Callum backed away, into the stairwell again, but Powel followed him.
Well, well, well, if it isnt our very own answer to Mr Bean: Detective Constable Callum MacGregor.
Guv.
I hear you managed to catch Ainsley Dugdale this morning, Constable. Hes one of Big Johnny Simpsons goons, isnt he? Thats a first for you, isnt it? Big Johnny wont like that.
Dont rise to it.
And we all know how much you love Big Johnny Simpson, dont we? A massive finger rose and poked Callum in the chest. Dont think I wont screw you to the wall for that, Constable. I dont put up with dirty cops in my division.
Callum curled his hands into fists. Permission to speak freely, Guv?
Not a chance. He leaned in closer, bringing with him the stench of aftershave and dead cigarettes. I dont like you, Constable.
You hide it well, Guv.
Was that a twitch of a smile?
Then Powel backed off, turned and marched away down the stairs. Enjoy your meeting with Professional Standards, tomorrow. Ill bring in a cardboard box so you can empty your desk afterwards.
Clunk. The door closed, and Callum was alone again.
And screw you too, Guv.
Powels voice echoed up from the landing below: Im still here, Constable.
Of course he was.
6
Callum logged off his steam-powered computer, stretched, yawned, slumped in his seat for a moment, then hauled himself to his feet.
The offices fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead, giving everything the warm and welcoming ambience of a horror film. Shame he was the only one there to enjoy it.
One more yawn, a sigh, and a rummage in the bottom drawer of his desk for the paperback-sized Tupperware box hed stuck in there first thing this morning. He went back in for the dog-eared hardback copy of The Monsters Who Came for Dinner. Checked his watch. Just gone two. With any luck the lunchtime rush at the building society would have petered out by now, but if it hadnt at least hed have something decent to read.
Callum pulled on his jacket and stuffed his sandwiches in one pocket, crisps in the other. Right, time to
The office door swung open and McAdams loomed into the room.
Sod.
McAdams frowned. And where, exactly, do you think youre going, Constable MacGregor?
So near, and yet so far. Lunch, Sarge.
Lunch? Off to hide in the park reading... What is that, a kids book?
Its a classic.
Maybe if youre six years old. He checked his watch. And you dont have time. That mummy needs its home found. Get your arse to work.
Again with the sodding haikus.
Ive been working. Callum picked up the list, all eight pages of it, and shoogled it. Now, Im going to waste my contractually mandated lunchtime in the building society, trying to get them to give me some of my own money, so I can buy food for my pregnant girlfriend. That all right with you?
McAdams snatched the list from his hand and flicked through the sheets. Frowned. Constable, why do these museums have the word dick written next to them?
Ah...
Im waiting, Constable.
Right. Yes. Er...
Ah, OK: Its not Dick, Sarge, its D.I.C.K. Database Incomplete Currently Checking. Most of them dont have an electronic register of all the exhibits in storage, so theyre getting back to me.
McAdams raised an eyebrow, making a line of wrinkles climb its way up his forehead. Checking doesnt start with a K, Constable.
Innocent face. Doesnt it, Sarge?
But I appreciate the creative effort. He pointed at the empty desks. Wheres Captain Sulky and The Wheels?
DC Watts off to a deposition that schoolteacher they caught rubbing himself against old ladies in the big Waterstones. DS Hodgkin has a doctors appointment.
Hmmm... McAdams mouth pulled down at the edges. Ah well, I suppose it cant be helped. He clicked his fingers. You, with me. Mothers office. Now.
What?
They werent going to fire him, were they? They couldnt. Professional Standards hadnt even questioned him yet. They couldnt fire him till after that, surely?
Or maybe they could.
Callum took one last look around the miserable little office with all its stains and dusty surfaces then followed McAdams out into the corridor, across the hall, and in through the door opposite. The one with a small brass plaque on it, marked: DETECTIVE INSPECTOR MALCOLMSON ~ DIVISIONAL INVESTIGATIVE SUPPORT TEAM.
Mothers office was a bit nicer than her teams, but not by much. It was just big enough for a scarred Formica desk, a line of filing cabinets down one wall, a whiteboard on the other surrounded by pictures of cats cut out of an old calendar, and a single chair for visitors.
Mother was behind her desk, sooking on the end of a biro, but a uniformed PC stood in the middle of the room, at attention: black trousers; big black boots; black fleece with her ID number on the epaulettes; black, police-issue bowler under one arm. Her curly black hair was pulled back in a bun, exposing the dark skin at the nape of her neck.
OK... Maybe they werent going to fire him. Maybe they were going to arrest him instead.
Mother wrinkled her mouth around the pen and stared at Callum. Is this it?
McAdams propped himself up against a filing cabinet. Everyone else is out.
Suppose hell have to do. She turned. Constable Franklin, this is Detective Constable Callum MacGregor. Not the brightest spade in the undertakers, but hes all ours. For our sins. Another grimace. Callum, this is Constable Franklin. Shes joining us from E Division. That means youre no longer the new boy. You will show her the ropes. You will be nice to her. And most of all, Mother poked the desk with the sooked end of her pen, you will not lead her astray. Are we crystal?
Babysitting. Even more joy.
Yes, Boss.
Good. Mother plucked a sheet of paper from her in-tray and held it out. Now, if neither of you have anything better to do
Callum stuck up his hand. Actually, Boss, I
and I know for a fact that you dont, you can chase this up.
Constable Franklin took the piece of paper. Maam. The word was forced out, resentment dripping from that one syllable like burning pus.
Tell me, Constable, do you have a fighting suit?
A fighting...? It must have dawned, because she nodded. Yes, maam.
Good. Youre a DC now: change out of that uniform. You look like youre about to arrest someone.
A twitch, a tightening of the hands into fists. A breath. Then: Maam.
Oh yeah, babysitting this one was going to be bags of fun.
Off you go then.
Franklin turned on her heel, face all pinched and flushed. Narrowed her dark-brown eyes and bared her teeth at Callum. Do we have a problem, Detective Constable? Voice like a silk-covered razorblade.
Wow. She was just... wow. Completely... like a model or something. Not just pretty, but totally
I asked you a question. She curled her top lip, exposing more perfect teeth. Whats the matter, never seen a black woman before?
I... It... No. He blinked. Stood up straighter. I mean: no. No problem. Welcome on board. He stuck out his hand for shaking, but she just pushed past and marched from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Bloody hell... Callum leaned against the wall.
I know. Magnificent, isnt she? McAdams grinned at the closed door, then laid a hand against his chest. Skin like warm midnight. Her eyes are moonlit rubies. Her heart: frozen steel. A sniff. See if I hadnt already ticked threesome off my bucket list?
Mother smiled. Congratulations. Anyone I know?
Nah: Beth got someone from her work. Miranda. Nice lady. Presbyterian, but very open minded. He frowned at Callum. Still here, Constable? Havent you got an angry detective constable to babysit?
Yes, Sarge.
Sodding hell.
Bright yellow diggers and tipper trucks lumbered about on the massive Camburn Roundabout, rearranging its grass and earth into swathes of rutted mud. The Vauxhalls windscreen wipers made dying-squid noises as Callum took the first exit. He snuck a glance out the corner of his eye at the simmering lump of resentment sitting in the passenger seat.
Shed ditched the uniform in favour of a black suit with weird puffy shoulders, a white shirt, and thin black tie. As if she was on the way to someones funeral. What the hell are you staring at?
He snapped his eyes front again. Nothing. Yellow-brick cookie-cutter houses stretched out on either side of the road. Bland, safe, and predictable. Actually... He bit his lip. If you dont mind my asking... Deep breath. What did you do?
She turned and gave him the kind of look that could strip flesh from the bone.
I mean, you know, to end up working for DI Malcolmson?
DC Franklin faced front again.
Only, its not usually
Do you always talk this much?
Just thought, if were going to be working together, we
Lets get something perfectly clear, Detective Constable MacGregor: I am not your friend. I am not your colleague. I am someone who will be out of here very, very soon. She shot her cuffs, making them exactly the same length where they stuck out of the sleeves of her shoulder-padded jacket. I dont intend to spend the remainder of my career lumbered with a bunch of dropouts, has-beens, and never-weres.
The houses gave way to greying fields and austere drystane dykes. All hard edges softened by the incessant drizzle.
Franklin pulled out her phone and poked away at the screen. Glowering down at it in silence. Ignoring him.
OK, well no one could say he hadnt tried.
About three miles south of Shortstaine, a pair of dark lines swooped out from the tarmac, dug through the roadside verge and punched a hole through a barbed-wire fence. A patrol car sat twenty yards further down, parked up on the side with its flashers going.
Callum indicated and pulled in behind it. Theres a couple of high-viz jackets in the boot, if you want to... OK.
She was already out of the car, stalking her way across the verge and down into the field beyond.
Fine. Catch your death of cold, see if I care. He helped himself to one of the fluorescent-yellow monstrosities and followed her. Arms out to keep his balance on the slippery grass slope.
A hatchback sat about a hundred yards into the field, on the other side of the fence, at the end of those curling dark lines. Its front end had made friends with a chunk of rock, leaving the bonnet twisted like a sneer.
Franklin was halfway there already, back straight and rigid. Presumably because the stick rammed up her backside was of the extra-large variety.