Part 3 (1/2)

He paced around the large room as sunlight streamed in through the large windows. The carpeting was even more luxurious than what he had at home and the furniture screamed cla.s.s and opulence. His decorating budget had been about the same as the canteen's allocation, but he knew that it was money well spent. He was the face of the police service today and if he had to spend a couple of years in a backwater like Faircliff then he certainly wasn't going to suffer.

He was an uncomplicated man of 52. His life was his career and his career was his life. He was a short compact man with a balding spot in his brown hair that seemed to grow larger by the day and he was never seen without his cap in public. He had risen quickly through the ranks, managing to bypa.s.s the unpleasant side of police work and concentrating on knowing exactly what a successful officer needed to know or, more accurately, who he needed to know. He was often perplexed by those who spent so much time complaining about ”the game” when it would have been far more efficient to just learn the rules. He had been superintendant by 50 and he would make chief superintendant by 55. He had his eyes set on a commander post that would get him far away from the day to day horrid grind of criminality. He had never been one for confrontation and the thought of tackling actual criminals shook him to the core. What he desired was a post in a sw.a.n.ky London office with power and prestige.

The phone rang and he waited for his secretary, Wendie, to evaluate the call. She was a tough, no-nonsense woman who kept the mess from his desk and the flies off his ointment. He was surprised when the light on his phone started to flash. Wendie only ever put through the unavoidable calls and they were extremely rare.

”Yes?” he said, answering with a nervous twinge in his stomach.

”Donald,” the voice boomed from the other end and the nervous twinge became a rumbling torrent. Commander Jeffery Barrett never called you with anything other than orders and bad news.

”Commander, how may I help you this morning?” Donald offered.

”Well, Donald...,” the Commander started using his first name as always. ”It would appear that you are not quite running the tight s.h.i.+p over there that we've come to expect from you.”

Donald's head started spinning as he tried to think just what his superior could possibly mean. He knew that he was in a caretaker position while he proved his bureaucratic worth. His job was to keep the paperwork flowing on time, the in and out boxes balanced and the waves steady and still. He was excellent at his job and excelled in a managerial capacity; he was making the right connections and building the right bridges, but the commander's tone told him that there was a bug in the system. ”I don't quite understand what you mean, Sir,” he said, somehow managing to stop himself from spluttering.

”Am I to take it that you don't quite have a handle on just what your officers are up to in your absence?”

Donald felt like he was being painted into a corner. Something had happened overnight, something that was bad, and he didn't know about it yet. He flicked on the computer screen at his desk and started to quickly scan down through the previous night's events. He knew about the murder of course, as he had been rudely pulled from a c.o.c.ktail party at the local amateur dramatic society. He had been waiting to receive the morning briefing. His head was still a little delicate to be poring over gruesome details and he'd been putting it off.

”Actually, Sir, your call has just pulled me from the briefing,” he lied, as his eyes scanned down the screen until they hit the problem, a problem that threatened to send his breakfast on a return trip. He took a deep breath. ”Of course I can see that DI Meyers' enthusiasm perhaps got the better of him during rather..., heightened circ.u.mstances last night.”

”The Jane Parkes problem was one that we buried a long time ago, Donald. I can a.s.sure you that n.o.body, and I mean n.o.body, wants that particular box opening again. I'm sure that I don't have to tell you, Chalmers, that consequences would be dire.”

Donald flinched at the use of his surname; it was said in a scolding tone that only ever meant trouble. ”Not to worry, Commander. I can a.s.sure you that everything is under control and the arrest has already been expunged from the system. I'm sure that the network just hasn't updated yet,” he lied again.

”Meyers ... what sort of man is he? What sort of officer?”

Donald thought carefully, picturing the detective in his mind. ”He's an excellent detective, a real credit to the force. There's never a problem with his reports; they are always meticulously prepared and on time.”

”And as a man?”

”Diligent, intelligent, methodical,” Donald continued. ”I see him going far in the job, Sir. Under my tutelage, of course,” he added falsely. In reality, Donald had little to do with the officer's actual police duties.

”Married?”

”Only to the job.”

”Loyal?”

Donald paused at this question. He had been on the dance floor long enough to know a loaded question when he heard one. The commander wasn't checking on Meyers' job performance here - he wanted to know just how far the DI would go without asking questions and the truth was that he didn't know. Meyers was indeed an excellent officer and would continue to rise through the ranks on his own merits without the need for helping hands. While Meyers seemed like the very definition of a career officer, just how far he could be relied upon for his discretion was open to debate. The problem with a detective who dotted every 'i' and crossed every 't', was that when it came to sweeping things under the carpet, Meyers might want to ask why.

”You can rely on me to get the job done, Sir,” Donald finally replied, trying to gain extra credit. ”My house and my rules.”

”Just get it done, Chalmers,” the commander said before severing the connection, leaving Donald staring down at an empty phone. ”Wendie!” He shouted instead of using the intercom. ”Get me DI Meyers, and get him now.”

Jane stared around the claustrophobic holding cell trying desperately to avoid the tidal wave of imagery from its past residents. The bed was small and there was barely room for Lana Genovese to be sitting next to her on it. The dead woman was a gargoyle, sitting motionless with pale grey skin that bordered on translucent. Her eyes were black pits and Jane could feel the woman's anger radiating in waves. The dead often had little control over their emotions and confusion would often turn to explosions of fury.

Jane looked straight ahead at the spotless walls and wondered why TV always showed them covered in graffiti. Every now and then she would catch glimpses of crimes from the mundane to the serious as men and women sat upon the same narrow bench and reflected upon their actions. There were aromas of regret and shame mingled with arrogance and violence. Someone had been pulled in for a traffic violation, and yet had sat and thought endlessly about a vegetable patch at the bottom of their garden and just what lay beneath. Part of her wanted to delve deeper but she also knew that it was pointless; there were too many images floating around in here and too much negativity floating around outside of her cell.

She cursed herself for trying to reach Karl's son. She had hoped that he was far more like his father than even he realised, but it had been useless. The man was stone and his anger towards her and his dad was going to block any attempt on her part to reach him.

She sat and tried to come up with a plan to move forwards. She knew now that she could no longer walk away from this than she could stop the sun from rising just by staring at it. It wasn't a case of choice anymore; whatever this was, she had a debt to Karl that was long overdue. The man had been a surrogate father figure to her and, whether she had helped to get him killed directly or indirectly, there was simply no way around that fact.

Someone knocked at the door gently and a metallic lock turned. The large heavy door slowly opened and Danny Meyers stood silhouetted in the frame. His face looked troubled as though he was trying desperately hard to disguise his emotions, but his anger radiated in waves. There was an older man behind him dressed in an immaculate uniform cap and all.

”Ms Parkes, my name is Superintendant Chalmers and I'm so sorry about the... misunderstanding,” the older man said.

Jane watched as Meyers' body language tensed even further and she smiled at his discomfort. ”Misunderstanding?”

”I'm afraid that Detective Inspector Meyers acted a little rashly,” the senior man continued. ”But I'm sure that you can appreciate the delicate nature of your presence last night.”

”I'm not sure that I can,” Jane smiled broadly. ”Perhaps I should seek legal counsel about unlawful arrest, detainment, hara.s.sment.”

”Don't push it,” Meyers growled.

Chalmers stepped past Meyers quickly and entered the cell. ”Ms Parkes, I'm sure that you can appreciate the awkwardness of this,” he said kindly, but she could see through the falseness of his tone. ”Your presence here cannot be made public anymore than your contribution several years ago. I understand that you might hold a little resentment over your treatment back then, but there are those today who would not look kindly on your reappearance and might seek to do something about it.”

Jane caught the subtle threat and watched the superintendant warily. She had only ever wanted to speak to Meyers alone and beyond the prying eyes of the police. She knew only too well that there were those who would take great delight in burying her, either because they saw her as an embarra.s.sing fraud or even as the woman who got a highly respected officer killed. Right now she just wanted out of the cell and away from here. ”Just a simple misunderstanding then, Superintendant Chalmers,” she smiled. ”Could have happened to anyone.”

”Excellent, Ms Parkes,” he beamed. ”And I trust that we can count on your discretion?”

”Of course,” she replied, standing. ”Is there any paperwork to take care of before I leave?”

”All done,” Chalmers answered.

I just bet it is, she thought. The last thing that a man like Chalmers wanted was a paper trail that she had ever even been here. ”Could I trouble you for a lift back to my car? Perhaps Detective Inspector Meyers would be so kind?” She couldn't help but push.

Meyers' face looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. His eyes darted to his boss for help.

”Of course he would,” Chalmers answered quickly as Meyers' face fell.

Less than ten minutes later they were driving away from the police station with a stony silence for company. On the way out, as Meyers led her to a small staff car park at the rear of the building, she'd had the sudden feeling that she was being watched. She couldn't tell if it was from inside or out that her watcher was viewing and it was becoming an increasingly disquieting sensation.

The drive back to where she'd parked was going to take a while and she used the time to try and gain a peek into Danny Meyers. His father had been an open and honest man with no reason to try and look behind the curtain; his emotions and thoughts were always painted across his kind face. Danny, on the other hand, was proving impossible to read.

”Well now, isn't this fun?” she said, staring out of the window at the pa.s.sing lush green countryside. She had tried to engage him several times on the journey so far, but always to no avail. ”Whatever you think of me, Danny, I can't just walk away, and I won't. I have debts to pay,” she finished quietly.

”He was deadly serious,” Danny suddenly said, startling her.

”Chalmers?”

”Even if you could do any good, even if you weren't the fraud that we all think you are, they wouldn't let you within a hundred miles of this case.”