Part 36 (1/2)

So there, she thought, and gathered up her papers and sat down. There seemed to be some applause, then someone else was speaking, and Kathy took a deep, deep breath of relief.

Afterwards, Robert came up to her. He was beaming with what looked like amus.e.m.e.nt.

'Well done, Kathy. That went down well.'

'Did it?'

'Oh yes. And I think you were right to spice it up with a few off-the-cuff thoughts of your own. Senior management likes to sniff a radical thought from time to time.

Makes them feel they're in touch.'

'Really?'

'Certainly. The DC thought it was very good. The last bit, against stereotypes, was especially brave.'

'Was it?' Actually, Kathy had felt she'd been stating the obvious.

'Well, I mean, look around you. Every person here represents some stereotype or other. Look at the members of your committee. If there were no stereotypes they'd have no const.i.tuencies and they'd all be out of a job!' He chuckled contentedly. 'So it gives them a bit of a buzz to hear somebody saying stereotypes are dangerous. Of course,' he said, bending closer to whisper, 'they haven't had your recent experiences, seeing how easily someone can turn from one stereotype into its opposite.'

Kathy looked at him in surprise. How did Robert know about Verge's transformation? And if he knew, who else did?

'What are you talking about, Robert?'

'Why, you of course! A policeman one minute and a criminal in a Spanish jail the next. Oh, many odd things cross my desk, Kathy; don't worry, I'm the very soul of discretion. But perhaps it should make you think about your own position. Maybe you're the one stuck in a stereotype.'

'How do you mean?'

'Oh, Brock's acolyte, working in the shadow of the great detective. One way and another, you've been noticed over the past days, Kathy.'

'Mostly for the wrong reasons.'

'Maybe at first, but it's a fine line between dangerous insubordination and daring initiative, and people have been impressed, believe me. It's time you moved on, into frontline management. You need someone to advise you on your career. Someone like myself.'

He's coming on to me, she thought with a sigh, and was saved from replying by Jay, who was pus.h.i.+ng through the crush towards them.

An old man was holding open the door of the village pub for his moth-eaten black dog as Kathy drove past. It seemed to be a major operation for both of them. She pulled up by the gate of Orchard Cottage, seeing the lights on in the windows. Charlotte seemed surprised but not unhappy to see her. Madelaine Verge, on the other hand, sitting in her chair by the fireside with a magazine on her lap, looked hostile and suspicious.

'We came across something during the course of our inquiries that I wanted to return to you, Charlotte,' Kathy said, handing her the photograph that Luz Diaz had given her.

'Oh, I remember this! Dad kept it in his wallet. Where did you get it?'

'It turned up among some other papers.'

The young woman stared at it sadly for a moment, then placed a hand on her tummy. 'Thanks. I thought you might have come about the terrible fire at Briar Hill. Isn't it awful?

Do they know yet what caused it? George says Luz may have left something on the stove, and then with her painting chemicals in the same area, it was bound to go up.'

'I don't know.'

'You do know about Luz leaving, don't you? We're all feeling sad about that, too.'

'Did Luz come to see you before she left?'

'Yes, on Sunday night. We were just about to go to bed, weren't we Gran? She called in to say she'd decided to go back to Spain for a while, but she didn't leave a forwarding address, and until she gets in touch again I don't know how they'll be able to contact her about the house.'

Kathy tried not to stare at Charlotte while she weighed every intonation, every s.h.i.+ft of expression. She didn't know, Kathy decided. She had no idea that the painter was her father.

But Madelaine was another matter. When Kathy met her eyes she thought she saw knowledge and anger that shouldn't have been there.

'We don't even know what caused Luz to go so suddenly like that,' Charlotte said.

'I think I do,' her grandmother said, in a voice as tight as the grip of her swollen fingers on the arms of her chair. 'I think she was driven away by the constant hara.s.sment of the police, isn't that right, Sergeant?'

Yes, Kathy thought, she knew, had always known.

'Oh, I'm sure that's not fair, Gran. She'll probably be back before long.'

'I don't think so, dear,' the old woman said, keeping her angry eyes on Kathy all the time.