by Deborah Lucy
Now in charge of discipline, Buller was sure this was where his speciality lay. He liked the detail of misdemeanours and made sure nothing was left out. Most of all he liked the feeling of power that came with the nature of the role: the confidential meetings with Human Resources, the Police Federation and UNISON; the closed-door and off–the-record conversations, the need-to-know basis, reading sensitive files, the fact that he could order investigations into any member of staff – including the chief constable. He liked his new role.
Temple took his place at the meeting table, momentarily looking round the room as Buller seemed engrossed with what was on his computer screen and in no hurry to join him. On the wall were the usual framed photographs with colleagues from various courses Buller attended in the early years, mainly taken outside the Police Staff College at Bramshill, all geared towards showing everyone that this was evidence of a career that had always been on an upward trajectory.
Temple’s eyes skimmed over the various photographs of Buller’s family members on the wall that had been grouped together for all to see. Photos with his second wife, two sons and daughter on expensive holidays. At a barbeque held in an expanse of expensive garden. On a speedboat. At a party and a wedding. They were posed like scenes from Hello! magazine. All chosen and designed to impress and show his success.
Temple saw that, separate to these, on top of a cupboard were two small wooden frames with photos of two other children, old photos of two boys. They were from his first marriage. They didn’t feature as part of the happy family up on the wall. They were separated by divorce. They were from another time and place, the children of the first wife. The wife who’d paid the price for the relentless climb in rank.
Although concentrating on replying to an email from the chief constable, Buller was able to keep Temple in his peripheral vision; he could see him looking around. He could have dealt with the email later, but this was all about management psychology. Asserting authority. Keep them waiting; let them know who was in charge, particularly where disciplinary decisions were involved. Make their arse sweat.
Email sent, Buller deliberately cleared his throat as a way to gain Temple’s attention. He didn’t want to engage in small talk. Eventually he broke the silence in the room, ensuring his voice had the appropriate edge it should for this encounter.
‘You know why you’re here, Inspector Temple?’
Buller referring to him as ‘Inspector’ without acknowledging his detective training wasn’t lost on Temple. He thought he knew why he was there; however, knowing how the current management culture worked in the force, he was always on the alert for the unexpected ambush. There were a few things he’d done that he knew would interest the Professional Standards Department if they found out about them. Things he’d done that he would deserve being investigated for. He instantly recalled the bloodied and battered face of Roger Hunt, his wife Leigh’s former boyfriend. So far, Temple had got away with that one. Despite what Temple had done to him, and as he’d discovered afterwards, done unjustifiably, Hunt hadn’t complained to the police. Temple had wondered why ever since.
Temple eyed Buller, trying to read his demeanour. Everything about Buller was thin: thin physique, thin-lipped and equally thin character. Like many who parachuted their way in from other forces, their reputations always preceded or would catch up with them; Buller was no exception. Temple knew they could say what they liked on their CVs and in their promotion interviews, but a few well-placed phone calls by the detective ranks always got the dirt on the so-called ‘carpetbaggers’.
Stunted promotion prospects at the home force suddenly calling a halt to somebody who had already been promoted way beyond their abilities was usually the precursor for a force move. If it could be disguised by promotion, it was guaranteed to make someone look better than they were. A move to a new force always allowed for a large degree of reinvention, especially with inflated endorsements by a force keen to get rid.
Temple knew the anecdotes of Buller’s career skeletons included all the usual suspects his CV would fail to acknowledge – investigative fuck-ups, fingering other colleagues to keep himself out of the shit, claiming successful jobs that he was nowhere near and Olympian arse-licking. It always amazed him to think that senior officers wouldn’t give the lower ranks the credit of doing their own ‘due diligence’ before they arrived. They always did. The thin face that contained his small, pig-like eyes betrayed no emotion to help Temple read what was likely to follow.
‘James Ashton-Jones?’ Temple ventured tentatively.
Buller wrenched himself away from his computer, getting to his feet. He didn’t join Temple at the table. Moving towards the only window in the room, turning his back on Temple to look out, he rested his hands on the window sill. It was designed to give a message and the gesture wasn’t lost on Temple. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t good news; he was already being blanked.
‘I’ve been speaking to Clive Harker,’ said Buller without turning around.
Temple now knew where this was going. He stayed silent and looked at his watch; he could be back at his desk doing something more meaningful. This conversation was only going to go one way. Just play the game, he told himself.
‘He says that DS Simon Sloper had no idea of the reason you sent him to visit James Ashton-Jones before his death. If he had known your intention, he would have ensured that safeguards were put in place for him. He is certain that course of action would have prevented James’s suicide. What do you say about that?’ Still Buller kept his back to Temple, who knew what he’d said was a lie.
‘I asked Sloper to capture fingerprints and DNA from James Ashton-Jones, his father and his father’s friend. We had DNA evidence and I had to go through a process of elimination. I couldn’t know or predict what James Ashton-Jones was going to do. DS Sloper couldn’t either. Having been the one who saw him, DS Sloper gave me no indication that that was a prospect.’ Buller turned around, his back resting against the window frame.
‘You see, I take a different view. DS Sloper says you were prone to going missing during the enquiry, that there were times when he just couldn’t find you and he had to defer to Clive Harker on many occasions. He says that you knew more than you let on and that it hampered him in terms of progressing the enquiry. What do you say to that?’
Temple knew that Sloper was informing Detective Chief Superintendent Clive Harker from the moment he took on the investigation. He’d deliberately been provided with a skeleton staff and felt he’d been set up to fail, which he would have if he hadn’t bucked Harker’s instruction on finalising the enquiry.
That was what this was about – that and the long vendetta Harker held against him. Yes, Temple had had to address some pressing personal issues during the enquiry but it was his effort, not Sloper’s or Harker’s, that had got the eventual result, the capture of a serial rapist and murderer. That being the case, Harker was now trying to cover his tracks for giving him the wrong direction.
Without Temple’s intervention, without him going against Harker’s instruction, an innocent, albeit dead lad would have been labelled a murderer. Harker had wanted him to wrap up a so-called domestic murder around someone who couldn’t answer back because he was dead. Temple had used his own judgement to reject this and as a result had convicted Ian Turner, who, but for his intervention, would have been able to carry on his crimes.
He could see why this placed Harker in a difficult position. Temple also knew this now placed him in a particularly vulnerable position. Harker wanted no witnesses to his failure, least of all Temple. He knew Harker was a proud man, and along with his friend DS Simon Sloper, they usually managed most things between them, regardless of them being at opposite ends in terms of rank. Knowing the truth of what had happened put Temple in a spot.
‘We were short staffed. With everything that was going on at the same time—’
Buller cut him off. Temple could see that any explanation he offered wasn’t going to make a difference.<
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‘You took your eye off the ball during a murder investigation,’ Buller’s voice had a hard edge to it, ‘and a lad died, a lad that had had police contact. You sent Sloper in to retrieve DNA and fingerprints without the full facts as you knew them. Simon Sloper maintains he could have affected a different outcome – that’s the problem here, Temple.’
‘If I could have prevented what happened, of course I would have. I never saw it as a possibility – there was no reason to at that time.’ Temple knew he was being judged by the magical perspective of hindsight, always used by hierarchy when something went wrong to make them sound like wise men.
‘You see, the IOPC have finalised their report and have recommended management advice.’ Buller paused, and for a second, Temple’s mood brightened. It was what he’d been hoping for. Buller spoke again.
‘But on thinking about it, I’m not so sure. I’m inclined to take matters further. As I say, I’ve spoken to Clive about you and he tells me that you’re one of those officers who are in the “difficult to manage” category. Have you heard that term before, Temple?’ Buller made for the chair behind his desk.
‘Yes I have, and with respect, sir, if anything, I’d say the term should be “different” to manage instead of “difficult”.’ He knew he shouldn’t have answered. He was being reeled in but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
‘Well, that’s just it, isn’t it, Temple? Where’s the respect?’
‘I have a difficult relationship with DCS Harker—’
‘As I said, Temple, difficult, so we agree. Clive said that he gave you instruction during the course of the enquiry, and you ignored it. Is that right?’
Temple had walked right into a trap and he was angry. Sloper and Harker had worked a pincer movement on him. Yes, he’d ignored Harker’s instruction because he had to. Harker was obviously claiming credit for the case to cover his own tracks and Temple was left wondering how he had ended up being made out to be the bad guy. Temple could see he was on a hiding to nothing.
‘We had a difference of opinion as to who the main suspect was. If I’d followed Mr Harker’s direction, we would not have made the arrest and it’s likely that Turner would have got away with murder. So yes, I did ignore the instruction because I thought differently and, as it turns out, rightly, which was proved with the subsequent conviction.’
Buller leaned across his desk.
‘Let me tell you now, Temple, that I have actually seen the policy book and what Clive Harker has written tells me a different story, so I’d be very careful if I were you. It was you, not Clive Harker, who identified the lad Ashton-Jones as the murder suspect. Clive Harker told you to think again, look at the evidence and that brought us to Turner. You wanted to close the enquiry down when the lad committed suicide because you thought he was the murderer.
‘Clive told you not to close it, to keep looking, and you disobeyed that order. You kept disappearing – God knows where – thinking the case was closed. You disobeyed Clive Harker’s instruction to keep the investigation live until he expressly had to tell you again to continue. It was Clive’s experience that got us Turner. You were all over the place thinking it was Ashton-Jones. I think that there’s a case for you to answer here for failing to follow a lawful order.’
Temple couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d given Harker the policy book and Harker had written his own narrative to cover himself. Temple couldn’t help but smile at Harker’s audacious lie. He was good, very good. Now Buller was adding to the invented story, telling him his own thought processes.
‘With respect, sir, that’s not how it was at all.’ But Temple’s plea was cut short.
‘I believe Clive Harker, a senior officer with exemplary service. Do you need disciplinary action to be taken against you in order to know what a lawful order is and when to carry it out?’
Temple had had enough. ‘No, sir,’ he said, leaving a pause between the two words. It wasn’t lost on Buller.
‘Well, I think perhaps you do. Proceedings will be instigated against you on that basis. There’ll be a misconduct hearing next Tuesday. We’ve informed your fed rep. There’ll be two charges for you to answer.’
Temple struggled to keep his cool. He had seriously underestimated the depth of Harker’s feeling towards him. He was a man with a grudge that hadn’t blunted with the passage of time. But Temple hadn’t expected him to lie. Harker had waited a long time and now he had him.
‘Clive also tells me that you’ve been asking about Op Acre and whether the investigation will reopen?’
Temple looked back at Buller and said nothing. He continued.
‘As you know, a DNA profile was gained from the blue T-shirt. This was run through the database with no result. The case is over thirty years old and we need to be realistic as to what can be achieved. I’m satisfied with the level of effort that’s been put into Op Acre to this point but we will not be progressing things further at this stage.’
Temple shook his head in disbelief. ‘You can’t expect me to be happy with that.’
Buller was stony-faced. ‘Happy or not, you may have to reconcile yourself to the fact that you will never know who the killer is. You will have to reconcile yourself to the fact that, in the current climate, resources are finite. The old days are gone. We can’t spend money on a thirty-two-year-old cold case when we have more pressing current issues to deal with.’
Temple watched him; he was in full flow now.
‘We have to prioritise and cold cases have to succumb to that process of prioritisation. Let me be clear, Temple, Op Acre is closed pending new information. If you have anything in your head with regards to mass screenings, you can forget it. It’s not happening. The DNA profile will sit on file. You can’t have any further involvement, not least of which for reasons of cross-contamination of evidence, as you well know. I won’t have any more force resources spent on this, and that includes you.’
Temple looked back at him. ‘But I’m already involved.’
‘Not any more,’ said Buller.
‘But I was there, I had physical contact with the murderer, so how can I not be involved? Of course I’ve been careful not to contaminate the case – that’s why Paul Wright’s been between me and the enquiry and he ran everything past DCI Rees—’
‘Chris Rees – ha!’ Buller didn’t welcome the reminder of the former DCI and the increasingly bitter exchanges he had had with the man before he died. Rees had tried to advocate that Op Acre receive more resources. ‘Chris Rees is dead and I have to prioritise—’
Temple cut across him, standing up both to reinforce his point and to make for the door. He’d had enough. He had to get out before he said something he shouldn’t. He was also thinking of Amy Davidson’s interview, which would start shortly.
‘A young woman – my mother – was found murdered, strangled, her throat stuffed with contaminated pills. There’s now a DNA profile and you expect me to not want to pursue that?’
‘We’ve taken things as far as we can. Without new information, there’s little more that can be done. There is no known suspect and we don’t have the resources to continue on that basis.’
Temple wanted to grab Buller and choke the words in his throat. Buller had all the control and knew it. Control over Op Acre and control over him. Harker was bound to have had a hand in this, he was sure. Temple hadn’t been expecting this.
‘If this is to get at me, it’s not just about me; as well as my mother, she was also a sister. Her brother, Richard Temple, will also need to be informed of that decision. Sorry, I thought we were the police.’ He couldn’t stop himself; he was furious. ‘I thought we were interested in catching killers. My mistake, obviously.’
Buller looked at him archly. It had gone better than he expected; he was pleased with himself. He’d managed to deliver a shit sandwich and wrap it up as a bollocking.
‘I’m going to ignore that. No further involvement, Temple, and to be clear, that’s a lawful order. I’ll
write to Richard Temple and let him know the force position.’ He looked at his watch. ‘My next appointment’s due,’ he said by way of dismissal.
Temple’s heart raced, the rapid beat of it knocking against his chest. He was fuming. He hadn’t seen it coming; he hadn’t considered for a moment that they would call time on Op Acre or that Clive Harker would lie and actually write that lie in a policy book. Of course, as the head of department, Harker would want to claim the prize of catching a killer and serial rapist. DCS Clive Harker had screwed him. He was facing a hearing and it came down to Sloper and Harker’s word against his.
He was angry with himself; he’d been stupid. And caught unawares he had no response prepared. He’d just let Buller walk all over him. He’d been pathetic. That’s what rankled with him most. He guessed that was why they were in the positions they were. They were ruthless and they were good at it. No doubt enjoyed it too.
He considered what sanction he would get for being found guilty of an offence related to his performance of duty and disobeying a lawful order – a fine perhaps, a written warning, although it might be deemed serious enough for demotion. Harker would surely relish that sanction most of all.
But how could Buller seriously expect him not to be angry at being told not to have anything further to do with Op Acre, to reconcile himself to the murderer never being identified? This was something Temple couldn’t stomach. If Buller thought he was going to take that, he was mad. But Buller was right: things were different. Temple had to acknowledge that even he had different priorities now.
Growing up and seeing no progress being made into the case, as a teenager, Temple saw it as his mission to track down the killer. The need to know never left him. It hung over him like a constant black cloud. It was a puzzle, a mystery that needed to be solved, not shelved.
