by N. C. Lewis
Twelve.
All from Superintendent Jeffery's office.
Fenella left the kitchen and eased into the chair behind the desk in Eduardo's studio. The shuttered blinds blocked out the morning light. But she couldn’t settle. She didn't like surprises. With the superintendent, they came aplenty. You never knew what the dragon might throw at you.
With slow steps, she walked to the studio windows, raised the blinds and took in the view. Cumbria countryside. Fields of greens and browns all the way to the blackened slopes of the cliffs. The land bare and beautiful in the sparse November morning light. In the distance, she heard the crash of waves against the shore.
But she didn't dial Superintendent Jeffery.
It had been a restful morning with Nan, Eduardo, and Winston. A big breakfast the day after Bonfire Night was a tradition. One Fenella cherished as if it were a newborn child. She wanted to go back to the kitchen to chat.
Except, of course, the voicemails from Superintendent Jeffery.
Fenella screwed her eyes shut and imagined their farmstead in summer. Meadows in full bloom and lush greens under a dappled blue sky. A day off work might still happen. Yet she knew this to be only a dream.
She'd have to reply.
Better call Dexter.
Detective Sergeant Robert Dexter was her senior in age by three years. He had been her second in command for over a decade. An officer who kept his ears close to the ground. So close, Fenella wondered whether he'd bugged the superintendent's office. There was no better police officer in Cumbria, with his gut instinct and nose for the truth. If he kept off the bottle. It all went to hell when he hung out with Mr Booze.
Dexter answered on the seventh ring.
"What's up Guvnor?" His voice rasped like pebbles dashed against rusted tin.
"It's Jeffery. She's been ringing my phone like it's the Salvation Army Christmas bell. What's going on?"
The line went silent for a long moment. When Dexter spoke, his voice dropped half an octave.
"Nothing that I know of, Guv."
Fenella eased the phone from her ear and glanced at the wall clock—eight forty.
"You at the station?"
"Thought I'd lie in today. Take the morning off."
A tightness crept along her neck. She tilted her head from side to side to ease the tension. Detective Sergeant Dexter, twice divorced and with no friends outside the job, never took time off. Unless…
"You back on the bottle?" But Fenella had already heard a faint slur in his speech. "Come on, Dexter, you know better than that."
"Give me a break, Guv."
Fenella turned from the windows and bowed her head for a few seconds. Static crackled across the line. It burst and faded like surf crashing against rock. She spoke in a whisper.
"You are at your A A meeting this morning, right? Get yourself sobered up." She snorted. Not a pleasant sound, but it fitted her mood. "If Jeffery finds out, she'll have your—"
"The Dragon's got it in for me, you know that."
"Come off it!" But Fenella knew there was truth in his words. "If you show up reeking of booze, she'll have good reason. Don't hand it to her on a plate."
Dexter coughed as though his next words were stuck in his throat. "Jeffery's only concern is her spreadsheets. Or playing up to the chief constable. What about her officers?" Dexter spoke fast. "Guv, it'll be another bleedin’ crime initiative. That's my bet. Why can't she leave us to—"
"Don't throw it all away," Fenella replied, cutting into his rant. When he sobered, they'd have a hard chat. And this time she'd have a word with Croll. Detective Inspector Jack Croll, retired. Dexter had worked with Croll for even longer than he'd been her second. If she couldn't get through, Croll would. She slowed her speech, so each word landed with impact.
"Clean up your act. Stay off the booze, and show up tomorrow morning at the station by seven-thirty."
Fenella hung up. She waited thirty seconds and sucked in three long breaths. Then dialled the superintendent. Jeffery picked up on the first ring.
"My office as soon as you can, Sallow. There's been a suspicious death on the beach in Port Saint Giles. I'm assigning you as the senior investigating officer. I'll send a car. You live in the old farmhouse on Cleaton Bluff, don't you?"
Chapter 3
It was just after 9:00 a.m. in Detective Constable Hugh Earp's cramped two-bedroom house. Hoar frost covered the neat backyard and the bare branches of his Egremont Russet apple tree shivered. Sue cleared away the plates in the warm kitchen. Six-year-old Nick helped his mum at the sink. Tomas, their cat, curled up on the counter. The radio crackled in the background with the weather forecast.
The weatherman spoke in a rapid voice. Less them thirty seconds until the news, and there was still tomorrow's forecast to squeeze in. A storm had brewed on Bonfire Night. It hovered far out over the Solway Firth and spun in tight circles. As if it waited, the weatherman said, for the festivities to end. Then it rushed towards land as gusts of naked raw chill. It whistled through the cobbled lanes of Port Saint Giles and shook Hugh Earp's apple tree with frigid force.
In the kitchen, however, it was warm. The coffee percolator bubbled with a fresh brew. Sue laughed as Nick aimed squirts of washing-up liquid into the sink. For some time now, Hugh Earp had been gazing at the naked branches of the apple tree.
"Coffee, darling?" Sue asked. "Fresh-ground from the Grain Bowl Café."
"That tree," Earp said, without glancing up. "About time it produced an apple or two. This summer, do you think?"
"Maybe," Sue replied with a touch of uncertainty. She filled a mug with coffee, added two spoons of sugar, and a splash of cream. "Nicky, take this to your dad, darling. Then go read in your room until the school bus comes, okay?"
Nick expertly balanced the mug on his lap, holding it steady with one hand, using the other to apply pressure to a lever on his motorised wheelchair.
"Here you go, Daddy."
Earp looked away from the window. His eyes settled warmly on his boy. The son who came after thirteen years of marriage. The child whose birth he'd celebrated with an Egremont Russet sapling. And the son, who one day, would climb into its branches. Once they'd saved enough money to pay for the trip to America. He knew deep down in his gut that the miraculous surgery would give his son legs to run and play. But it was not yet available on the National Health Service, being so new.
"Untested," his doctor had said with a curt wave of his pen. But he'd referred them to a specialist in Carlisle. The surgeon researched the American procedure with enthusiasm and said, "Not feasible at the moment. Not with the cutbacks in government spending. But certainly worth a try, oh yes. Let me know how you get along with our friends across the Atlantic. I'll write a letter of introduction, if you like."
So, the Earps saved every penny. And one day they'd fly to America. Later, back in England, Hugh Earp would watch young Nick climb high in the branches of his Egremont Russet apple tree. He dreamed of the day his son kicked a ball. That's when he'd race him to the front door and out into the yard to plant another apple tree. That's what kept him going. That's all he wanted in life.
"Thank you, son," Earp said, placing the mug on the table. "Now go do your reading."
"Do I have to, Dad?"
"You heard what your mum said."
"But I have a late start today, don't I, Mum?"
"Eleven," Sue added," on account of Bonfire Night. Can't expect kids to be awake in class when they were up half the night watching fireworks."
"I don’t feel sleepy," Nick said. "And, Dad, what about school today?"
"Eh?" Earp said.
"You are giving a talk in Mrs Ledwidge's class about being a police officer," Sue said from the sink. "Haven't forgotten, have you?"
"Told everyone my daddy is a detective," Nick added. "They better be nice to me today, else you'll throw them in prison, won't you, Dad?"
Earp rubbed a hand over his chin. "Today, son?"
"Two o'clock." Sue stare
d at her husband for a moment. He saw a familiar flicker cross her eyes—disappointment. "If it is too difficult," continued Sue, "I'm sure Mrs Ledwidge will understand."
"Aargh… Dad," Nick said. "Pleeease."
"I'll be there, son."
"Promise, Daddy?"
"Promise."
"Cross your heart and hope to die."
Earp crossed his heart. Not that he had much faith in the divine; being a police officer drained it out of you. Still, Sue insisted on taking Nick to church on Sundays and he made the effort to attend at Easter and Christmas. "And if you listen to Mummy, you can come to work with me sometime, be a policeman for the day. Now go read before I change my mind!"
"Tom, come here," Nick called. The cat turned to look, hesitated as if uninterested, then ambled across the kitchen and jumped into his lap. "Daddy's coming to school today. Don't get jealous. You'll get your turn when we have the blessing of the animals with Vicar Beasley."
With a jerk, the wheelchair came to life. It spun around almost on the spot and whizzed with an electrical click out of the kitchen, along the hall to the bedroom.
Sue sat down, blew on her coffee, then leaned over to whisper in her husband's ear. "A fresh start today, Hugh." She sniffed in the curls of steam as if it were a fine wine. "Hope you like the coffee."
Earp glanced at his cup but did not drink. "Expensive?"
"Aye." Sue knew they couldn’t really afford it. "Just a small packet, to celebrate."
"Suppose you might call it that."
"It's a chance to rebuild, Hugh."
"They've shafted me. The whole bloody lot of them."
Sue took a sip and stared out the window at the shivering apple tree.
"Do you hear me?" It would have come out as a shout but Earp didn’t what his boy to hear. "Shafted by the Cumbria Constabulary after seventeen years putting my neck on the line for the uniform!"
"Please don't," Sue said as she leaned to take her husband's hand. "A fresh start, Hugh."
He shook his head, swallowed hard, barely able to speak the words. "If it weren't for you and Nick, I'd—"
Sue raised her other hand, palm out. "Please. Don't."
Earp clenched his jaw. "Oh bugger off, Sue." The words seeped through his teeth like the scalding hiss of a kettle on the boil. He didn’t want her to leave, realised how lonely he'd be without her, but said it again, anyway. "Just bugger off and leave me alone, will you?"
Sue didn’t move, except to lower her hand and release her grip of his with the other. Then she placed both hands palms down on the table. "I don't ask for much, but our son is depending on you. Don't let him down, Hugh. I couldn’t bear it if you did that again. Better to tell him you can't—"
"I'll be at the damn school."
"That's what you always say."
"And we'll go out to dinner tonight, the three of us as a family. Nick loves Chinese, or do you fancy a good curry?"
"Don't, Hugh. Please don't give me your word."
"Whatever you want, we'll do it. I'm all in. So we'll go for an Indian feed?"
Sue said, "We don't need fast food, Hugh. We need you."
"I'm here, aren’t I?"
"And Nick needs you to accept him for what he is, not what you want him to be."
"My boy will walk. That's what I'm working for, what we are saving for. Not long now until we have the money to go to America. It's what we want, isn't it?"
Sue gazed away from her husband and through the window at the Egremont Russet apple tree. "Dinner together as a family at home is enough. I'll make something special. How about lamb? I've cutlets in the freezer."
"And I'll get a bottle or two of wine, red?" Earp said. "Let's look at some holiday locations for Christmas break. You've always fancied Devon. Nice surprise for Nick."
"No, Hugh. No." Sue sat silent for a while, toying with her hands, and Earp's trained eye couldn’t ignore the slight tremble in his wife's fingers or the purple sheen growing slowly along her neck. When she eventually spoke, her voice remained so low it appeared to come from a great distance. "Long ago you promised me the world and have delivered so little. No more dreams, Hugh."
"It's not my fault!"
"It never is."
"It's the job. I'm a police officer, not a nine-to-five office clerk."
"You even made that excuse to your fellow police officers, didn’t you?" Sue shook her head, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. "Only they are not a silly woman who loves you."
Earp curled his fists into tight balls and brought them down one after the other. The mugs toppled, sloshing their contents over the table top.
"Go on, trash the place!" Tears streamed down her face. "We need you."
"My God, Sue, I'd just like to smash their bleedin' faces to a—"
All at once his mobile phone rang.
"Earp," he barked. Sue retreated to the kitchen, returning moments later with a dishcloth to wipe the table. He was about to tell whoever it was to go away in unfriendly terms, when he glanced at the incoming number and his voice became instantly alert. "Superintendent Jeffery?"
"Earp," began the superintendent. "I hope you had an enjoyable breakfast. Nice quiet start to the day for you, eh, Detective Constable?"
He hesitated a moment, biting back his annoyance at the way she'd drawn out the last two words. But he swallowed hard and said, "Yes, ma'am."
"Good."
Only one word, but to Earp's ear it sounded like the buzz of an irritated wasp. And he knew whatever came next, it wouldn’t be good.
"I'm assigning you to Detective Inspector Sallow," continued Jeffery. "A suspicious death in Port Saint Giles, the beach. You are to work with her, take instruction from her, do as she requests, and no slouching off during the day. Do I make myself understood, Detective Constable?"
Earp closed his eyes and cursed under his breath.
"Yes, ma'am."
"And Earp?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I've read your file."
He kept silent, already sensing what would come next.
"If you hadn't been so impulsive, you'd still be a detective inspector in the Carlisle Divisional Headquarters, and may I add, with excellent potential of rising even higher through the leadership ranks."
Earp swore.
"What was that?"
"A crackle on the line, ma'am."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am. Something to do with a storm blowing in from the Solway Firth. Messes with the signals. It was on the radio news this morning."
The line went quiet for so long, Earp felt the thud of his heart in his throat. Had he stepped over the line, again?
When Superintendent Jeffery spoke, her voice was almost a hiss. "That's what I'd have thought if I didn’t know better. But I do know better. You only have yourself to blame; you do understand that, don't you?"
He didn’t answer.
"I asked you a question. And when I ask a question, I expect an answer." There was a long pause and Earp felt his heart shrivel. Then came the hiss of the superintendent. "Do you accept responsibility for your actions, Detective Constable Earp?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"And the consequences?"
Earp didn’t hesitate this time. He knew the drill. "Yes, ma'am."
"I see there was a push from the powers-that-be to demote you from detective inspector to uniform." Superintendent Jeffery's voice resonated with a high-pitched drone. "Consider yourself fortunate you are still a detective. You have booked an appointment with Dr Joy Hall?"
He gritted his teeth, trying to stop the irritation from showing in his voice. "Yes, ma'am."
"I want a weekly report on your progress. Dr Hall is one of the best, an old college friend. And if I hear so much as a squeak from her, your sorry arse will be back on the beat. Understood?"
Earp stared at the Egremont Russet apple tree, then closed his eyes and swore long and hard in his mind. He might have continued with his mental tirade if it were not for the voice buzzi
ng like an angry wasp at the other end of his mobile phone.
"Do I make myself crystal clear, Detective Constable Earp?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Now be a nice boy and toddle over to the old farmhouse on Cleaton Bluff. Detective Inspector Sallow is waiting for you. Bring her straight to my office. An easy task for your first day as a detective constable. Oh, and tell your good wife not to make supper, we don't want it to spoil and her get all upset, now do we?"
Chapter 4
Detective Inspector Fenella Sallow knocked on the door of the superintendent's office. It was in a long hall at the top of the police station. Thick carpet lined the floor, and gilt-framed photographs hung on the walls. She gave the door another hard thump. Then whacked with more force. She was riled. She'd been brought to the office before she visited the crime scene in Port Saint Giles.
"The superintendent told me to drive you straight here," Detective Constable Earp had said. "My first day on the job, ma'am. We don't want to tick off the big boss, do we?"
Fenella gripped the handle and thrust the door open. It creaked as she stepped inside the office. The room smelled of polish and leather and ancient oak. A small window let in dull light.
Jeffery sat at her enormous desk with reading glasses balanced at the tip of her nose. She was the same age as Fenella but had risen higher in the ranks. Her lush chair had golden trim as though it were a throne. She read a thick report. Fenella stood by the door and waited. Jeffery didn't look up, but her lips moved as though she were sounding out the words.
Didn't Jeffery hear the knock?
"Did I say you may enter?" The waspish voice of Jeffery filled the room like a loudspeaker. But her head remained tilted down, eyes scanning the report. "What do you want?"
"Ma'am, you said to report first thing."
"Oh it's you, Sallow." Jeffery didn’t look up. "Come in."
Fenella walked into the room and sat at the desk.
Jeffery continued to read the report. Her lips moved very fast, although no words came out. Fenella was patient, could wait out a camel at a watering hole. But it looked like a very long report and she couldn't wait for her boss to be done.