Power Shift

by Judith Cutler

  ‘I wish. No, I shall be here till seven if anyone wants me. I’ve switched to the early shift for a while: they’re still short of bodies.’

  So what did Mrs Speed mean by that nod?

  Dropping the carrier full of letters on to her desk, she stopped dead. There was a slight smell of perfume in the room. Or was it aftershave? Who had paid her room a visit in her absence? Well, there was no reason why someone shouldn’t have popped their head round the door—she hadn’t left it locked. But heads weren’t where you put perfume. And whoever it was must have spent long enough in here to leave such a trace. But-even as she. sniffed again to try to imprint it in her memory, it had gone. Well, if she didn’t like her territory being invaded, she must do the obvious thing—make sure she locked it in future. Which meant getting a key.

  Mrs Speed was just putting her coat on, barely pausing to listen to Kate’s request, but she admitted grudgingly that keeping the keys might be one of her responsibilities ‘They’re locked away. Would tomorrow do?’

  ‘Of course. Mind how you go—it’s freezing already.’

  Back in her office she tipped the post onto her desk, then shoved the carrier into a bottom drawer in case it ever came in handy. Apart from the bills—not too many, she noticed, offering a prayer of thanks for direct debits—it was mostly junk, which she filed swiftly in the bin for recycling. But there were ‘a couple of handwritten envelopes. She didn’t recognise one script at all, but the other was familiar. She held it, staring at it till the characters flowed and merged. Why should Graham Harvey, her old DCI, be writing to her? Surely everything that had ever been between them was best forgotten. She didn’t want to open it. There was a knock at the door and, with a waft of perfume, Jill Todd entered. Kate laid the envelope quickly back on the desk.

  Jill smiled. ‘I thought you’d like to know I’ve shoved Helen off for some counselling—stood over her while she made the call.’

  Kate rubbed her ear doubtfully. She didn’t want Helen talked into an abortion just because a colleague thought she ought to ‘have one.

  Well, you can’t hang around with these things,’ Jill said briskly.

  Perhaps she was right. ‘So long as we all support her whatever the outcome,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t want any locker-room sniggering. Is she in a stable relationship?’

  ‘Her! God, it must be like shagging a carthorse!’

  Whatever Kate did would be wrong, wouldn’t it? If she didn’t laugh it’d show she lacked that essential for being a police officer, a sense of humour. If she did, it would betray what was clearly a vulnerable woman. She allowed herself a half-smile, quickly removed. ‘She doesn’t wear a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything, of course. But she didn’t mention a partner, and I’d have thought he might want some say in the proceedings.’ Rod certainly would, if she fell pregnant. The thought was so intense she clapped a hand to her mouth to keep it in.

  ‘Do you want me to find out?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘It’s not our business. We’re just here to support her and—’

  ‘Hang on, it’s more than that. It’s a major problem. We’ll have an officer on extended light duties, we’ll need maternity cover and, God knows, most women who take maternity leave don’t come back but chicken out and stay at home. Fraud, really.’

  ‘Let Personnel worry about that. She’s a colleague, Jill, let’s treat her as that, not as a problem.’ Kate stood and reached for her briefcase: the discussion was definitely over.

  Jill shrugged. ‘If you say so. Off now, are you?’

  ‘Yes. Twelve hours is more than enough if there isn’t an emergency on. I’ve got a date with a washing-machine.’

  ‘Not with Rod?’

  Funny, she no longer thought of time spent with him as a date. ‘Maybe I should invite his shirts to join mine in the spin cycle,’ she said lightly. ‘Anything else I should know about before I go home?’ She started them both towards the door.

  ‘Nothing that won’t keep till tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine. Don’t work any later than necessary. Or let your team. We’ve all got homes to go to. Good night.’

  She closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 6

  ‘You were asking about Jill Todd,’ Rod said. He waited, but more, it seemed, out of courtesy than embarrassment: the waiter had arrived to take away the remains of their main course. He topped up her glass. ‘Last night—remember? I wasn’t entirely honest about her. And the trouble I went to sort out last night wasn’t police trouble, it was personal.’

  Kate’s wine slopped. Rod mopped it, but took her hand. He still seemed entirely calm: he neither fawned nor blustered. ‘I did see her, after we split up.’ This time he grimaced: the break-up had been his conventional reaction to a maverick move on her part. A highly successful maverick move, as it happened. ‘And I could see you were preoccupied with Graham Harvey.’

  Kate nodded, feeling the blood come up her neck. She wasn’t especially proud of her affair with her DCI. It wasn’t that she’d been sleeping with her boss that worried her—after all, Rod was senior to Graham, and she had no qualms about that. She wasn’t even sure it was because Graham was married. It was more to do with what Zenia had rightly called the furtiveness, not to mention the constant waiting for the phone and the regular disappointment—all the problems of being just the mistress or, less glamorously, Graham’s bit on the side. She’d never felt herself an equal partner, not as she did with Rod. Almost always, at least.

  Rod dropped his eyes—whether to spare her or because he was less in control of his own emotions than he liked she didn’t know. ‘Jill did something you’ve never done. She made demands.’

  ‘What sort of demands? I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘You’re entitled to know. She wanted to trade sexual favours for—well, she knew I couldn’t promote her, not as such, but she’d have liked … Anyway, as soon as she started that little game, I finished the relationship—it was so brief I don’t know if, it can be called that. You and I, we became friends all over again, didn’t we?’ His smile washed over her, warm with the delight of some of their shared moments, times they’d shared purely and simply as companions. ‘Jill wouldn’t give up—she tried to start things up again from time to time. But I wasn’t interested. In any case, by then I realised that however much you and I were “friends” I wanted more. And since September and that weird trip to Hythe I’ve known I wanted no one else.’

  Her face and mouth wouldn’t form the words she wanted.

  Even if she’d known what they were. Anger, disappointment, relief? Any or all. At last, she took his hand. As he raised hers to his lips, the waiter brought the dessert menu. Rod took it with an irritated frown, but laid it unopened on the table.

  ‘Such timing! But Jill’s tenacious. She phoned again last night. So I went round. To tell her everything was absolutely over and that was that. I don’t know whether I’m ashamed to say this or not. I took a tape-recorder. In case you you… I don’t know. Needed proof?’

  She shook her head. Absolutely not.

  ‘You—recently you’ve been quite … distant, almost,’ he continued, ‘and I was afraid. After all, you didn’t exactly leap at the chance of our being together properly.’

  ‘Not distant. Anxious. That undercover work seemed to knock me off balance more than I knew. I just wanted to bed down and pull the duvet over me.’

  ‘I’m all for that. So long as I’m under it with you. But that’s all?’

  ‘Quite all. And if you’re worried about me and Graham…’ Her throat was dry. ‘The funny thing is there was a letter I suspect was from him waiting for me when I went back home.’

  ‘I shall be glad when you call my house home,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I interrupted.’

  She smiled both her own apology and forgiveness. ‘I gathered a load of clean clothes and all my post and took it into Scala House. Bills, junk mostly. But a couple of proper letters. I think one was from Graham. But someone—Jill, actually�
�came in and said some things I disapproved of about one of our WPCs and I just wanted to come… home so I left them there. You’ll have to wait till this time tomorrow for a full report,’ she ended, trying to make her voice light.

  He shook his head, dashing the menu to the floor as his hands cut any suggestion. ‘I don’t need a report.’

  ‘Any more than I need a tape of you telling Jill where to go. All the same.’ She smiled. ‘Tell you what, let’s forget dessert. I’d have thought coffee and a liqueur at home,’ she emphasised the word slightly, ‘would be nicer.’

  ‘Under that duvet,’ he agreed, and called for the bill.

  ‘If you think it’s so important, I’ll go myself,’ Neil Drew grumbled. As well he might. It was bitterly cold and no one in their senses would want to go out in the predawn gloom. A light drizzle had turned the freezing roads and pavements into ice-rinks.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Kate said. ‘I want to know what-we’re talking about.’

  ‘You! But you’re the gaffer.’

  ‘Exactly. And if I’m going to be as good as my predecessor was, I need to know my patch as well as he did. Let me just get my gloves and scarf and we’ll be off.’

  They walked a good deal more briskly than the regular beat pace, not having enough breath left for much conversation, which in any case was blown away by the vicious wind. From time to time Kate felt Neil glancing at her—perhaps he was trying to make her out, trying to decide if she’d make a good gaffer despite his prejudices.

  At last he said, ‘Are you sure this touchy-feely stuff you’re going in for’s the right thing? A lot of folk like their bosses to be bosses.’

  ‘I can be authoritative if you want me to. But don’t you find women who try that end up as vixens?’

  ‘Bloody right. I’ve known some absolute harpies in my time.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean that if you think I’m too soft, you shouldn’t tell me so. I’d welcome your advice, Neil. Even if I don’t always take it.’

  He grunted in acknowledgement. Then he grabbed her, pulling her backwards. A container lorry had put wheels on the pavement in an attempt to get round a tight bend.

  ‘Thanks. The bastard! Did you get his number?’

  ‘Tried, but—’

  ‘No problem. I wouldn’t have liked to be squashed before the end of my first week. Thanks again, Neil.’

  She thought for a moment he was going to be solicitous enough to take her elbow to guide her across the next road. But they arrived at the entrance to the market with no further incident, and by then they were firmly in patrol mode, stolid, impregnable, as they presented themselves to the security check-in. This was staffed by a burly man, old enough to be ex-police or ex-services. He wore a uniform with something approaching pride, but cupped a no doubt illicit cigarette in his right hand,

  which was richly tattooed.

  “Morning, sarge,’ he greeted Neil. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

  ‘Later, Mick, if we’ve got time. This is our new gaffer. Inspector Power.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, Power by name, power by nature.’ After their dutiful laugh, he continued, ‘What happened to the last geezer, Neil?’

  ‘Upwards and onwards, mate. Involved in training, so they

  ‘Hmm. Pity a bloke like him’s got to be behind a desk. I suppose that’s where you’ll be most of the time, miss.’

  T dare say. But on a lovely morning like this who could, resist coming for a bit of a walk?’

  ‘Ali, and there’s supposed to be bloody global warming and all. We could do with a bit more, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘But—’ Neil took a breath and swallowed whatever it was he’d been about to say.

  ‘We’ll hold you to that offer of a cuppa.’ Kate grinned. ‘See you in—when d’you reckon, Neil?’

  ‘Give us, say, half an hour, Mick?’

  ‘OK. Half an hour, or thereabouts.’

  ‘I’d say he’s got something to pass on, gaffer,’ Neil muttered, as they headed into the Aladdin’s cave of fresh produce, half saluting various stallholders and drivers as they walked along the vegetable-spattered pavement. It wasn’t just banana skins they had to dodge, but outer leaves of cauliflowers and cabbages, and various unidentifiable fruits already crushed to slime.

  After the diesel-fume-laden streets, Kate’s nostrils took time to sort out the components, which came in waves according to where they were walking. She liked the earthiness of sacks of potatoes, didn’t relish cabbage: it was like waiting for school dinners all over again. Half of her would have liked to hug the huge bunches of flowers they came across, but lovely as they were they didn’t smell.

  ‘No. They’re hothouse flowers from Africa, see,’ Neil said. He tutted. ‘Seems such a waste to me—people spending pounds and pounds on stuff that doesn’t smell and which is ruining the environment. And when folk start joking about global warming! It really gets to me, I tell you.’

  Kate stopped short and stared.

  ‘Oh, yes. My lad was doing this project about it. It’s not the big laugh Mick thinks it is. The British Isles could end up colder, for one thing. And you know air travel’s one of the worst offenders, in terms of pollution—well, imagine jetting flowers from Kenya or wherever! And it isn’t as if it does the environment out there any good. They build these polythene cities they have to irrigate,

  which takes water from the water-table and ruins ordinary food crops and—Sorry, I didn’t mean to rabbit on.’

  ‘You weren’t rabbiting. I never knew, honestly. I mean, I thought I was being green saving all my paper and taking bottles to the bottle bank and—’

  ‘Well, all that’s a start. So long as you take them on foot.’ He made a visible effort to change gear. ‘Now, over here’s this all-night café, and I tell you, gaffer, you won’t find better hot chocolate anywhere.. Or bacon sandwiches.’

  She could believe it. The smell had her salivating. ‘Is your stomach up to a sandwich?’

  ‘Still a bit queasy, to be frank. But don’t let-me stop you.’

  ‘No, I’ll save myself for Mick’s tea. So did your son get a good mark for his project?’

  ‘An A plus,’ he said, with simple pride. ‘He’ll go far, my Simon. Jenny’s not so bright, but she’ll do OK. Really painstaking and meticulous. She’ll make up in effort for what she doesn’t have upstairs. Seen all you want?’

  ‘Where’s the lorry bay? Don’t worry, I’m not going to be a one-woman sniffer dog, hunting for traces of human occupation. I just want to get clear in my mind where things are.’

  ‘Down here. See? Where the big guys are pulling out? The time you really want to see it is one or two in the morning. Then the trading starts—what, three-ish, four-ish. You can see it’s more a matter of packing up now, getting rid of rubbish.’

  ‘Where does that go?’

  .‘There’s a big crusher—do you want to see it? Because it pongs a bit, mind.’

  ‘I think we can give that a miss. How many of these people do you know? Hey, mind your back!’

  A utility truck, almost certainly overladen, was heading for the exit more quickly than it ought.

  ‘Some two-bit corner shop buying cheap, picking up odds and ends no one else would touch,’ Neil said. ‘I think I should warn you about Mick’s tea, gaffer. If you don’t like our brew, you won’t like his. I reckon it rots the enamel of your teeth quicker than acid. Not to mention what it does to your stomach.’

  ‘Would you rather give it a miss?’

  ‘Nab. Don’t want to give offence. And, like I say, you never know what he’s going to come up with.’

  ‘You know me, silent as the grave,’ Mick said, putting four spoonfuls of sugar into each mug.

  Kate wrapped her hands round hers and sipped5 tentatively. If you drank it purely as a hot sweet liquid, it was OK. It was only, when you tried to classify it as tea that things went wrong.

  ‘OK?’ Mick asked anxiously.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good
. There are some that don’t like the whisky I always, put in,’ he said seriously.

  There was a little pause.

  ‘Any tips for us?’ Neil asked. Not subtle, ‘then.

  ‘Only the Baggies against the Blues this weekend.’

  ‘Or? Come on, Mick, I told my gaffer you had your ear to the ground. Why else should she come out on a day like this? Look, it’s still not light, is it?’

  ‘They say there’s a big smash-up on Spaghetti Junction,’ Mick said, as if agreeing. ‘All these folks driving too fast for the road conditions. It’ll mean a lot of people being late in for work today.’

  They all nodded solemnly. Kate sipped a little more tea—she noticed Neil had given up on his, and was gathering his gloves and helmet.

  ‘We don’t need a traffic report, Mick. Come on, who’s doing •.

  what to whom?’

  ‘

  ‘What have you heard, then?’

  ‘We only get the rumours third hand. Come on, you old bastard, you can’t let me down in front of a lady.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow, amused or ironic or however these two chose to take it.

  Mick touched his nose with a thick forefinger. ‘You want to check out the car-boot sale this Sunday.’

  ‘Fuck it, Mick, we want to check it out every Sunday. They bloody queue up here on a Saturday night, gaffer, cars and vans bulging with stolen property. If we could ever mount a proper sweep …

  She nodded. ‘Who knows? Anything else, Mick? Neil said you were great on the latest, but I don’t know that this lot was worth getting out of bed for.’

  He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing else, miss, not that I know. But I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. You can depend on me. And no one can say fairer than that.’

  ‘Indeed they can’t,’ she agreed, false hearty. ‘OK, Neil, we’d best be harassing a few hapless motorists.’

  They walked in silence till they were well clear of the building.

  Neil turned to her, shaking his head. ‘You know what I think, gaffer? I think—’