood pressure. Hillary’s particular favourite, a little brown sparrow of a girl called Tracy Wall, wasn’t there, but another nurse brought with her a copy of the Oxford Mail. And sure enough, there on the front page was a picture of a younger Hillary, and the confirmation of Fletcher’s death and a large drugs haul. To please everyone, Hillary read it. It did indeed mention that she was in line for a police medal for gallantry.
She was saved from having to accept everyone’s congratulations and sly hints for her to give them some inside gen by the arrival of Superintendent Marcus Donleavy.
He looked like a banker — grey/silver suit, grey/silver hair, grey/silver eyes. He fairly radiated power and prestige, and the nurses and curious patients melted away at his approach. Hillary was not surprised when Donleavy pulled the curtains around, giving them some privacy. He sat close to her and put a small tape recorder on the tray beside her bed, letting her see it was running. So, this was to be an official debriefing.
Hillary nodded.
‘So, DI Greene. What can you tell me about the events last night?’
* * *
The next morning, Mel came back. He brought a box of chocolates with him. ‘Since you don’t have to diet anymore, I thought you might like these,’ he said, sitting down.
‘You rotten sod,’ Hillary said, and added heavily, ‘Donleavy came by last night.’
‘I know. He’s heading up the internal inquiry.’ There was a certain air of satisfaction about the way Mel said that that had her radar instantly sending out a ‘bleep’ of interest.
‘You think the man from the Met might be out on his ear?’ she asked. She could understand why that would please Mel. Superintendent Raleigh was always going to be a thorn in her old friend’s side. He’d been given the job that Mel had thought was his, for a start. Now it looked as if he’d come a cropper, and who could blame Mel for having a good old gloat?
Mel shrugged. ‘Well, let’s just say Raleigh jumped the gun. He didn’t follow procedure, hell, didn’t even stick to the plan. And as a result, a senior female police officer was shot. So he’s hardly going to get any brownie points, is he?’
Hillary sighed, not liking the sound of that. ‘So I’m going to be the stick they use to beat him up with? Wonderful.’
‘Come on, it won’t matter to you. Anyway, he’s bound to be transferred out of Thames Valley.’
Hillary nodded, then shot him a quick look. ‘Ah. Which means they’ll need to appoint an acting super for a while. Has he been suspended yet?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘How’s he taking it all?’ Hillary asked, genuinely curious.
‘I’m not sure,’ Mel said, after a thoughtful pause. ‘You’d think he’d be miffed. Not showing it, of course, but definitely antsy. But I don’t know. He looks tired, but not . . . I don’t know. He almost seems to be . . . up, somehow. You know, like a man who’s been vindicated, instead of possibly in the shit.’
Hillary frowned. This was still making no sense to her. Then Mel cleared his throat, and Hillary shot him a quick glance. She knew that throat-clearing gesture of old. It didn’t bode well.
‘Since you’re going to be off work for some time to come, I’ve decided to put Janine in working charge of the Malcolm Dale case,’ Mel said quickly. ‘Well, I can’t let Frank Ross run the show, and Tommy’s too junior,’ he rushed on, giving her no chance to object. ‘I’ll keep an overall eye on things, naturally.’
Hillary stared at him for a moment, thought about it, opened her mouth, then closed it again. She waited until he was looking at her before she let him have it with both barrels.
‘You’re going to dump her, aren’t you?’ she accused flatly. ‘You can practically taste that promotion to acting super, and know that if you want it, you’re going to have to jettison the baggage. And you think that giving her her own case will help get her off your back.’
Mel flushed but didn’t deny it. ‘It’s time to get back on track, Hill. Come on, be fair. Who else can take over the case while you’re away?’
Hillary shook her head.
First you get shot nearly in the backside, then you have to accept a medal, then your blonde bombshell of a sergeant gets to run your case while you sit in a narrowboat and twiddle your thumbs, going slowly mad with boredom.
Whatever it was that she’d done in a previous life to deserve this, she hoped it had been worth it.
CHAPTER NINE
Superintendent Jerome Raleigh slowly steepled his fingers together and met the eyes of the man sitting across from him. His desk, stretching between them like a no-man’s land, was unusually clear. Perhaps because his workload had suddenly lessened. A clue perhaps of things to come?
He said as much to his superior officer.
Chief Superintendent Marcus Donleavy shrugged. ‘Until we can clear up the events of that night to everyone’s satisfaction, you’re still, technically, in the saddle. But nobody’s anxious to load you up with new cases or committee appointments, at least not until they’re sure how things will pan out.’
Jerome smiled thinly. ‘Can’t say as I blame them. And how long do you think it’s likely to be before that happens?’
Again, Marcus shrugged. ‘Depends how quickly the evidence can be sifted, and how fast the review board can process it. But it might get bogged down because the TFI are going to fight their corner every inch of the way, and are adamant that they’re not going to take any flak over this.’
Jerome Raleigh nodded. ‘Nor should they,’ he agreed quietly.
Marcus watched the man from the Met as he leaned back slightly in his swivel chair, making it creak slightly. His steepled hands fell to the arm rests and lay limply. ‘Is that an admission that the faults all lie with you?’ he asked curiously.
Jerome shrugged. ‘If blame has to be apportioned, then yes. Do you think it will?’ he asked, the question either very candid, or unbelievably naive. And Marcus Donleavy didn’t think the man was naive. Which meant he was asking for honesty.
Suddenly he sighed, and they were just two men who’d managed to climb the ladder high. Up until now, Donleavy had had no complaints about the man who’d taken over his old job. He’d seemed to settle in and he’d heard no management complaints or grumbling from the lower orders. And certainly nobody had doubted his dedication to putting away the scum. So was this Fletcher fiasco just a glitch? Or was it indicative of a more ingrained problem? But then, surely a man couldn’t reach the position of super without somebody noticing if he were either reckless or stupid. And what had happened during the Fletcher raid had to be either one or the other.
Marcus frowned, then realised the man was still waiting for his answer. He thought carefully before speaking. ‘Unless something drastic happens, I think we’re OK,’ he finally said, a shade reluctantly. ‘The killing by the TFI man of Marcus Shandy has already been ruled justified, as has that of the killing of Conroy. The fact that Hillary’s injuries weren’t serious also helped your cause. The TFI are making it clear you came in too early and without clearance, but nobody’s looking to cut you off at the knees for that. And with the killer of Fletcher also dead, it’s not looking nearly as bad as it could.’<
br />
In other words, Raleigh thought, the brass considered it best to keep it in-house and sweep it under the carpet, and content itself with giving him a rap over the knuckles.
So, with a bit of luck, he could simply take his medicine, keep his head down, and get on with things. The only two flies in the ointment were Ross and Greene.
Raleigh was confident that Ross was too shit-scared to grass. But Greene might be a problem. She was too smart by half — and, incidentally, the last person in the world he’d wanted to get shot. Good coppers were too few and far between to lose any of them. Yes, in spite of the fact that she worried him, Jerome Raleigh still felt guilty about what had happened to Hillary Greene.
But that didn’t stop him from looking out for number one; he still needed to know if he was safe. He shifted in his chair and glanced past Donleavy, to stare at the wall. ‘I’m really sorry about DI Greene,’ he said flatly. ‘That was never meant to happen,’ he added, sincerely. For one thing, he knew that a wounded and pissed off Hillary Greene was probably far more dangerous than a merely curious DI Greene. ‘You’re sure she’s all right?’
‘She’s fine,’ Marcus said curtly, then added grimly, ‘She was lucky. If the bullet had been over to the right a few inches, she’d have been gut shot.’ He could still remember the phone call that night that told him one of his officers had been shot during the Fletcher raid. And when he’d discovered it was Hillary Greene, his anger and concern had escalated. So he wasn’t in any mood to soft-soap the officer who’d been in charge. Even before knowing all the circumstances, it had never seriously crossed his mind that Hillary might have been the one to make a mistake. She was too savvy for that.
Raleigh winced. ‘Is she . . . is she going to file a complaint? She’d have every right to.’
‘Against you, you mean?’ Marcus clarified in a hard voice, still not willing to let the younger man get away with anything. He let the question hang for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I doubt the thought even crossed her mind,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ve known Hillary Greene for years. That husband of hers put her through misery — both personally and professionally. She’ll probably never recover from the stigma of being investigated for corruption. Which is a great pity — she’s one of the best detectives we’ve got. She’s also straight up and down, one of us, through and through. The last thing she’d ever do is put the screws on a fellow officer. So you can relax.’ He made no effort to hide his distaste, or belief that Raleigh was getting off lightly.
Raleigh nodded and took it. He deserved it. But it had been worth it. Everything had been worth it. Now, if he could just sit tight and weather the investigation, everything would be fine.
He’d just have to make sure that worm Frank Ross knew enough to keep his mouth shut. But he was fairly confident of that. Self-interest alone would ensure his silence.
* * *
Mel glanced up as Janine knocked on the door to his office, then stepped in. ‘I’ve updated the Dale case, sir,’ she said, waving a folder at him, then glanced behind her and closed the door. ‘Thought you might want to see it,’ she added, coming to stand in front of his desk. ‘I daresay you’ll have to take it over now.’
Mel smiled, seeing right through her. She wanted to be SIO so bad she could taste it. Which was good. Very good.
‘Yeah, bit of a bugger when I’ve got so much on my plate already,’ he played along.
Janine nodded. ‘You think Raleigh’s gonna get the elbow?’ she asked, with genuine curiosity. When things got shaken up, interesting things tended to fall out of the tree.
Mel shrugged. The truth was, he wasn’t so sure anymore. The murmuring on the grapevine didn’t sound too promising. And, naturally, the last thing the brass wanted was a scandal. Still, maybe a quiet sidelining would be on the cards for him some months down the line.
Which would leave him with plenty of time to get his house in order, and make the brass look seriously at him for the superintendency. Thinking of that . . . He sighed, and nodded to the chair. ‘Janine, sit down. We have to talk.’
He’d thought about doing this tonight, when they were both at home, but quickly realised that Janine would be uncontrollable then. At least here she’d have to curb her temper. It was, he knew, the coward’s way out, but he’d always favoured the line of least resistance.
Janine felt her heart give a little kick, and something cold dropped into the pit of her belly. Her eyes glittered and her chin came up defiantly as she sat down. Mel saw the look and felt his stomach clench. She’d already guessed what was coming. Had he been so obvious?
He took a long deep breath and began.
* * *
Hillary gritted her teeth as she put her left foot down. ‘Ouch. Ouch. Ouch,’ she muttered, every time she took a tottering step forward. This morning she’d done the same journey with a Zimmer frame, of all things, but now she had a walking stick. Tracy Wall was walking close beside her, one hand on her arm in case she fell.
‘You’re doing great,’ she encouraged as Hillary slowly began to take longer and more confident steps towards the opening into the corridor, where the nurses’ station was situated.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Hillary huffed, feeling the sweat running down the side of her nose. She was in one of her mother’s long flowered flannel nightgowns (since she only slept in old T-shirts back on the boat) and she felt about a hundred years old in it. On the other hand, it had matched the Zimmer frame to perfection.
She winced but managed to refrain with the ‘ouch’ as she took another step. This morning, her hip and the crease in her waist felt on fire as she moved, but it had still been good to be out of bed. Now, on this second outing, she didn’t feel half so stiff or uncomfortable. She’d always been one of those people who heal quickly, and never had she been more glad of it.
‘I hear your boss came by last night,’ Tracy said chattily. ‘Tessa told me he was a dreamboat. All silver hair. Very Paul Hollywood.’
Hillary laughed, wondering how Marcus Donleavy would react at being compared to the sexy baker.
Her thoughts strayed back to the murder victim, Malcolm Dale. Dammit, she should be trying to figure out who’d killed him, not shuffling around hospital corridors. To make matters worse, Donleavy had told her she’d been scheduled to take three weeks’ sick leave, which might stretch to a month, depending on doctors’ reports. A month! What was she going to do for a month?
As she began to march down the corridor with growing confidence, she tried to think positively. She could put all her energy into selling the house, and then finally buy the boat off Max, all nice and legal. For a long time now she’d been putting that off, but perhaps it was time to admit that she was perfectly content to live on the boat. All of that could fill in some time. Then she could do all the odd jobs around the boat she’d always put off. That might take all of two days.
She shuddered. The thought of so much inaction scared her. But she could still work the Dale case, if she was sneaky. She was pretty sure Tommy could be persuaded to come by with the latest news and copies of reports. If Janine didn’t cotton on to what he was doing.
Janine, she thought glumly. By now, Mel must have told her that she’d be the senior investigating officer on the Dale killing — her first time in charge of such an important case. A chance to shine. Just what she’d always wanted. Right about now, she must be over the moon.
* * *
‘You bastard,’ Janine hissed. ‘Why the change of heart? You were all over me last night.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Mel said calmly. ‘Do you really want to give Frank Ross a show?’
Janine took a deep breath, feeling her fingernails cut painfully into her palms as she clenched her hands into tight fists. There was a throbbing in her temples and she wanted to scream in frustration, but a colder, harder voice of reason stopped her.
If she went ballistic now, she’d never live it down. She could almost hear the sneering. The cracks from all the misogynis
ts that bred in this place like malaria mosquitoes. And Mel was right — Ross for one would just love to see her make a scene. She’d be hearing ‘hysterical female jokes’ and reference to PMT for months to come. And it was bound to get back to the brass. As well Mel knew, the bastard. That’s why he’d broken up with her here and now.
‘Don’t think you’re going to get away with this,’ Janine warned him. ‘I can still make your life a misery. I could file a sexual harassment suit for a start. What would that do to your chances for promotion then, hey?’
Mel felt himself go cold, but managed a smile and small shrug. ‘What would that do to yours?’ he countered softly, and then sighed heavily as Janine went pale.
‘Look, let’s not be like this,’ he cajoled. ‘We’re both grown-ups. We both know how it goes. We tried it out for a while, but it just wasn’t working—’
‘It was working for me!’
‘And now we have to carry on working together. Look, Janine, this won’t affect your career, I promise. I’m not the sort of man who can’t stand to have his ex-lovers around, or go all postal on them. In fact—’ he leaned back in his chair and tossed the folder she’d just brought in back to her, ‘—I want you to head up the Dale case. I’ll be in overall charge, of course, but I want you to lead the investigation. You’ve worked with Hillary for three years now — you’ve picked up a lot of good stuff from her. This is your chance. Don’t screw it up just because you’re mad at me.’
Janine stared at him for a long while, then slowly reached forward and picked up the folder.
‘I’ll be round tonight with a mate’s transit van for my stuff,’ she said coldly. She got up and added a sneering, ‘Sir.’
When she left, the air in the office hovered somewhere just below freezing point.
Mel let out his breath in a long slow release, and felt suddenly anxious. And bereft. Janine, in spite of everything, had been fun. His last sip of the summer wine? Fifty was looming, and for a moment he wondered if he’d made a mistake in letting her go.
Then the moment passed.
