Particular Stupidities (The Romney And Marsh Files Book 5)

by Oliver Tidy

  While the breeze rustled the leaves in the tree outside his bedroom window he lay awake in the dark imagining scenarios, rehearsing how he should behave towards her, what he could say, what he should acknowledge. He lurched between the idea of going to school all surprised smiles, bonhomie and good-to-see-yous, and playing it cool: serious, professional, aloof, smouldering emotional detachment. Each time he thought he’d come up with a perfect line to compliment a perfect facial expression he found a flaw with it, or something more appealing. He became annoyed with himself and his indecision, and his anxiety just pushed the idea of sleep further away.

  And then he started thinking about what he should wear. When he’d decided on a suit, shirt and tie combination he had to get out of bed to check it was all clean and ironed. Then he quickly polished his shoes.

  Before he went back to bed he visited the bathroom, thinking that a little personal grooming might be prudent. He decided to shave in the morning for the best effect but to save time then he took the nail scissors and tweezers to his nose hair and then to his eyebrows. In his haste, he trimmed one eyebrow a hair too far. He swore loudly. A little bare patch at the end of his left eyebrow gave him a quizzical look. On its own it stood out. All he could think to do was to even it up. He did that by trimming the other eyebrow and groaned at the effect. No matter what face he pulled in the mirror he couldn’t help looking slightly startled. In desperation, he thinned them both out a little more in the hope of minimising the effect of his mistakes and went to bed wishing he’d just left well alone.

  *

  Romney’s little team dribbled into CID the following morning to find him already there and eager to make a start. He told them to get themselves hot drinks if they were going to and then to get themselves into their little meeting room.

  Romney had provided a selection of pastries for them. Such was the rarity of the gesture that Marsh was moved to pick one up and sniff it before taking a tentative nibble. DC Spicer watched her keenly for any adverse reaction before helping himself. DC Grimes stuffed one in his mouth and took another to his seat.

  While Romney was talking on his mobile, Grimes leaned into Marsh and said, ‘Governor’s looking rather dapper this morning. Where’s he off to, do you think? Disciplinary board?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Maybe he just fancied a change.’

  Grimes was not to be silenced so easily. ‘Has he plucked his eyebrows?’

  ‘Do you?’ said Marsh, reluctant to be drawn into gossiping about her immediate boss when he was within earshot.

  ‘No. Maureen gives them a trim now and again.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘Scissors. Tweezers.’

  ‘Maybe he has then. He didn’t look like that yesterday.’

  ‘What were you doing with him yesterday?’

  ‘Post-mortem. I was the one called out on Saturday night to join him.’

  ‘Nice to know that having a family comes in useful now and again,’ said Grimes. ‘You should get yourself one, Sarge.’

  ‘No, thanks. Not yet.’ And then, not being able to help herself, but quieter. ‘Did you know he’s smoking a pipe now?’

  Grimes stifled a laugh. ‘I thought blokes in a mid-life crisis were supposed to act younger, not older.’

  ‘Maybe he’s just getting in touch with his corduroy side.’

  ‘If he grows a moustache, sideburns and has little patches sewn on to his elbows I’ll get him some leaflets.’

  Romney made it clear he was ready and then said so when no one took any notice of his body language and throat noises. He moved to the information board, on to which he had arranged photographs from Saturday night.

  A noise at the back of the room got everyone’s attention. Superintendent Vine opened the door and came to sit down. Romney tried to keep his feelings for her intrusion off his face. Marsh sat up straighter. Spicer put his newspaper under his chair and Grimes slipped his second pastry into his suit jacket pocket. They gave a sudden impression of great collective concentration, dedication and purpose – a CID to be proud of.

  ‘Morning, ma’am,’ said Romney.

  ‘Morning, everyone,’ said Boudicca.

  The other three mumbled greetings.

  Romney explained what they had so far, using the pictures behind him as references.

  ‘According to the Holloways, the unit is leased by St Bartholomew’s Catholic Primary School, which is next door. DS Marsh and I will be going up there this morning to speak to them.’

  ‘Not being clear on the approximate time of death will make things awkward, guv,’ said Grimes.

  ‘Nothing we can do about that. I’m hoping the key-holder will be able to narrow things down a bit. I’d have preferred it if we could have had the element of surprise on our side but everyone up there will know what was discovered and where by now.’

  ‘It doesn’t make much sense, does it, Tom?’ said Boudicca.

  ‘Which bit, ma’am?’ said Romney with a tight smile.

  ‘Firstly, why hide a dead body somewhere that several people potentially have access to, and secondly, why open the lid of the freezer it was being kept in so that anyone who goes within ten feet of that unit would smell the decomposition?’

  ‘No, ma’am. It doesn’t make much sense,’ said Romney. ‘Not yet.’

  Grimes said, ‘Maybe someone meant it to be discovered now. Maybe someone is sending a message.’

  ‘Say it with rotting bodies,’ said Spicer, with a little laugh, which got him a look from Romney. With Romney’s new eyebrows the frown was exaggerated to become something almost demonic. It was enough to make Spicer shift uncomfortably in his seat.

  Romney passed around print-outs of the vague description that pathology had sent over. It was a start. He told Spicer to check missing person records for Dover and district for the past six months and then to expand the search area to the rest of Kent and beyond if he had to.

  Grimes was told to continue his investigations into the spate of metal thefts from the town’s churches. Small hours theft of lead from the roofs of three churches, most recently St Andrew’s in Buckland, had led to calls in the local press for arrests to be made sooner rather than later before the town’s worshippers ended up with nowhere weatherproof to commune with their Gods. About all Dover CID had learned about the gang was that they were obviously not singling out any particular faith as each church stripped so far had been of a different denomination.

  When Romney had finished he asked if there were any questions. Boudicca indicated that she wished to address the group. They turned to face her.

  ‘Some of you may be aware that Dover’s annual fun run is being held the Sunday after next. I think it would be good community outreach work and something to help raise a positive profile for Dover police if we were to take part and try to raise some money for a worthy charity in the process. It would be very good for public relations.’

  Romney had his mouth open to say he didn’t think that CID getting involved in something like that was appropriate when Boudicca said, ‘I’ve spoken with uniform and they are very keen to participate. Inspector Blanchett has volunteered to organise them and make sure that they are in a fit state to be able to represent the station and not embarrass us.’

  That changed things and they all felt it.

  Still no one from CID said anything.

  After a long pause, Romney said, ‘It’s a bit late notice, ma’am, don’t you think?’

  ‘Inspector Blanchett doesn’t think so, Tom. Of course, if you feel that CID isn’t physically up to jogging a few kilometres in a good cause then that’s different.’

  ‘Will you be taking part, ma’am?’ said Romney.

  Marsh detected a false innocence about him.

  Boudicca smiled widely. ‘Oh, yes. I do quite a lot of running. You should try it. I find it tremendously invigorating and, of course, as serving police officers, fitness is an important part of our job.’ Her eyes came to rest on Grimes. She had already singled out
the rather overweight detective for his fatness. Grimes found a mark on his trouser leg to take his complete attention.

  Romney seemed far more interested in the idea when he said, ‘CID will be represented, ma’am. Leave it with me.’

  The three seated officers exchanged a mixture of furtive looks: anxious, uneasy and in one case fearful.

  ‘Excellent. That’s what I like to hear. I’ll have to enter our teams soon. As you say, we have left it a little late.’

  ‘Teams, ma’am?’ said Romney.

  ‘Yes, Tom. Teams. CID and uniform. Inspector Blanchett and I thought it might bring a little added fun to have some extra competition between ourselves.’

  Romney couldn’t keep the frown from settling on his features. ‘And which team will you be representing, ma’am?’

  Boudicca smiled again, somewhat falsely, Marsh thought. ‘Why, uniform of course. I am a uniform officer, after all.’ She picked up her notebook and said, ‘Keep me regularly updated on developments with the new case, please.’ Then she turned and left.

  They all stood up to go about their business.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Romney.

  They sat and regarded him with a shared concern.

  ‘When was the last time you ran anywhere?’ Romney asked Spicer.

  The delay in Spicer’s response did not encourage anyone to think it was recent.

  ‘I can’t honestly remember, guv.’

  ‘Do you play sport? Do you do any exercise?’

  ‘Darts.’

  ‘Darts? That’s not a sport. You exercise, don’t you?’ he said to Marsh.

  ‘Yeah. Gym a couple of times a week and swimming.’

  ‘Any running?’

  ‘On the machine.’

  ‘Really? You go to a gym to run on a machine, like a hamster, breathing in all that sweaty, stale air, when you live right next to the seafront and fresh sea air?’

  ‘Gym’s got TV.’

  Romney contrived to look suitably disappointed in her. Then his eyes came to rest on Grimes. ‘Is there any point in me asking? You know she told you to do something about your weight. And I told you to do something about it.’

  Under his fading orange tan Grimes lost a little colour. ‘I am, guv. I lost a few pounds but then I think I put it back on on holiday. It was all-inclusive.’

  ‘And you couldn’t control yourself, I suppose.’

  ‘I was on holiday, guv. You don’t pay for an all-inclusive holiday in a five star resort to control yourself. And Mexican food isn’t supposed to be fattening.’

  ‘Isn’t supposed to be fattening? Who told you that? It’s all grease and carbs. You ever seen a Mexican on an Olympic podium? And I would have thought the money you saved when you stayed with me paid for it.’

  Marsh caught a hint of resentment in Romney’s remark. But, as with most of Romney’s barbed comments aimed at Grimes, the big man seemed not to notice.

  ‘Only partly, guv. Most of it was from the Lotto win. We thought we deserved a special treat after our miserable living arrangements after the accident.’

  ‘As a Good Samaritan who put you up in your hour of need and out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll say that’s nice to hear.’

  Marsh thought she’d never heard such self-pitying whining and imagined that he must be joking. His face indicated not.

  ‘That’s not what I meant, guv,’ said Grimes with a pained expression.

  ‘Never mind. There are only four of us.’ He didn’t qualify that statement but it suggested that he was still thinking that they would all participate. ‘I’m not going to have uniform make us look bad. Joy, find out about who they’ve got who can run. Derek, see what kind of sponsorship money they’re raising. Peter… stop eating. You’d started exercising before your holiday, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Good. I want everyone to sort out some running gear. We’ve got just under two weeks to make a difference. Dismiss.’

  Grimes said, ‘Don’t forget I’ve got the dentist this afternoon, guv.’

  ‘Oh, right. I had. Well, do what you can before you leave. Anything to report, come and see me.’

  They stood to leave again. Romney said, ‘Peter, a word.’

  When Marsh and Spicer had left, Romney said, ‘Sit down.’ Romney contemplated Grimes’ big pumpkin-like head for a moment before saying, ‘I’m going to share something with you so that when you hear about it it doesn’t come as a surprise. The body up at D&DSS. I said that St Bartholomew’s might have some involvement.’ Grimes was nodding. He also looked relieved that ‘the word’ wasn’t about his physical condition. ‘It looks like Julie Carpenter now works there as a deputy head teacher.’

  Grimes sucked in some air and made a face. ‘Awkward, guv.’

  ‘That remains to be seen. It won’t be from my side of things. I’m conducting an investigation and nothing else matters. But I don’t want gossip of my previous relationship with her echoing around the corridors here. Get me?’

  ‘Mum’s the word, guv. But, don’t mind me saying so, should you be involved if she is?’

  ‘Until we know more about exactly who is involved and in what I’m leaving things as they are.’

  ‘Right you are, guv.’

  ‘Good. That’s all.’

  Grimes got to his feet and moved off. As he passed the plate of cakes he reached out for one.

  ‘I said stop eating,’ said Romney.

  The big man went out empty-handed and then remembered that he had one in his suit jacket pocket.

  When Grimes got back to his desk he brushed the crumbs from the front of his jumper, leaned across to Marsh and said, ‘He’s just told me about Julie. That explains his appearance, I suppose.’

  ‘I guessed that’s what he wanted.’

  ‘What do you think, Sarge?’

  Marsh sighed and looked across to make sure Romney was still in the meeting room. ‘I think it’s going to be flipping awkward when we call on her today.’

  ‘He looks like he’s made an effort – grooming and clothes.’

  ‘Yes, he does.’

  ‘You think he still burns a candle for her?’

  ‘I bloody well hope not.’

  ‘Why? I thought they were pretty good together.’

  ‘Because she’s just been on a hen weekend and it’s her that’s getting married.’

  ***

  4

  The first half of the drive to Aylesham passed in contemplative and comfortable quiet. And for once Romney’s driving did not induce feelings of concern in his subordinate over being part of a future road traffic incident. Marsh imagined that he was preoccupied with thoughts of meeting Julie again. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to witnessing the promised reunion. The last thing Grimes had said to her before she left was that he wanted all the juicy details of how it went. He had chuckled and rubbed his fat hands together at the prospect.

  ‘What do you know about the area?’ said Romney, interrupting her thoughts.

  The question took Marsh by surprise. By way of stalling, she said, ‘Aylesham?’

  ‘Of course, Aylesham. Where else would I be talking about, Outer Mongolia? Actually, if you know anything at all about Outer Mongolia it could come in useful where we’re going. Well?’

  There was a long pause before she said, ‘Er...’

  Romney looked across at her as they came up behind the back of a lorry with foreign plates just a little too quickly. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t done your homework for once.’ He managed to make her feel like a promising student gone bad.

  Mustering as much confidence as she could, Marsh said, ‘Actually, no, sir. My Internet was down yesterday afternoon and evening, so I couldn’t access anything. Server problems, I think.’ It was a bald lie, but Marsh understood that Romney knew next to nothing about technology and she felt the untruth was something plausible to hide behind.

  Marsh silently rebuked herself for not having been professional, for not doing her homew
ork. Not having been in the area long enough, she didn’t know enough about it, especially the settlements on the periphery. She had often relied upon online research to increase her knowledge of the town and its surrounds. Aylesham sat right on the northern boundary of Dover police’s jurisdiction and Marsh knew next to nothing about the place.

  Romney exhaled disappointedly. ‘The Internet. Dear oh dear. Is that really what modern policing and the world have come to? The Internet is down so we can’t be expected to know anything. God help us all.’

  A little defensively, Marsh said, ‘It can’t be that much different from the rest of Dover. It’s only a twenty minute drive away.’

  Tutting with each slow swing of his head, like some novelty metronome, Romney signalled his deep disapproval. ‘Not much different from the rest of the area, you say.’ Marsh’s insides sagged. She felt the lecture coming. ‘That’s like saying that because Kensington is only six miles from Brixton the respective populations of those London boroughs aren’t much different.’

  Marsh said nothing. It really wouldn’t have mattered, she felt.

  ‘Well, Detective Sergeant Marsh, it’s a good job we’ve got a few minutes together before we arrive. Allow me to put you straight on a few things. To educate you.

  ‘The town of Aylesham didn’t even exist before the 1920s. It was planned and built by some fancy town planner of the time – his name escapes me – in response to the growth of the coal mining industry of the area. You knew there was coal mining in these parts, did you?’

  ‘I had heard something.’ She didn’t sound convincing.

  ‘They found coal deposits when they were excavating the first Channel tunnel.’

  ‘The first Channel tunnel?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’