You fired her? said Dog. For being late?
Again he got the bewildered reaction.
The woman said, I think youd better tell us why youre asking these questions, Inspector.
No, said Dog equably. I think youd better tell me why youre giving these answers. Why did you dismiss Mrs Maguire, Mr Granger?
He looked at his wife. She nodded permission. He said, I sacked her because there was a complaint. Id asked her to give one of our regular clients a massage. It was about midday. Some little time later I heard her voice raised in the treatment room and then she came out. I went in to see what was the matter and the client made a very serious complaint which left me no alternative but to sack her.
What exactly was this complaint?
Granger said hesitantly, Well, he, the client, accused Mrs Maguire of making an indecent suggestion.
Im sorry? said Dog.
For heavens sake, George, interrupted Mrs Granger impatiently. She offered to jerk him off. For twenty-five pounds, Inspector!
She sounded more indignant at the price than the proposal.
And what did Mrs Maguire say when you put this to her? said Dog to the man.
She told me it was her business. She said she was only offering what these men really wanted. And when I told her she was fired, she became very abusive and said if it was the Centres good name I was worried about, Id better forget it, because by the time she was finished with me, it would stink.
And then she assaulted him, said Mrs Granger.
What?
Granger looked embarrassed.
It wasnt anything.
She punched you in the stomach, retorted his wife. He was doubled up with pain. I wanted him to call the police. If it had been a man he would have done, and in my book a violent womans just as dangerous as a violent man.
It would have made me look silly and not done the Centres reputation any good, said Granger. The same about the other thing. Sacking her and letting the whole thing drop seemed the best course.
And your client went along with this? said Dog.
Oh yes, said the woman. Hed got a name to protect too. Mud sticks.
And what is this name hes protecting? asked Dog.
The man said, I daresay youll know it, Inspector. Its Jacobs. Councillor Jacobs. So you see, Mrs Maguire picked the wrong man when she picked on him!
They were right. Councillor Jacobs was the amplifier through which the still small voice of God was heard plain in Romchurch. The scourge of corruption, the trimmer of budgets, the guardian of the public purse and, as chairman of the Police Liaison Committee, the answer to the Chief Constables prayers.
He asked a few more questions then left. On his way past the desk, he paused and smiled at the skinny blonde. She looked about twenty and had a cheerful, open face. He said, Do you know Mrs Maguire?
Her expression lost its openness.
Whos asking? she said guardedly.
He told her and she said, Is it about her getting the boot?
Thats right, he lied easily. Were you around?
No. I had to go out at lunchtime. I had a dentists appointment.
She opened her mouth as though inviting him to check. He looked in and she ran her moist pink tongue along her upper teeth and grinned as he looked away.
Is it right she belted old George in the gut? she asked.
Did you know her well?
No. Hardly at all. She was a bit stuck up, know what I mean? But shell be OK, wont she?
Dog said, Any reason she shouldnt be OK?
No! she asserted strongly. Not as if she hasnt got someone to take care of her, is it?
A boy friend, you mean? I thought you said you didnt know her socially.
Thats right, but I know a dreamboat when I see one. I could have eaten him for supper, numb gums and all.
What are you talking about? demanded Dog.
Her boy friend, of course! He was looking to meet her after work this afternoon, only he wasnt to know shed got the heave, was he? So he came in when she didnt come out at half two like she usually does, and asked where she was.
And what did you tell him?
Nothing at first. I just played him along to see how well attached he was. We were getting on fine till I told him shed left early, then he took off pretty smart so it must be serious, worse luck.
Describe him.
Well, like I say, he was gorgeous. Seeing from Dogs face that more was required, she went on, Like Tom Cruise, know what I mean? Only really blond. And he had this sexy accent, Scotch or maybe Irish, they all sound the same, dont they? And his name was Billy.
That was it, but it was enough. In a lot of child abuse cases there was a boy friend on the scene, not the childs father. Maguire had denied having a man in her life. Another question mark. Sometimes you couldnt see the answers for the questions.
Sometimes you didnt want to see the answer.
He walked twice round his car, got in, set off back to the station. The evening traffic was building up, smearing light along the wet roads. He got stuck at the roundabout outside Holy Trinity. Theyd got the Christmas lanterns up in the old yew tree by the porch. He leaned across to peer at them. This church and the Shell Street Youth Club had been the poles of his boyhood world and the next turn left would take him past its centre, the old shop.
He wouldnt make the turn. Church, club, shop, they belonged to another country, another time. Another person.
The person he was now had only one concern. What had happened to young Oliver Maguire? What odds would he recommend to WPC Scott now?
His radio crackled into life with his call sign. He responded and the metallic voice said, Message from WPC Scott at City General Hospital. Maguire has absconded. Repeat, Maguire has absconded.
Shit, said Dog. The traffic started to move. A gap opened in the outside lane. Engine snarling in protest, he forced his way into it, got one wheel on the central reservation, crowded the van ahead of him over to the nearside and swept round the front of the line onto the roundabout with emergency lights flashing.
Behind him, pressed back against the oak door in the shadowy porch of Holy Trinity Church, Jane Maguire watched him drive away.
5
Fear heightens perception.
Jane Maguire had spotted Dog Cicero the instant she stepped through the church door. One car in a line of traffic, one silhouette in a gallery of portraits, but her eyes had fixed on it. Then it had turned full face towards her and shed been certain the magnetism was two-way.
Next moment, however, hed spoken into a mike and driven away like a madman. She knew beyond guesswork what hed been told and she almost felt a pang of sympathy for the young policewoman. Not that it had been her fault any more than it had been Janes plan. As shed been wheeled down to X-ray, shed heard the girl ask, How long?
Thirty minutes at least, had been the answer. In the event shed been through in five, back in her room in ten. And she was alone, except for the almost tangible after-image of Ciceros distrust. She saw again those coldly assessing eyes in the half-frozen face and she knew shed made a mistake, not in lying, but in lying about things he could check. He would be back and she couldnt keep fainting her way out of confrontation for ever.
It was time to go. Her body had made the decision before her mind and she was already out of bed and pulling on her clothes.
No one challenged her as she walked along the corridor to Reception and out into the chill night air. It was still raining. She felt it would never stop. Momentarily she got entangled in a small queue of mainly old people climbing into an ambulance. Instead of passing through, she let herself be taken up with them. Soon afterwards when the first passenger was dropped near Holy Trinity roundabout, she got down too. Every day she passed the church on her way to the Health Centre. If she noticed it at all, it was with a sense of relief that shed shed that particular delusion. Now she went inside, rationalizing that she needed somewhere quiet to sit and think. But as the door closed hollowly behind her, the smell, the light, the sense of echoing space sent her reeling back to her childhood and she felt her controlling will assailed by a fearful longing for the cleansing darkness of the confessional.
A priest came down the aisle. Sensing her uncertainty, he asked courteously, Can I be of any assistance? He was an old man with a kind face but his accent was straight out of OConnell Street.
No, thank you, she said harshly, and turned on her heel and left.
Flight or victory? Would any other accent have had her on her knees?
Then she had seen Cicero and for one superstitious moment felt that perhaps God was laying her options unambiguously in view.
Now she watched his car out of sight before hurrying down the side of the church, following a gravel path that continued between mossy headstones till it reached a graffitid lych-gate which opened onto a quiet side street.
Here she paused, sheltering from the rain under the gates small roof, and summoning reason back to control. Where should she go? Not her flat. Cicero had told her hed got someone waiting there. Run home to mother? Thats what shed done last time, with mixed results. But she couldnt do it this time, not with the news she would have to bear. Besides, Cicero of the unblinking brown eyes would soon ferret her mam out.
No, there was only one place to go, one person to turn to. No matter if angry words lay between them. There and only there lay her hope of welcoming arms, of a sympathetic hearing, of lasting refuge.
Putting her head down against the pelting rain, she began to walk swiftly towards the town centre.
6
Dog Cicero parked his car obliquely across two spaces and ran up the steps into the station. A small man wearing oily overalls and a ragged moustache blocked his way.
Call that parking? he said. Youre not in bloody Napoli now, Dog.
I hate a racist Yid, said Dog. You done that car yet, Marty?
Reports on your desk.
Whats it say?
Given up the adult literacy course, have we? All right, cars a rust bucket but not a death trap. Should scrape through its MOT.
Hows the engine? Poor starter?
No. Fine. In fact in very good nick, considering. Its the upholstery, not the mechanics, should be interesting you, though.
Whys that, Marty?
Some nice stains on the back seat round the kiddies chair. That black poof from the labs looking at them now. Hey, doesnt anyone say thank you any more?
Ill give you a ring next time I feel grateful, Dog called over his shoulder.
As he ran up the stairs to his office a youngish man in a shantung shirt and dangerously tight jeans intercepted him.
Youve got a visitor, he said.
No time for visitors, Charley. Can you raise me Johnson at Maguires flat?
No-can-do, said Detective Sergeant Charley Lunn, with a built-in cheerfulness some found irritating. Theres no phone there and its a radio dead area. Shall I send someone round?
Dog thought, then said, No, Ill go myself. You get anything for me on Maguire, Charley?
Hed instructed his sergeant to run the usual checks, not with much hope.
But Lunn said, As a matter of fact, I did. Maguires her real name, by the way, not her married name
I know that, said Dog impatiently, leading the way into his office.
and shes twenty-seven years old, born Londonderry, Northern Ireland, but brought up since she was nine in Northampton where her widowed mother still lives
You got an address?
Surely. Here it is. To continue, our Maguire trained as a teacher at the South Essex College of Physical Education, qualified, and got a job at a Sheffield secondary school, but quit in her probationary year
Is any of this relevant? interrupted Dog. And where the hell did you dig it up anyway?
Obvious place, said Lunn modestly. I punched her into the central computer and out it all came.
Good God. Whats she doing in there? Has she got some kind of record?
Indirectly. Its a bit odd really. Seems that during this teaching year, she went with a school party on a walking tour up on Ingleborough in Yorkshire. There was some kind of row which ended with her hitting a girl who took off into the mist and fell down a pothole. The place is honeycombed with them, I gather. The girl was seriously injured and the family tried to bring a private prosecution against Maguire for assault but it never got off the ground.
Then why the hell is it on the computer? And what did she do after she resigned from teaching?
Dont know. That was it. Any use?
The address might be, said Dog. Charley, get a general call out for Maguire, will you? Nothing heavy. Just to bring her in for her own good.
It shall be done. You wont forget your visitor, will you?
Ill do my best. Who the hell is it anyway?
Not just any old visitor, grinned Lunn. A real VIP. Very Indignant Person. Its Councillor Jacobs. Hes making do with the super till you get back.
They were made for each other, grunted Dog. He can wait a bit longer.
As Lunn left, he picked up the phone and dialled.
Dog, my man! Knew it was you. Recognize that ring anywhere, as the actor said to the bishop. Its the stains in the car, right?
Right. Got anything yet?
Natch. Cant hang around when its a job for Generalissimo Cicero, can we? Its blood and its Group B. How does that grab you?
He looked at the copy of Oliver Maguires record he had taken from the kindergarten. Blood Group B.
Where it hurts, he said and replaced the receiver. The phone rang instantly.
Dog, could you pop along to see me? Ive got Councillor Jacobs here and hes keen to meet you.
Detective Superintendent Eddie Parslow had been a high flier till his late thirties when the heat of a peptic ulcer had melted his wings. Since his return to work, his sole aim had been to achieve maximum pension with minimum stress. A foxy face and lips permanently flecked with the white froth of antacid tablets gave him the look of a rabid dog, but none need fear his bite who did not disturb the even tenor of his ways.
Jacobs was a stout, florid man who needed no padding when he played Father Christmas at the councils children-in-care party. He was clearly not in a ho-ho-ho-ing mood.