by J.G. Ellis
*
“Please – sit down, Simon,” I said.
Well, it had to be done, so best to get it over with.
He sat – with his knees apart and his hands folded in his lap. I assumed this was one of a limited range of standard male sitting positions, crossing one’s legs being non-standard apparently.
I said, “I wanted to have this meeting with you, Simon, to discuss your desire to be removed from this investigation. I know you haven’t made a formal request, but you have made your wishes clear to both myself and to Superintendent Wilson.”
He said, “Yes, ma’am. I thought it would be better if it could be managed informally.”
For whom, I wondered; but I said, “That's fine, Simon. I have no problem with that – but I would like to discuss your reasons before we reach any decisions. Sometimes simply moving people is an expedient way of failing to address underlying issues.”
“Superintendent Wilson seemed fine with it, ma’am,” he said.
I said, “That’s because he doesn’t think you’re good enough for me, Simon. His idea is that I should just let you go to DI Chandler and get someone a bit more groovy and fast-track for myself. Your career’s all mapped out for you. You’ll retire as a DI after decades of solid, unremarkable service. You’ll probably have lost most of your hair by then and be a bit on the paunchy side, but age and the job can do that to a man. Hopefully, you won’t get married because it’ll only end in divorce if you do; and if you make the mistake of having children, you’ll have access rights that you’ll fail to keep due to the pressures of work. Understandably, the failure of your marriage and your failure as a father will weigh on you and make you feel guilty, which you’ll numb with drink and immersion in your work. You’ll fear retirement because retirement will just mean an empty house and a bottle of something forty per cent proof. Or you could stick with me, Simon – for a while at least – and walk a more fragrant, enlightening path. Personally, I’d prefer if you opted for the latter.”
“Why, ma’am? People move on all the time – and it’s not as if you need me on this case. If we arrest anyone, it’s going to be whoever stabbed Adrian Mansfield, and I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather shake their hand. His philosophy – one which Martha Bottomley and you seem to support – boils down to Give me what I want, or I’ll kill myself. That’s appalling and self-indulgent. It would be a joke if people weren’t actually killing themselves. You might find it fascinating, ma’am or revolutionary, or whatever, but I don’t. It’s not what police work’s about – unless we’re trying to get someone on incitement charges. Are we?”
“Is that why you want to move on, Simon?” I was amused and a little exasperated, and it probably showed. “Because I’m not roundly condemning these ideas? Really, Simon – is that what it comes down to? Would you prefer if I proceeded in an orderly fashion, called a spade a spade, and made much of common sense as a virtue? Preferably all in trousers. I expect to be contradicted here, Simon.”
Simon said, guardedly, “Is this a formal meeting, ma’am?”
“No, Simon, it’s not. It’s what I hoped would be a free and frank exchange of views. I also had the idea that, if I were frank with you, I might talk you out of transferring because I believe that to be the best outcome for both of us. Not doing terribly well, am I?”
“Why, ma’am?” he said again. “I mean, why do you believe it to be the best outcome?”
“Well, isn’t it all a bit too cosy and convenient otherwise? I want to be able to work with people who don’t necessarily like me. I certainly want to work with people who feel free to disagree with me and argue their point of view – don’t you? Do you really want to be – or work with or for – the kind of absurd person who seeks to surround him- or herself only with people they find personally agreeable? Organisations are polluted and corrupted by such people, Simon. Diversity of views and opinions is vital – right up to political discussions about what a police service’s role should be. Anything other is just empire building or canteen culture writ large.”
“I agree with most of that, ma’am, but there’s still a lot to be said for moving on. Loyalty and long-service might be a good thing, but they can just as easily be a positive spin on inertia. People often stay where they are because they’re afraid of change – and overcoming workplace difficulties often just means putting up with them until they go away, or learning to live with them if they don’t. The longer you’re in a job, the harder it is to move on because people become institutionalised to some extent. I don’t want the life or career you so amusingly described, ma’am; I’d rather leave the service and do something else, and I don’t mean work with a security firm. As daft as it sounds, I joined the police because I wanted to do some good in the world, but maybe I’d do better as a teacher. It’s not something I’ve entirely ruled out. I think what I’m trying to tell you, ma’am, is that I’m not wedded to the job. The possibility of not being a policeman doesn’t frighten me – it doesn’t even bother me – but I do know the type of copper you’re talking about. My brother’s a gas-fitter, and makes more money than I do, so that’s another possibility if I decide I’ve had enough of policing – or policing decides it’s had enough of me. It’s a job at the end of the day, ma’am.” He must have caught something in my expression, for he hurried to clarify: “It’s getting me down, ma’am – the case, I mean. I can’t cope with how deeply I’m thinking about it. It’s normal enough to think about a case when you’re not at work, but I’m getting depressed about it. And – frankly, ma’am – I couldn’t, and can’t, get my head around you thinking it a good thing. You and Martha Bottomley seem to be hailing teenage suicide as the new revolution.”
“It’s an idea, Simon – one I find interesting. So what? Would you have found it less depressing if these youngsters had been raped and murdered? I think you would, Simon. I think it wouldn’t have depressed you at all. They’d have been victims, then – innocent victims – of an external evil, and it would have been your duty – simple and honourable – to apprehend the beast and bring it to justice before it did more harm. An agent of good doing the right thing against a backdrop of panic and moral outrage from press and public.”
Simon said, “I don’t know what to say to that, ma’am; I really don’t.”
“You could do me the courtesy of answering the question,” I said; “or at least considering it. Or is that something else you can’t get your head around?” For a second, he dropped his gaze to his hands; and in that second he seemed – well, rather lunkish, doggishly male. I felt a twinge of guilt, and worried that I might be bullying him. I said, “I’m sorry, Simon, I’m bombarding you.”
He said, “It's certainly a lot to think about, ma'am.” He tilted his head and rubbed his nose – an expression of relief, of knowing he was being let off the hook. He wanted to be told he could go.
“Well, you go and have a think about it, then, Simon.” I tried not to sound condescending or dismissive. I concede I may not have wholly succeeded in this. “You do need to let me know, though.” He was standing up, ready to make good his escape. “If you tell me tomorrow you still want to transfer, I’ll arrange it for you immediately. I promise. This is not about a long-grass solution.”
“No, ma’am,” he agreed. “Thank you, ma’am.” He wanted to leave – in the immediate, situational sense – and was in the process, or act, of so doing. It had not been a successful meeting. My fault, of course. I should have planned it better, prepared something. I was, after all, trying to convince him to stick with me for his benefit. That must have sounded vain and rather arrogant with nasty undertones – entirely unintentional – of a political threat: Leave, Simon, by all means, but it will mean the slow, plodding lane from here-on in. I was – had been – frustrated and had handled it badly. Perhaps Superintendent Wilson was right, and Simon and I were simply not suited to the same team.