“I think I do.” Robin, meat fork in one hand and knife in the other, paused mid-carve. “And you’re quite right. It’s enough to dint anyone’s faith in DNA profiling.”
“That’s why so much is made of the maternal line,” Adam observed. “Mitochondrial DNA and the like, whether it’s modern tests or ancient practice. Egyptian pharaohs marrying their sisters to ensure that any royal child must have royal blood in them.”
Robin nodded. “Maybe we need to do this the old-fashioned way. Get a picture of Pippa from her family, and dental records. Or a note of an identifying feature like broken bones she had in the past. I’ll get Ben onto it first thing tomorrow. You’re a genius, you know,” he added, laying the succulent slices of beef on their plates. “It’s too easy to get caught up in the flash, modern stuff. Back to basics.”
“Like an old-fashioned roast dinner?”
“It’s the route to a man’s heart.” Robin watched, with evident pleasure, as Adam laid out the rest of the meal. “Poor old Cowdrey’s not likely to be getting anything as good.”
“I thought he was back today?”
“Due to be, but his flight home got delayed by an air-traffic controllers’ strike in France. He rang from the airport to say he wasn’t sure when he’d be back and to apologise that he wasn’t there to take the media off my hands. I hope nobody was listening because he also made several uncomplimentary statements about the French workforce.” Robin grimaced. “The media would love that. Xenophobic remarks from a senior policeman.”
Ideal opportunity to tackle Adam’s worries. He settled into his seat and speared a gravy-covered carrot. “Did you ever pin down who leaked to the local radio?”
“No,” Robin eventually replied, once he’d disposed of some beef. “Although I’ve had everyone on the team sidle up when I’m on my own to say it wasn’t them.”
“And you believe them? Who else could it have been?” Adam stabbed another carrot. “That bloke, Baxter, has been approached by Radio Kinechester. They say they want the detectorists’ view on things.”
“Tuckton will have kittens.”
“He already has. He’s banned the members from talking to the media. Not sure Baxter will comply, though.”
“He’s a mug, then. They’ll misreport what he says; mark my words.” Robin nodded, then tucked into another forkful.
Adam took another bite, despite his appetite ebbing away. “How much do the diehard Abbotston-ites hate the Stanebridge officers?”
“Like an Arsenal supporter hates a Spurs one. If you mean the really intransigent ones. Why?”
Adam laid down his cutlery. “Hold on. Let me fetch something.”
Robin’s brow wrinkled. “Okay. So long as it’s not a copy of that song.”
“I wish it was.”
When Adam returned with the newspaper, he laid it on the breakfast bar without comment.
“Bloody hell,” Robin said when he’d finished reading the story and before he took a swig of wine. “Have they got nothing better to report on? How is this in the public interest?”
“Search me. Look, I’m probably worrying over nothing, but would one of your ‘intransigents’ talk to the media about us?”
“Why should they? It’s the Culford case details they leaked.”
“At the moment.” Adam gave his lover a sheet of paper. “I went on the newspaper website—that’s not an experience I’d want to repeat—and looked at this campaign they’re launching. They had a list of examples of corrupt policing. Abbotston featured in it. This is what they said.”
Robin read the article, wincing. “But that case hasn’t come to court yet. They might prejudice it.”
“There were reports of the arrests at the time, though. Even your mate Cowdrey couldn’t keep everything out of the local rags.” Fortunately, Robin’s previous murder case hadn’t been taken up by the national press, coinciding as it did with a major scandal involving a politician and a married television cook. “I appreciate this is about corruption, but if Abbotston station’s on the radar, will they dig further, especially if they have a pair of eyes and ears on the inside?”
“It’s not the tabloids that have ‘eyes and ears’ at Abbotston. It’s the local BBC. Different kettle of fish.”
Adam frowned. As far as he was concerned, the media could all be as bad as each other. “Okay, but if one of your diehards at Abbotston station sees this, they might want to get revenge on you for helping air their dirty laundry. Snitch to this lot too. I can imagine a tabloid reporter”—he jabbed at the offending newspaper—“trying to dig up dirt. And making it up when he or she can’t find any. What if they spied on us and thought we were in a ménage with Stuart?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Robin sniffed. “That won’t happen. Cowdrey would have an officer hung, drawn, and quartered if they leaked anything personal, especially if they told a pack of lies.”
“Hanging the culprit might be too late to make a difference to us.” Adam jabbed the paper again. “I bet these blokes don’t find it ridiculous.”
“Sorry, poor choice of words.” Robin sighed. “I know it’s hard, but I’ve got enough on my plate. Try not to worry, please.”
Adam bit back on his instinctive reply. He didn’t want a fight, not now. “I’ll try not to,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Good.” Robin pushed the tabloid aside, then helped himself to the little piece of Yorkshire pudding which clung to the side of the tin. “No more work talk. Chasing up the DNA and other forensics will give Cowdrey something to get his teeth into when he does get back. I’m concentrating on getting my teeth into this.”
Adam forced a smile. “Your jokes don’t improve.”
Despite feeling his concerns had been too lightly dismissed, Adam was pleased to see a glimpse of the everyday Robin—not the man the policeman turned into when he was chasing a killer—appear again. If only he’d spare a bit of his brain to appreciate the potential danger from the press.
The next morning—planned as a leisurely one for once—Robin was on the phone before he’d even eaten breakfast. Adam could hear him detailing Ben with the job of getting the information they needed from the Palmer family. The officer could utilise the local family-liaison team or leg it up to sunny Bedford himself if need be. Robin also rang Greg; that sounded like an alert about the changed plan of attack regarding identification. The investigation was obviously full steam ahead again. After that, what Robin needed was a long walk with Adam and Campbell, and the opportunity to mull events over. There was a chance they’d talk about the case, but Adam believed that was part of his role. One of the qualities he valued in the best school governors he’d worked with had been their independence, how they weren’t steeped in education-speak or education-think. How they could sometimes see things more clearly because they observed from the outside, as he himself had done over the roast beef the previous evening. Thinking of which, hopefully he’d get a chance to air his concerns once more over the media leaks.
Just as they got settled in the kitchen for breakfast, Anderson appeared, looking slightly the worse for wear, which he put down to a dodgy kebab.
“So long as that’s all it was,” Robin growled. “You don’t want a drink-driving charge on top of everything.”
“I had two pints maximum, honest.” Anderson filled the kettle. “At least Helen can’t complain that I’m always down the boozer.”
Adam steeled himself. “Have you spoken to her?”
“No. I sent a text, saying I was sorry for whatever it was that I’d done and could she tell me what it actually was, because I’m only a bloke and too dumb to know without having it written in capital letters and plastered all over the shaving mirror, but she didn’t appreciate the joke. All I got was the old ‘if you don’t know, I’m not telling you’ line.” Anderson stared bleakly at the kettle.
“If you can’t appeal to the stereotype, what about appealing to her maternal side?” Adam suggested. “Can’t you get yourself into a mess
so she feels she has to look after you?”
Anderson grabbed a bread roll and started lathering it with jam. “Maternal side? I’m not sure she’s got one. Anyway, are you suggesting I step in front of a van?”
“Nothing so dramatic.” Although Adam couldn’t think of any alternative suggestion. He made a helpless face at Robin, who just shrugged. “What about a nice simple fall and a suspected fracture? I could truss your arm up in a bandage or something.”
“To be honest, Helen always struck me as having a motherly side,” Robin ventured, voice unnaturally constrained. “A lot of teachers have.”
“Yeah, well, not every teacher has a family like hers. Her mum’s okay, sort of the type who pretends she’s really modern but who’d secretly love it if we got wed so she could wear a big hat and have a posh do.”
Robin gave Adam a hopeful glance. “You’d better invite us too, if it ever happens. I like a wedding. And a christening. But I can’t promise I’ll wear a big hat.”
“It wouldn’t suit you.” Anderson rubbed his nose on his cuff. “Although I suppose there’s no chance of either of those happening now, is there?”
Please God they weren’t going to have tears over breakfast. But if tears helped to resolve the situation, maybe Adam would rescind the prayer. “There might be a chance of one or both if you get back together.”
Shouldn’t they just tell him the good news, and to hell with what they’d promised Helen? Surely his gratitude would be worth risking her wrath?
“Ow!” Anderson shot a foot into the air, shaking his left hand, in which part of his bread roll still lodged. “Fucking hell.”
Adam leaped out of his seat. “What’s the matter?”
“Your bloody dog bit me.” Anderson pointed an accusatory finger at Campbell, who had retreated to his basket wearing an innocent grin, but whose chops were dotted with telltale crumbs.
“He never bites anyone. Apart from villains.” Robin dashed across to give the Newfoundland a reassuring pat. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing, I swear.” Anderson put down the bit of roll on the breakfast bar, then held out his reddened hand for Adam to cast an eye over.
“You must have done something to annoy him.” Adam wet some kitchen roll and dabbed at the wound. “He’s not a biting dog, apart from when that nasty piece of work was threatening me. Were you teasing him with that bread roll? We asked you not to.”
“It’s my jam and bread, not his.” The change of emphasis, and the shifty expression in Anderson’s eye, suggested that teasing was exactly what he’d been doing. His hand had been out of their sight, and Campbell knew he had to stay seated in his basket at mealtimes unless invited over to take a scrap.
“How does he know that when you offer it to him?” Adam pointed out.
“He needs to learn.” Anderson jerked his thumb towards Campbell. “I’m not staying here with that hound. I’d rather face Helen.”
Adam, about to counter the insult to Campbell, shifted tack abruptly. This opportunity was too good to miss. “You should get this wound seen to. Only not here and not at your house. Are your tetanus jabs up to date?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Shame. I was wondering if you could pop down to the Lindenshaw cottage hospital drop-in centre and have them take a look at the bite. I don’t believe he’s broken the skin too deeply, but it might need some sort of proper medical attention. We’ll call Helen and tell her.”
“He’s right,” Robin agreed eagerly, probably recalling how an unplanned trip to the Abbotston casualty department had been the first step in his rapprochement with Adam after a blazing row. “I’ll run you down there.”
“Only, be careful about what you tell the doctors.” Adam took a clean handkerchief from the laundry pile, which might have been placed on the worktop for just such an eventuality rather than simply for sorting. That would work as a temporary dressing. “I’m not having Campbell investigated for being dangerously out of control.”
“Say it was your own stupid fault. You know you were taunting him.” The dangerous expression in Robin’s eye brooked no argument.
“I’ll do that.” Anderson stuffed the last piece of roll into his mouth, then headed for the door.
“If the drop-in centre isn’t open, we’ll go over to Abbotston casualty.” Robin pecked Adam’s cheek. “See you when I see you.”
“Here, wait a moment.” Adam fetched a travel mug to pour some coffee into. “For while you’re waiting. Only don’t hang around too long. It won’t hurt Stuart to stew in his own juice.”
“Thanks.” Robin grabbed the mug. “Get a strong coffee for yourself while you’re at it. You’ve got the harder job.”
As it turned out, Adam—fortified by caffeine—had an easy time of it. Helen sounded suitably concerned, and she put the blame for the incident firmly on Stuart, not believing Campbell capable of anything bad. She promised she’d go down to the drop-in centre to relieve Robin of his burden.
“Result?” Adam asked Campbell when he went to get another coffee, but the excitement must have proven too much for the dog, as the only reply was a contented snore.
Robin arrived back within a couple of hours, wearing an optimistic grin.
“How did it go?” Adam asked. “Want another coffee?”
“Fine so far as I could tell, and no thanks. I could murder a cup of tea, though.”
“Go and sit in the garden and I’ll bring it out.”
The day was wonderfully mild, perfect for soaking up some rays and simply relaxing. Adam produced a pot of tea and a plate of decent biscuits—this could be an occasion for celebrating.
“Was Helen there when you left?”
“Yes. I didn’t intend to stay for that long, but Stuart’s such a wimp about anything medical. No wonder she thinks he’d get in a state about the baby. He’d probably faint in the delivery room.” Robin nibbled on a chocolate digestive. “People are funny. She gave him a right tongue-lashing about being an idiot, but when the nurse came over and did much the same, Helen turned on her.”
“That’s definitely the maternal streak emerging. Mum used to do that to us if we’d had an accident. She could tell us off, but woe betide anyone else who tried. We have hope.” Adam, leaning back, enjoyed the sun’s rays on his face.
“Do you think Campbell did it deliberately?”
“Sorry?” Adam’s eyes shot open.
“Took a nip at Stuart. Deliberately.” Robin gave the dog—who’d noticed the biscuits and come to join them—an appraising look. “Maybe he’d got as fed up with him as we had. I was wondering if he’d been listening in on the pretend-fall and suspected-broken-bone bit and decided he had a better idea?”
Campbell, evidently enjoying the sunshine, was sitting with an innocent expression, making a show of cleaning his paws and occasionally glancing over to see if any crumbs had fallen to the ground.
“Who knows? I wouldn’t put it past him. Dogs can get fed up as much as humans.”
Robin leaned down to give the dog an appreciative pat and half a plain digestive. “As for Stuart being on his way home, let’s not count our chickens. Helen may decide that he’s a rabies risk, or some other thing pregnant women shouldn’t encounter, and not want him back.”
“I’ve got everything crossed.” Adam took another biscuit, then weighed it carefully in his hands as though it might give him the carbohydrate equivalent of Dutch courage. “Sorry to be a pain, but could you get Cowdrey to see if he can identify your mole?”
Robin looked up from where he’d been fussing over Campbell. “Why have you got such a bee in your bonnet over that?”
“Because I can’t get that Chasebury story out of my mind. Somebody’s obviously got a grudge against you and they—” He halted as Robin raised a hand.
“It isn’t necessarily a grudge against me or against anyone from Stanebridge. It could just be the old filthy lucre. Like it was last time at Abbotston.” Robin’s hackles were evidently rising, given the
set of his shoulders and the way he drummed his fingers on his thighs. “As I said, Cowdrey will be trying to root him or her out, anyway. He doesn’t need you to tell him his job.”
“Okay. Forget I said anything.” Adam took a deep breath; this was going the way of a flaming row. If Robin wouldn’t do something more proactive, Adam would have to find a way to tackle things himself. “I’m not going to spoil what’s been a good day so far.”
“Suits me.” Robin, clearly stressed, pressed his fingers against his forehead for what seemed an age before rolling his shoulders and grabbing another biscuit. “Does this count as lunch?”
Adam, puzzled, replied, “Late elevenses. Why?”
“I was thinking about that walk. I need to get some of the strain out of my system, and Campbell deserves a run up on the common and being able to rub his nose in as many disgusting things as take his fancy.”
“Sounds good to me.” Adam grabbed himself another two biscuits; a man needed to lay in supplies, and not just against the upcoming ramble. If Robin wasn’t going to take his concerns seriously, maybe he needed to take action of his own.
“No work talk, though,” Robin said. “No schools, no villains, no Ofsted, no media.”
Adam forced himself to produce an enthusiastic thumbs up. “You, my son, have got yourself a deal.”
The walk, followed by a sandwich, a kip, and a text from Anderson saying he might not be back until that evening, turned a good day into a special day.
Although when Robin’s phone went, turning out to be one of his constables ringing in, Adam had to make an effort to shrug it off.
As Robin re-entered the lounge after his call ended, his face proved unreadable.
“Good news?”
“Not sure you’d call it good, exactly, but I think it moves us forwards.” Robin, phone still in hand, as though he was weighing up who to call next, perched on the armchair. “Ben’s a good lad. Gets on with things. He rustled up a sympathetic officer from Bedford to get in touch with the Palmer family.”
Two Feet Under (Lindenshaw Mysteries Book 3) Page 20
