Power Shift

by Judith Cutler

  ‘Like N—I mean, yes, good idea.’ Tim blushed.

  God, he was so like the man she’d worked for when she was undercover! For a weird moment she was back, putting pressure on what she’d hoped was an innocent man. No. The past was past. The law had done its bit—now it was time for justice to see what it could do. All through that case, all she’d really wanted was to go home. And that was what she wanted now, completely and overwhelmingly. She swallowed a yawn, refused to stretch. She must concentrate on the next bit of information Tim was bringing to the screen. There was a great deal she hadn’t learnt on that course.

  ‘You’re not doing this again,’ Rod said flatly. ‘Out of the house at six, back home at eleven.’ But he tempered his words, or augmented them, by digging his thumbs deep into the muscles knotted round her shoulders and neck. ‘There’s not even a panic on to justify it. If you work silly hours when you don’t have to you’ve got no reserves when there’s a crisis.’ She tried to nod, but his thumbs had found another tangle of tissue. ‘And,’ he continued, ‘if you don’t promise to be good in future, I shan’t get you a drink.’

  ‘I’d die for a drink. Or you may need it to resuscitate me if you go on like this! Ouch!’

  He brought her her drink as she soaked in the bath. They’d fallen into such easy, relaxed ways with each other she couldn’t think why she’d hesitated when he’d asked her to move in with him. Well, she could. There was the matter of Aunt Cassie and her house. But she spent so little time there now that next time he suggested it she’d agree. Yes. She might even raise it herself. Later tonight… She was asleep before he set the alarm. Almost. But not quite ‘OK. Six thirty,’ she mumbled.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning Rod and she got up, together—and by common consent immediately returned to bed for a few energetic minutes. Rod appeared pleased with his efforts. ‘It’s nice to see a glow on your cheeks, sweetheart. You’ve been looking less yourself than usual.’ He stroked her cheek.

  ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’

  ‘You weren’t in the night. How many hours’ sleep did you get?’ He pushed back her hair and tenderly, scrutinised her eyes.

  ‘I didn’t keep you awake, did I, Rod? I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I was asking about you. You still haven’t got over that last case, have you? And now you’ve been plunged willy-nilly into the Brave New World that’s police middle-management.’

  She shot him a hard look. Could he be patronising her? After all, he was much higher up the food chain than middle management. And it wasn’t as if he was likely to stick at superintendent: he was as hardworking as he was ambitious and talented.

  If he registered it, he ignored it. ‘When you’re in the ranks,’ he expanded, ‘you can always blame other people, especially your bosses. When you’re a boss, you can blame the incompetent idiots in the ranks. Inspectors and CIs get blamed by everyone. I’ve still got the scars on my back, somewhere.’

  She grinned. It was impossible to get on your high horse with a naked man holding a hopeful hand under the shower jet.

  She hadn’t been entirely accurate when she’d told Ronnie Hale that she and Rod were in a long-term relationship. The truth was that she hoped, no,. believed that they were, and that this was just the start of it. Certainly she’d got to the point where she couldn’t imagine life without him. They’d once had, yes, an affair. Almost immediately they’d had a major falling-out over her working methods, but had then slowly but surely become friends. Almost as soon as they’d both found that they were more than ready to become lovers again, Kate’s work had taken her undercover. She’d been afraid that their time apart would re-erect barriers, but had dismissed her fears, even when she’d found it impossible to settle in her own house, still felt a visitor in his. But Rod had been his usual urbane self, rather more domesticated, in fact, as if caring for an invalid: she smiled again. Surely only a man in love would spend so much time after a day’s work at least as tough as her own processing vegetables to make her soup and preparing delicate sandwiches. And only a woman in love would welcome his dripping embrace as he vacated the shower, which he left running for her. As she dried her hair, she heard him calling upstairs that he was.: making porridge to ensure she had at least one decent meal today.

  He raised an eyebrow when she entered the kitchen in mufti.

  ‘I feel more me if I go in like this…And change there,’ she added. Hell, she sounded like a defiant schoolgirl, not his lover.

  ‘I did like those black stockings, though,’ he said mock-wistfully.

  ‘I’ll wear some specially for you. And some big fierce handcuffs?’

  ‘Only if they’re pink and fluffy. You’d think they could make non-stick porridge to go with non-stick pans, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘You could always microwave it in dishes,’ she suggested,—leaning, her head against his shoulder as she peered into the saucepan.

  He kissed her hair. ‘No. It never tastes the same. How on earth can stuff this colour and texture be so good for you? Now, I’ve put you some teabags in that caddy—a selection. If you drink the stuff they make there you’ll end up with insides like leather.’

  She peered inside ‘Rod, your mother gave you these’

  ‘And you liked them, or claimed to, and I loathed them And I know you won’t grass me up Will you’ He put his head on one side like a guilty choirboy.

  Her reply was an extravagant hug. This lovely man didn’t deserve anyone to snub him. ‘Not if I can liberate something else—those china mugs at the back of that cupboard…’

  ‘The relentlessly pretty ones with jolly country flowers on? Auntie Winnie’s last Christmas present.’ He clasped his hand to his forehead. ‘Just think, I thought I was going to have to pay someone to take them away.’ He added, more seriously, ‘You can’t really want those, not for work?’

  ‘They’re better, than anything we’ve got. And they’ll do until I can buy something less, er, cheerful.’

  ‘I shall be for ever in your debt,’ he declared, burrowing for them. ‘Especially if you take them straight to a charity shop when you’ve finished with them’

  ‘And how will you settle your debt’

  Still on his knees, he said, ‘By doing whatever you ask, your slave for ever.’

  She kissed his forehead. ‘I think I may enjoy having you in my debt.’

  ‘Sick? Neil Drew? Jesus, why didn’t you phone me, Ronnie? I’d have come in early again-‘ Not that she was late. It was only seven forty now. What the hell was the usual procedure? Should a sergeant be brought in from another nick? Should one of the constables be made acting sergeant? She must get on to Personnel immediately.

  Ronnie Hale looked up at her from behind her desk, for all the world like an inspector rebuking a rookie WPC ‘I assumed you’d be in at the same time as you were yesterday. You didn’t tell me you were coming in late.’

  ‘Unless there’s an emergency, this week I’m simply on the day shift, not the early. You have all my phone numbers: I expect you to use each one till you find me. All right, who did the shift briefing?’

  ‘I did.’

  So the obvious person to make up was Ronnie herself

  ‘It was nothing out of the ordinary. We’re an experienced team, ma’am, and we know what we have to do.’ Ronnie returned her gaze to her papers.

  Completely wrong-footed, Kate wanted to stamp and yell, ‘Don’t call me “ma’am”, call me “gaffer”!’ The issue wasn’t any longer the absence of a surly sergeant, but the chilling behaviour of a subordinate. But she’d already treated the subordinate as an equal. It was her own fault that she was now being—what? Put in her place? No problem—except it was the wrong place.

  She gathered together the shreds of her dignity. ‘I’m sure you do. All of you. But in future one of the things you must do is notify me. Is that understood?’

  ‘Ma’am.’ Ronnie looked her briefly in the eye, before returning to her task.

  ‘Thank you.’ She must k
eep cool no matter how much she wanted to yell. ‘Did Sergeant Drew give any indication how long he was likely to be off?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Or of what was the matter?’

  ‘Tummy bug.’ It couldn’t have mattered less to her, could it? Or was she silently seething because Kate hadn’t mentioned a temporary upgrading?

  Kate had got as far as the door. She turned. ‘And we’re sure it’s him, not one of his kids?’

  ‘Now you’re asking,’ Ronnie said. At last she looked up. ‘Trouble is, what does a single dad do if one of his kids isn’t up to school?’

  ‘I should imagine he’s run out of annual leave?’

  ‘Pretty nearly. Except what he’s saving for Christmas, which isn’t much. And he can’t manage without it then, that’s for sure.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want him to.’ She’d no idea how to tackle this one, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Ronnie. ‘Apart from Neil, do we have a full complement?’ Dreadful she should only just have remembered to ask.

  ‘Phil Bates says he should be in tomorrow.’

  ‘Maybe he passed his bug on to Neil …’ Kate murmured hopefully, but Ronnie merely continued, ‘Parker’s sent in a sick note for his back—self-certification. And Kerr’s here, but looks as if she shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Is her pregnancy still a rumour or has she confirmed it-yet? Because I don’t want her belting round the streets if—’

  ‘Hang on, gaffer. Pregnancy isn’t an illness, you know. I worked up to thirty-six weeks with both of mine.’

  ‘Normal or light duties?’

  ‘Normal, until the bosses got embarrassed by my size. Then they pulled me indoors. Wasn’t my choice, believe me.’

  Kate did. ‘Point taken. It’s a matter for Helen, her doctor and Personnel. And then me.’

  Ronnie’s expression declared that single, childless women ought to say nothing about things they knew nothing about. But she didn’t speak.

  ‘Where is Helen?’

  ‘What are you going to say to her?’

  ‘You know that that’s between her and me, Ronnie. In any case, what sort of gaffer would you think I was if I didn’t meet everyone in my team as soon as I could? Now, who’s staffing the rapid-response vehicle?’

  ‘Me, in a couple of minutes. And it should have been Helen, but I’m not stopping at every set of traffic light while she spews, so it’ll be Mick Roskell. He was at the briefing yesterday.’

  ‘Didn’t register him.’

  ‘You wouldn’t. He lurks behind the door and doesn’t say anything, but put him in a tight spot and he’s the best cop I know.’

  ‘So that leaves just Steve Timms and me to hold the fort. OK.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks for all you did this morning, Ronnie, but remember, I have to be informed next time.’

  ‘OK, gaffer.’ Ronnie sketched a salute and smiled for the first time that morning.

  The person she needed to speak to in Personnel wasn’t in yet, so Kate left a message. Then she slapped her head: the simplest thing would be for her to, transfer to the early shift herself and simply stay on as long as it took. Simplest—but what would Rod say? Meanwhile, she’d better have a quick word with Helen Kerr. There was no sign of her in the offices: Kate assumed that she was out. Until, checking the loss again for cleanliness, she found her in one of the cubicles on her hands and knees. She was a big, tough-looking woman, built as if she wouldn’t disgrace a male rugby team. Kate felt for her, being caught at such a disadvantage by someone half her size. Giving her a moment or two to tidy up, Kate fetched a chair and a glass of water.

  When she returned, Helen was on her feet in front of the mirror, shoving furious fingers through unyielding hair. ‘I’m OK. Quite OK. Fine.’ Even those few words betrayed a thick Black Country accent.

  ‘And will be all the finer for a quiet sit-down.’ Kate waited: yes, the woman was going to obey what they both knew was an implicit order. ‘Here, even if you do no more than wash your mouth out. That’s better. Is it something you’ve eaten? Or this bug that seems to be going round? Phil and Neil’s?’

  ‘Some fucking bug! Phil Bates has got a sodding ulcer and that thing that makes you fart all the time.’

  ‘Irritable bowel syndrome?’

  ‘Great fun sharing an office with him. Or a car. And Drew’ll be on the skive again.’

  Not a woman for being loyal to her colleagues, then. ‘But it’s you I’m concerned about at the moment,’ Kate said repressively. ‘Are you well enough to be in work?’

  ‘I’m all right if folk don’t fuss.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. I’m not fussing and I don’t think you’re well enough to be here. Do you?’

  ‘I told you, I’m all right. I’m just up the fucking duff. It’s fucking morning sickness, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it? Are congratulations in order?’

  ‘Not specially. I still haven’t decided whether to keep it.’

  Kate tried not to flinch. She would have died to protect a woman’s right to choose, but this brutality shocked her. Helen might have been discussing nothing more important than a new pair of curtains. ‘You’ve had counselling?’

  ‘Waste of sodding time that’d be.’

  ‘Sometimes it helps clarify things. I’m sure Personnel could refer—’

  ‘And have it down on my sodding records that I need a fucking shrink? No bloody thanks.’

  ‘I believe that nothing’s written down, and certainly the counselling’s confidential.’ But Kate wouldn’t admit to this woman that she’d had therapy herself. You had to be very careful before you put that sort of ammunition into anyone’s hands. In police terms, it was still better to have a broken bone than a damaged mind, even if the damage was just as real and caused by something as powerful as, if less visible than, a bullet ‘Now, are you up to another sip of water?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t nanny me!’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t nanny me, gaffer,’ Kate corrected her quietly. ‘Remember, I’m responsible for the health and safety of all my officers. As soon as you’re up to it, come and talk to me in my office. OK? … I said, “OK?”’

  ‘Gaffer.’

  Before Kate could even begin to plan what she should say to Helen Kerr, Kathleen Speed knocked on her door, tight-lipped in apparent disapproval at finding it ajar. She certainly closed it emphatically behind her as she stepped in, dropping equally firmly a pile of glossy folders on Kate’s desk. ‘Goodness knows how much they spend on these. They could print them out on plain paper—just as easy to read, and very much cheaper.’ She looked accusingly at Kate.

  ‘Absolutely. And leave several forests of trees standing.’

  ‘Of course, they do grow some trees specially for paper,’ Mrs Speed demurred. ‘And some of this might even be recycled.’ She started to check through but Kate held up a restraining hand.

  ‘When do I have to have read these?’

  Mrs Speed consulted a black-bound desk diary. ‘Local problems of law and disorder–there’s a meeting about that tomorrow morning at ten. You could delegate, I suppose, but Inspector Twiss always insisted on going to that sort of meeting himself.’

  ‘Why did he think it was valuable?’

  ‘Because he met members of the community. Shopkeepers, restaurateurs, not just the Chinese leaders. Which reminds me, you’ve got one of them wanting to see you. A Mr Choi.’

  ‘We’re keeping him waiting while we talk about Home Office initiatives! Here, there’s room in the top drawer of that cabinet if you squash things up a bit. Shove everything in there. Good. Now, show him in and get the kettle on. We’ll use the new mugs in that carrier-bag there.’

  Mrs Speed repressed a disdainful sniff, but placed two on the corner of Kate’s desk.

  ‘Thanks. And a variety of teas. What are we waiting for, Mrs Speed? We mustn’t keep Joe Public waiting if we don’t have to.’

  ‘I’d have thought it made a point—’

  ‘What point? Joe Public pays our wa
ges, Mrs Speed. The least we can do is be courteous to our employer.’

  At least she had a chair on which to seat her visitor. The coffee table had returned too. As pieces of furniture neither would have moved Rod to rapture, but they didn’t disgrace the police service either. Mrs Speed showed in Mr Choi, returning almost instantly, and certainly before Kate asked her, with a tray bearing a kettle, which she plugged into a handy power-point, the tea caddy and a plate of biscuits. If Mr Choi was amused by the lack of sophistication, he was too polite to show it.

  Mr. Choi’s preliminaries took for ever, but Kate sensed that there was no rushing him. He would say whatever he had to say in his own time.

  At last he coughed politely in the middle of a discussion of English metaphors. He’d touched on toeing the line, beating a retreat and keeping mum. Kate had floundered, but managed to offer the witching hour, the dead of night and ,‘dead tired. She was hoping that Mr Choi hadn’t realised how much of her present state she’d revealed, when he said, ‘And there is a strange word to describe the capacity in which I present myself to you this morning. Snout. I’m here as your snout, Inspector Power.’

  Enough of idiom. ‘You have information for us, Mr Choi?’

  ‘Information? A complaint? A very strong rumour?’

  ‘Complaint?’

  ‘Not against the police, my dear Inspector Power. Possibly but not definitely against some of my confreres.’

  God, the bugger knew French, too.

  ‘Against any in particular?’

  ‘If I knew exactly whom, I could take action. Believe me, Inspector, I could take action.’ Neither his face nor his voice had changed. But he exuded menace.

  ‘I’d much rather you left any action to us, sir.’ She hoped her protest wasn’t as feeble as it sounded to her own ears.

  ‘Of course. And since in any case I don’t know the source of our problems, I have no option. Illegal immigrants, Inspector Power. That is the nature of my complaint. I own legitimate restaurants and retail outlets. I do not employ what they call “indentured labour”. A euphemism, I believe you call it.’