“What’s he really like?”
“Chambers?”
“Yes. He reminds me of that fat comedian with the bowler hat, the one in those old black-and-white films.”
“Oliver Hardy?”
“That’s the one. But seriously. Do you think he supports gay rights? Has a soft spot for cuddly lesbians?”
Anne couldn’t help but laugh. She topped up their wineglasses. The level in Nerys’s was much lower than hers, she noticed. “No, I shouldn’t think so. He’s more the kind who thinks every woman he meets can’t wait to drop her knickers for him. And he probably believes that all a lesbian needs to cure her is a good stiff twelve inches of Reginald Chambers. Though my guess is it’s closer to three or four inches.”
Nerys laughed. “But what do you really think about him?”
Annie swirled the wine in her glass, then drank some more. She didn’t like remembering her time with Chambers; the memories weren’t good ones. “Let’s just say we didn’t get along too well and leave it at that, shall we?”
“So what can I expect? He’s going to try to crucify us, me and Warby, isn’t he?”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Annie. “Don’t be so bloody melodramatic. He’s not that bad. There are plenty worse than him around. I said we didn’t get along. That’s all. It was probably as much my fault as his. It wasn’t exactly my dream posting. I don’t get on with very many people, if you must know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Annie checked her watch. “Look, I hate to rush you, but if you’ve finished…” There was no way she would be able to get back to her meditation now, not after this disruption, not to mention the wine, but at least she could watch TV or something and veg out. Almost anything would be better than this.
“I’m sorry,” said Nerys, her lower lip quivering. “I didn’t mean to spoil your evening…I mean, I just wanted to know if I could count on you, if you’re on my side. I’m sorry to waste your time. I’m just worried, that’s all.”
Then Annie saw tears in her eyes and softened. She hated herself for it, but she was a sucker for tears. Worse than any man she’d ever met. “Come on,” she said, pouring more wine. It was going down quickly; the bottle was almost empty. “Pull yourself together, Nerys. Look, Chambers isn’t going to crucify you. After all, it wasn’t you who fired the Taser. He’s an arsehole, yes, and a bully and a male chauvinist pig, but as far as I know he plays straight. At worst, he’ll play up to the media and give them what they want. He’s a PR man at heart, not a copper. But he’s not going to fit you up, for crying out loud. He’ll discover the facts and play it by the book, obnoxious bastard as he is.”
“But that’s just it, isn’t it? That’s the problem. The facts. What are they? And doesn’t it all depend on how someone else interprets them? What version will the media want? There could be as many different stories of what happened on Monday morning as there were people present.”
Annie knew that was true. She had once seen a film called Rashomon, one of her father’s favorites, which told the same story from several different viewpoints. Same facts. Different stories. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “But there’s nothing you can do about that. And he’s got his team from Greater Manchester to keep him on the straight and narrow. He’s not a law unto himself, much as he might like to think so.”
“I just need to know what to expect, so I can be prepared. What did he do to you when you worked with him?”
“Didn’t your friend in Human Resources tell you?”
“Nobody really knows but you.”
Annie took a deep breath and followed it with a draft of wine. “It was a long time ago,” she said. “Seven, eight years or thereabouts.” And why does it keep coming back to haunt me? she wondered. She thought she had finally seen the end of Janet Taylor, Lucy Payne and the Chameleon case over a year ago, when it had come into her life again with a vengeance. Now Chambers was back. “Chambers himself didn’t do anything to me,” she went on. “Back then he was simply a lazy, lecherous, time-serving arsewipe who got others to do his dirty work for him while he got all the glory. Whatever glory there is in a job like that. Mostly he got his jollies from what he saw as his vindication in the gutter press. He always swayed with the wind of public opinion.”
“Why didn’t he retire when he’d put in his twenty-five? I heard he was practically living on the golf course.”
“The reorganization gave him a new lease on life, a renewed purpose. More power. Now he just seems to want to put as many coppers away as he can before he retires. But it’s not as if some of them don’t deserve it, and like I said, he’s not bent. He plays by the book.”
“But he has an agenda?”
“Oh, yes. With Chambers, you’re always guilty until you’re proven guilty. Especially if the newspapers say so.”
“So I’m right to be worried?”
“The two cases are very different,” said Annie. “PC Janet Taylor, the one I was working on, killed a notorious serial killer who had just hacked her partner to pieces in front of her eyes and was about to do the same to her. Unfortunately, a civilian called John Hadleigh, who had shot a burglar in his home about three hundred miles away, was convicted of murder around the same time. It would have appeared bad if a police officer had simply walked away scot-free after killing someone. End of story.”
“Even a serial killer? The Chameleon? I know about that case. I’ve studied it.”
“Then you’ll know what I’m talking about,” said Annie. “But you had to be there to understand the political climate and the media circus. Anyway, I convinced the CPS to lower the charge against Janet Taylor to manslaughter. You know the rest.”
“So it was politics? This woman, Janet Taylor, was a sacrificial lamb?”
“Hardly a lamb, but yes. Partly. It always is politics where the Chamberses of the world are concerned. You should know that. The higher you climb up the greasy pole, the more desperate you are to keep your grip.”
Nerys swallowed and sat for a moment, apparently contemplating what Annie had told her. “Can I count on your support?” she asked finally in a small voice.
Annie spluttered on a mouthful of wine and patted her chest as she coughed. “Christ, what on earth do you mean by that?” she said when she could talk again.
“I told you. I feel so alone. So isolated. I’ve got nobody to talk to.”
“You’re not alone. You’ve got your team beside you, your boss behind you. Besides, it’s not you Chambers is after, is it? It’s PC Warburton. He fired the Taser.”
“Don’t kid yourself. It’s all of us. If Warby hadn’t Tasered the bastard, I’d have shot him. Or one of the lads coming through the back would have.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Uh-huh. It was dark. The hall lightbulb blew when Warby turned it on. You don’t expect something like that. We knew there was a loaded gun in the house. We were already on high-tension alert.”
“Nobody even thought you’d have to go in that way,” said Annie. “And nobody could have known the lightbulb would choose that particular moment to blow.”
“We have to be prepared for eventualities like that. Act as if we are going in.” Annie topped up their wine. The bottle was empty now. “It was dark,” Nerys went on. “You could cut the tension with a knife. Like Warby said at the meeting, we didn’t know what might have happened since we were called in. They weren’t talking to us. The girl could have lost it, grabbed the gun. Anything. When he came out of the kitchen, Patrick Doyle, he was just a silhouette with what could’ve been a raised sword or baseball bat in his hand, even a shotgun. Warby just reacted first, that’s all. I might be the best marksman, but Warby’s got the fastest reaction time of us all.” She smiled to herself. “Would’ve made a great gunslinger in the old West. Fastest draw in the Wiske, we call him.”
“Why was the walking stick raised?”
“He was angry. Doyle. I think he’d already been havin
g a row with his daughter. They’d been absorbed in their own little drama—and when we broke his door down and he heard that bloody almighty racket, well, people don’t take kindly to things like that, do they? He was just mad at us, that’s all, waving his stick about. Understandable. I don’t suppose he knew we were armed. He was just expecting an old mate to drop by—DCI Banks—not armed officers in full protective gear. He couldn’t see us, either. The light was on in the kitchen, so his eyes wouldn’t have adjusted that quickly. We probably looked like Martians in the darkness of the hall. It’s not something you expect, is it?”
“It certainly isn’t,” said Annie.
“So you know whose side public opinion is going to be on?”
“I can take a guess.”
Nerys shook her head slowly, then finished her wine. “It’s not fair. You can do all the training scenarios you want,” she said. “Just like Dirty Harry walking through a movie set shooting at cardboard cutouts. But when it’s real, it’s different. In training you know you can’t get shot or cut. But when it’s real…You don’t aim for an arm or a leg. Warby did the right thing. I’ll stick by him. I just want it to go down that way. I want them to see it for what it really was, mistakes and all, not set out to crucify one of us or sacrifice us to the press or public opinion. We do a necessary job and a damn good one, but it’s messy sometimes, and for better or for worse, people need us. But that doesn’t mean they want to acknowledge us or give us medals. They certainly don’t have to like us. Mostly they want to forget we exist, or to bury us.”
“I can’t control that,” Annie said. “But there are enough checks and balances. I’m still sure they’ll do a good job, remain impartial.”
“I wish I had your faith. I’d better go.”
Annie stood up, but not so fast that she seemed as eager to get rid of Nerys as she really was. The thought crossed her mind that Nerys had drunk the lion’s share of the wine. Was she going to drive? Perhaps Annie should offer her a bed for the night? But she didn’t want to do that. Best just leave the subject alone entirely and not even ask about driving. Maybe it was irresponsible of her, but the alternative was a minefield of complications. “Okay,” she said. “I hardly need see you to the door. It’s not far. But I will.”
Nerys smiled. “Thanks.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Nerys opened the door. “For what it’s worth,” she said, pausing and resting her hand lightly on Annie’s arm, “I’ve heard good things about you, and I’ve seen you around County HQ a few times. I always rated you. I thought you were all right. I liked you from the start.” She leaned forward and quickly pecked Annie on the cheek, then glanced down shyly at the doormat.
Annie thought Nerys was looking at her legs, and she shifted awkwardly on her feet. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious that she was only wearing the black leggings and baggy white T-shirt she had put on for meditation and yoga. The T-shirt only came down as far as her hips, and she felt exposed. “Look, Nerys,” she said. “I’m flattered and all. I don’t know…you know…what ideas you’ve got about me or anything, what you might have heard, but I’m not…you know…”
“Oh, no. I know you’re not gay. It’s okay. Don’t worry. I wasn’t making a pass. Honest. Anyway, you’re not really my type. I just said I think you’re all right, that’s all.”
“Appearances can be deceptive.”
“I take my chances where I find them.”
When she had gone, Annie closed the door and leaned back against it. Not my type. What had Nerys meant by that? Should she feel insulted? What was wrong with her? Was it even true? Nerys’s actions had seemed to belie her words; she had definitely been flirting at times.
Annie was also struck by the troublesome thought that if Nerys Powell, Warburton and the rest of the AFO team were going to be sacrificed on the bloody altar of public opinion, then the detectives who were supposed to have briefed them thoroughly would be lucky if they got to walk away. The walking stick. The dicky heart. Should Annie or Gervaise somehow have been able to find out about those and warn the team that went in? And whether they could have or not, would they be expected to have done so? Because that was ultimately all that mattered: what Chambers and public opinion thought they should have done, not what had actually happened, or why. These were not comforting thoughts.
Annie locked the door, opened another bottle of wine and settled down to a nature documentary about elephants on BBC2.
BANKS OFFERED to pay the bill, but Teresa would have none of it.
“My country, my treat,” she said.
In the end there was nothing he could do but capitulate. They had enjoyed a marvelous dinner at an intimate Italian restaurant she had chosen in North Beach, and the last thing he wanted to do now was spoil the mood with an argument over the bill. “Thank you,” he said. “It was a great choice. Wonderful.”
“Somehow, I think the company helps, don’t you,” she said, giving the maitre d’ a quick smile as he discreetly whisked away the tray.
Banks shared the last of the wine between them and set the bottle down on the red tablecloth. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it certainly does.”
“What’s wrong?” Teresa said. “You suddenly sound sad.”
“Do I?” Banks shrugged. “Maybe because it’s my last night here.”
“You mustn’t think that way.”
“I mustn’t?”
“No, of course not.” The waiter returned with the credit card receipt. Teresa added a tip and signed it with a flourish. Then she picked up her purse. “Let me just visit the powder room,” she said, “then I want to show you something.”
Banks nodded. While she was away, he sipped his wine and glanced at the slightly garish commercial painting of Lake Como on the wall opposite him. Annie wouldn’t like it, he thought, finding it odd that he should suddenly think of Annie when she was thousands of miles away. Maybe it was time to go home. But he was certainly enjoying his evening with Teresa. She was recently divorced, she had told him over dinner, with grown-up kids and grandchildren, and she worked as a child psychologist back in Boston. This trip was a present to herself on her decree absolute coming through, and an excuse to visit her family. She was also, she told him, thinking of moving permanently to California and had been making a few exploratory calls regarding jobs and accommodation.
The little restaurant bar was to the right of Banks, and he could see out of the corner of his eye the rows of bottles gleaming. Should he suggest a Cognac? Perhaps it would be best to wait until they got to the hotel bar. After all, Teresa had already paid the bill here. And there was something she wanted to show him.
Teresa took his arm as they walked out on the quiet side street and made their way toward Columbus, busy and brightly lit, past the Condor on the intersection with Broadway. Instead of taking Grant, with its arches, pagodas, restaurants and cheap souvenir chops, they walked down Stockton, a street of small grocery stores with piles of exotic vegetables and dried goods out front. Even at ten o’clock it was still crowded with shoppers haggling over their purchases and testing the quality, spilling from the sidewalk onto the road. Banks remembered his old sergeant in London, Ozzy Albright, telling him that San Francisco had the biggest Chinatown outside of China itself. They had been in the London Chinatown at the time, much smaller, during his last case down there in 1985. It was a case that had come back to haunt him just before he came away, as such things often did, which was why he thought of it now. You might have to wait a lifetime for justice, but sometimes you got it in the end. Like karma.
Teresa was chatting away at his side, and Banks realized he hadn’t been listening, had been drifting into times past. “Where did you say we were going?” he asked.
She gave him a sharp glance. “I didn’t,” she said. “It’s a surprise. I told you.”
“Right.”
Soon they left the crowds behind. There were fewer shops and the street became darker. “This is the Stockton Tunnel we’re walking on
,” Teresa said. “And what we want is…” She looked around her, as if verifying something with her memory. “Over here.” She pointed to a small alley over to their right atop the tunnel off Bush Street, running parallel to Stockton. It was called Burritt Street, Banks noticed as they approached. “Sorry,” Teresa said. “It’s been a long time.”
“What is it?” Banks asked. “Are you leading me down a dark alley?”
Teresa laughed. “Not very far down,” she said. “It’s here. Look.”
And she pointed to a plaque on the wall. Banks could just about read it from the ambient streetlight. ON APPROXIMATELY THIS SPOT MILES ARCHER, PARTNER OF SAM SPADE, WAS DONE IN BY BRIGID O’SHAUGHNESSY.
Banks stopped and stared. So this was the place where it happened. He turned to face Teresa and grinned.
“Well, you did say you were a detective,” she said. “I just thought you might find it interesting.”
“I do. I’ve just started reading the book, too. I’d never realized…
I mean, I know the story isn’t true, but the city is so vivid in the book, almost a character in its own right. I never thought I’d…I’m stuck for words.” He read the plaque again. “But it gives away the ending.”
“Yes, it does, rather, doesn’t it? But is that so important?”
“I’ve never thought so,” said Banks. “Besides, I’ve already seen the movie, and so far the book is following pretty closely.”
“I think you’ll find it was the other way around. Here,” Teresa said, fumbling in her purse. “Stand right next to it. I’m going to take your picture.”
Banks stood. First came the flickering of the anti-red-eye, then the flash itself. While Banks was still blinded by the light, a voice came from the end of the alley.
“Would you like me to take one of the two of you together?”
By the time Banks could see again, Teresa had handed her camera to the man, whose wife, or girlfriend, stood looking on, smiling, and she took her place next to Banks, resting her head on his shoulder by the plaque. The camera flashed again. The man checked the display to see that it had come out all right and handed the camera back to Teresa, who thanked him.
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