by Rob Ashman
‘About two months.’
‘The treatment can be traumatic, so I think it’s fair to say your tour is over.’
And that was that. I had the first course of my treatment at Camp Bastion and was flown home to finish it off. That doctor wasn’t kidding – they gave me a cocktail of drugs that screwed up my liver, aggravated my pancreas and gave me so much joint pain I was literally immobile at times. Six months later I was medically discharged. Sent back into civvy street with a rancid hole in my face and a head full of nightmares.
My cheek healed slowly. Julie was a rock, looking after my every need and caring for me while I got better. But as my physical health improved, my mental state declined. I gradually spiralled into a pit of depression. The nightmares returned with a vengeance, while panic attacks regularly punctuated my day. I began to drink heavily and the night terrors turned into day terrors.
I was living on the edge. I felt dead inside, a hollowed-out husk of the man I used to be. Julie left and I was on my own.
Then one day I did something that made me feel alive again.
Chapter 17
‘Fuck ’em,’ Kray said a little too loudly.
‘Come on, Roz you don’t mean that,’ replied Tavener.
‘Don’t I?’ He watched as she upended the wine bottle and drained the last of it into her glass. ‘I solved two of the highest profile murder cases the force has had to deal with in years, got bloody injured on both occasions and made a damned good job at the Acting DCI role. And they go and give the job to that Mancunian prick Bagley.’
Tavener wasn’t listening, he didn’t have to, he’d heard the same speech five times already.
She glugged at her drink and stared into space. Tavener motioned to the barman who began preparing another bottle. The place was starting to fill up with early evening revellers which was not good considering Kray’s lack of volume control. He glanced at his watch, it was just gone 7pm.
‘Roz, you need to take a step back, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t do anything rash.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like apply for a job as an office manager in a solicitors?’
Kray flashed him a look. ‘How the hell—’
‘It boosts my confidence no end when you forget I’m a detective.’
‘Have you been following me?’
‘Didn’t have to. You left the job advert and the print off of the email confirming your interview on your desk. You had other things on your mind today so I put it into your top drawer to avoid prying eyes.’
Kray paused. ‘I wondered how the damned thing had got there.’
‘How the hell did you end up applying for that?’
‘I saw it advertised in the window of a recruitment agency when I was walking to work this morning. I went in and applied. They invited me to come in for a chat this afternoon.’
‘You walked to work?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘Christ, Roz you only found out about not getting the DCI role this morning.’
‘No I found out about it yesterday. And let’s just say I was feeling impulsive.’
‘Impulsive? More like reckless.’
‘It made me feel better.’
Tavener paused then said, ‘how did it go?’
‘Oh, erm, it went fine.’ Which, given the conversation she had with the fourteen-year-old girl from HR – Amanda - was not her biggest lie of the day.
Kray zoned out and replayed the interview in her head.
‘Where do you see yourself in three years time?’ Amanda had asked.
Fucking dead the way my luck is going. Kray thought.
‘Well, Amanda, I have a five-year plan,’ she had replied in her best office manager voice. ‘I need a change in career direction … blah … blah … blah.’ The lies tripped off her tongue like a cabinet minister voicing support for a colleague.
‘Tell me, how do you manage conflict?’ Amanda had been pulling out all the stops.
I flash my warrant card and try not to punch them in the face.
‘I find it essential to understand the other person’s point of view. Only then can you … blah … blah … blah.’ Kray was on fire, spouting fluent management bollocks, Amanda was lapping it up.
‘What particular qualities will you bring to Willis and Broughton to compensate for your lack of experience?’
Bloody hell, Amanda, that was below the belt. Well let me see, I have galloping OCD, an eating disorder and can drink enough wine to kill a medium sized horse.
‘I see my lack of experience as an advantage. In my current role … blah … blah … blah.’ This was proving way too easy.
‘And finally, Roz, do you have any hobbies?’ Amanda had finished strongly.
I get shit-faced in the bath, if that counts.
After forty-five minutes, Kray had walked out of there feeling like she had nailed it.
She snapped her head back to reality and sipped at her wine, giving herself a well-deserved pat on the back. After all, she hadn’t put her foot in it once by being either genuine or truthful. She had to think positive, it had been a confidence boost if nothing else and it stuck two fingers up to Bagley and Mrs Blobby.
‘Is that why you suggested we meet up for a drink?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, I thought I might be able to talk some sense into you.’
‘Do I have to remind you how far I outrank you?’
‘No, Roz, that’s plain for everyone to see. You do know this is not the answer, right?’
Kray didn’t reply and once more lapsed into a one-thousand-yard stare. Eventually she said, ‘it was a weird experience.’
‘What was?’
‘Being interviewed by someone who’s life experiences consisted of cramming for exams, getting trolleyed in Ibiza and occasionally visiting the STI clinic.’
‘I’m curious, what reason did you give for wanting to leave the force?’
‘To get a better work life balance.’
Tavener spat the last of his wine onto the table. ‘You only have work. There’s nothing to balance it with.’
‘Yeah, alright. But she doesn’t know that.’
‘That job isn’t for you, Roz. And it’s not like you to throw in the towel,’ he said mopping up the drops with a beer mat.
‘Yeah, well I can’t stay where I am, I know that.’
‘Bagley might not last.’
‘Oh come on, Duncan.’ Kray downed her wine as the new bottle arrived. ‘He’s so far up Mrs Blobby’s arse he’s had to move in his office furniture.’
They both laughed out loud.
‘It sounds like you’re dead set on doing this,’ Tavener said cracking the top off the latest bottle.
‘Yes I am. My heart isn’t in it any more, it’s time to give someone else a chance.’
‘That’s what I thought you’d say, so … I got something for you. I figured you hadn’t seen it as you’ve been busy.’ He slid a piece of paper towards her and poured them both a drink.
‘What is it?’ She read the article. It was a job advert to head up the Criminal Justice Unit for Lancashire Police, a central department where they managed the criminal intelligence databases and file preparation teams.
‘There’s no drop in rank, so I presume your pay and rations would stay the same, it’s on your doorstep, and there’s no need to leave the force. The closing date for applications is the day after tomorrow.’
Kray re-read the ad, churning the options over in her mind.
‘You trying to get rid of me?’ she asked.
‘You’re going to go anyway. At least this way I might get to see you from time to time in the canteen. I’m not sure how it stacks up against a job in the solicitors?’
‘It’s a tough call. The office job paid less than a third of what I’m on now, had less holiday entitlement, no health care provision and a minimal pension. So, I’m not sure …’
Tavener held up his glass. ‘Here’s to getting rid of you.’
She
raised her glass and chinked it against his.
‘Thank you.’ She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek and immediately regretted it.
Chapter 18
Kray was perched on the edge of Tavener’s desk sipping at the coffee that she hoped would blow away the cobwebs from the previous night. She had consumed far more wine than was wise to on a school night and had gone home in a taxi to conduct a one-woman assault on the bottles in her fridge.
She had been on tenterhooks while getting ready for work, conscious that if she was to blow into a bag, she’d be catching buses for the foreseeable future - completely forgetting her car was still at the station. She left her house with the job advert for the role in CJU tucked away safely in her bag, ensuring there was no chance of leaving it on the desk this time.
When she arrived at work the station was in full swing.
‘How are you feeling?’ Tavener asked.
‘Oh, you know.’ She tilted her hand from side to side.
‘You must have drowned your problems last night?’
‘I gave it a good go but I’m afraid to say they are still there.’
‘You did that all right.’ Tavener leaned in close. ‘I think we had a lovely evening and if I’m not mistaken you thanked me with peck on the cheek.’
‘That’s quite enough of that, Detective Constable Tavener, I put it down to being tired and emotional at the time. Now did you get anywhere with the CCTV at the show homes?’ Kray asked trying to ignore the banging in her head and the fact that her underling was gently taking the piss out of her.
‘Not just the ones at the entrance. The developer had cameras everywhere to cover the site while the build was going on, they are still there. The footage is with the imaging team but from what I saw on the night Cadwell was killed, Jack Stapleton never left his house.’
‘What about the alibi for the wife?’
‘We got hold of the sister and she confirmed they were at home watching TV at the time. I reckon we can strike them off the list. Unless …’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless they paid someone to kill Cadwell?’
‘They could have but they don’t look the types to do that.’
‘I agree. I’m compiling a list of Cadwell’s business associates who we will want to speak to.’
‘By business associates do you mean Blackpool’s best and brightest in the criminal underworld.’
‘Yeah, something like that.’ Tavener sniggered.
Bagley stuck his head around the door.
‘Roz can I have a word?’
Kray pushed herself away from the desk and found Bagley in her office. He was sat in her chair, rearranging the pens and pencils on the desk. Her OCD spiked into the red zone.
‘Come in and shut the door.’
‘What is it?’
And will you stop fucking about with my things?
‘I don’t want you to back-pedal on the Stapletons. If I was in their position I would want Cadwell dead, they have a copper-bottomed motive.’
Kray jolted herself to focus on what he was saying.
‘They do, but as I told you yesterday—’ Her hackles were on the rise.
‘Yes you did, but I’m not so sure. It would be great to kick off with a big win.’
‘Kick off with a big win? What does that mean?’
‘Well you know, with me being new in the post, it would be good for all of us if we could put this one to bed, pronto.’
‘Put it to bed pronto? We will conduct this investigation in line with our processes and procedures. I do know how to do this, you know?’
‘I know you do, Roz, but I want to be sure we keep focused. I don’t want us to squander what is right in front of us just because we have fallen at the first hurdle. I don’t want us to drop the ball on this one.’
Kray balled her fists at her sides and wondered if this was the right time. She decided it was.
‘Dan we may as well get our new working relationship off on the right foot. Number one: I have no intention of dropping the ball. Number two: I always work for the good of the department as a whole, not for any one individual, and number three: either I am going to run this case, or you are going to run the case, but we sure as hell aren’t both going to run it.’
Bagley clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head.
‘You’re right, Roz.’ He scattered the pens and rose from the chair. ‘We should get our relationship off on the right footing. I was hoping you would be open to working together but it doesn’t sound like you are. Now I’m a straight up and down kind of guy, what you see is what you get, so I want to make myself clear. If you can’t move on then it’s probably best if you move out. Think about it, Roz.’
Bagley crossed the office, punched down the handle of the door and marched out.
Kray was about to call after him, she hadn’t finished with her ‘getting their relationship off on the right foot’ speech, when her phone rang. Anything more she wanted to say to Bagley would have to wait and besides there was a desk in desperate need of tidying.
I slept like a baby last night. I am used to functioning on little sleep when the helicopters, small arms fire and explosions keep me awake, but when I sank into my pillow and closed my eyes I enjoyed the sleep of the dead. I’m feeling remarkably calm and level-headed this morning, very different to when I took care of Cadwell. Then I was wired, like I had drunk ten espressos laced with speed.
I have the day off today, which is why last night fitted so well. It is time I am owed from working late and coming in on a couple of Saturday mornings to reduce the backlog in files. No one else fancied it, so I put my hand up. Having the time off is worth more to me than the overtime payment.
I’m sat in a Greggs bakery, looking out of the window nursing a coffee, the clock on the wall tells me it’s ten to eleven. Today is Wednesday, the only day of the week she gets out of bed before noon. I look up the street to see her ambling in my direction, cigarette in one hand and an energy drink in the other. She passes in front of the shop and crosses the road, flicking the butt end towards the gutter as she goes. She is early for once.
She disappears inside and I watch her take a seat at the window. After a while she is called forward and I lose her from view. I wonder how long it will take this time. Her record is five minutes. The hand sweeps the dial of my watch and at the nine-minute mark she re-emerges still clutching the can. They must dread it when she shows up, no wonder the meetings are short. She is an old hand at this and I can imagine how the conversation goes with her Work Coach.
‘Have you been actively looking for work for your agreed number of hours?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have evidence of that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you attended any interviews?’
‘No.’
‘Are you still registered with the same recruitment agencies?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is your CV up to date?’
‘Yes.’
Blah, blah, blah, and so it must go on, they reel through their stock questions and receive one-word answers in return. So, with all the boxes ticked on her Claimant Commitment agreement she leaves happy in the knowledge that her allowances will drop into her bank account and that’s it for another two weeks. A job well done.
I watch her hang a left down Brigg Street, I don’t need to follow her because I know exactly where she is heading. I finish my drink and saunter after her, making my way to the Cat and Mouse pub.
I reach there in fifteen minutes, just in time to see her first pint disappear down her throat. This place has the dubious honour of being known as the worst pub in Blackpool, though by what yardstick they measure that is beyond me. I take a seat in the corner at the far end of the bar. Then I remember, the last time I was here a woman emptied her bladder while perched on a bar stool near to where I’m sitting. I swear I can still smell piss and disinfectant. The woman apologised, which apparently m
ade it okay.
My target belches loudly.
‘Oh, excuse me,’ she calls out. ‘Another one in there, Chief.’
The pub is empty apart from a few stragglers, her posse has yet to arrive. I watch her flip a tenner from a bulging wad of notes. She tosses it onto the bar.
This is going to be a long day.
Chapter 19
It was the day I tried a different pub and finally felt alive.
I tended to drink in the downbeat pubs around town, you know the sort, where they pull a decent pint but can’t find a decent cleaner. They were the pubs that suited me. Just me, my beer, a bar to lean on and zero conversation – no matter how many people were standing next to me.
By this time, I had worked out that the beer helped right up until the point that it didn’t. Then it had the effect of magnifying every horror I was trying to forget. The trouble was I had no idea where to draw the line, and when in full flow I could be three pints the wrong side of the line before I realised. My life was unravelling fast.
A new bar had opened near to the tower, it was a chrome and mirrored gin palace with a decorative vaulted ceiling. The owners must have spent a ton of money doing it up in time for a Christmas opening and the place was doing a roaring trade. And for some inexplicable reason, which I still can’t fathom, I thought it would be good to give it a try.
I was propping up the end of the long oak bar drinking my past away, oblivious to the raucous celebrations kicking off around me. It was half five in the afternoon, I was already six pints down and the atmosphere was thick with Christmas cheer. The office party brigades were making their presence felt, staging a full-scale assault on the two hundred and twenty different varieties of gin on offer.
The whole pub felt like Christmas, not that I felt anything much in those days, just a dull nothingness, like I’d been hollowed out in the middle.
I cocked my head towards the door as a group of people tumbled past the doorman. I spotted Julie. She was corralled in amongst the knot of revellers wearing a pink party hat and a necklace of tinsel. Leading the charge was Kail, a bull of a man who headed up their department. Julie disliked him with a passion and had always described him as a walking gob on a stick. He shoved his way to the bar and she appeared at his side. It seemed Julie had changed her mind.