by Len Maynard
“I haven’t finished. Please do me the courtesy of listening without interruption.”
Jack nodded his acquiescence.
“Very well.” Lane leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know how many female CID officers there are in the country, Jack?”
Jack shook his head.
“Less than fifty, and do you know the reason for that?”
“I’d imagine it’s not their lack of intelligence or commitment.”
“No, it’s not. As I said, I’ve seen Banks work and she’s very good at what she does…”
“But?”
“But the truth is, Jack, give her another few years and she will have married and left the force.” Lane smiled indulgently, as if he was lecturing a child. “She’ll be domiciled in some two up, two down, popping out babies with monotonous regularity, and…” He paused for effect. “And my budget won’t stretch to training someone who’ll be gone in a blink of an eye.”
“And does the Chief Constable agree with that view?”
Lane snorted derisively. “Most senior police officers do, the Chief Constable included.”
“So you’re telling me that you’re willing to sacrifice a valuable member of my team to budgetary restrictions? I see that the budget allowed you to redecorate this office last year.”
Lane’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, Jack.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I just don’t understand your priorities.”
Lane held up his hand to stop him. “You don’t have to understand them, Jack. That’s why I’m the Chief Superintendent and you’re not. I’m paid to make the difficult decisions. You’re paid to follow my orders, and I’m ordering you to drop this now, right now.”
Jack stayed silent, he could sense the lecture wasn’t finished.
“For your information, the only reason I had my office decorated was because I have a friend in the Rotary Club who runs a painting and decorating business and he had some paint left over from a hotel contract his firm had just completed. He offered to do the work for just the cost of the labour. Take a look around you, Jack. This building is old and in time will need a complete overhaul, either that or it will be pulled down to make way for one of those concrete and glass monstrosities that seem to be popping up all over the country. The decoration of my office was a small step towards getting this building ship shape, and it was well within the maintenance budget. In fact the Chief Constable congratulated me personally about it.”
“I’m very pleased for you, sir,” Jack said heavily.
Lane got up from his desk, walked around and perched on the edge of it. “Look, Jack, I know you had high hopes for Myra Banks, and I can see why. As I said to you the other day, she’s a bright girl, but face facts, the police force is a man’s world, always has been, and I can’t see that changing, not in my lifetime anyway. Accept my decision for the good of your team. It doesn’t need a disgruntled boss just now, not with their workload and all the other changes we’ve had to accept recently. I need you to rise above the mundane politicking that is going on at the moment. At least until the county council sees sense anyway. Her day will come, one way or another.” He went back to his seat and sat down. “How are you getting on with the murder of that actor chap?” He smoothly changed tack.
Jack brought him up to date, all the while resisting the urge to storm out of the room.
“Bloody dinosaur!” he said as he walked back into his office.
Fuller looked up. “It went well with the chief super then.”
Jack glowered at him and sat down at him desk, pulling a file from the ever-increasing pile in his in-tray and flipping it open.
He stared at it blankly for a moment before closing it again and slamming it down on the desk, then went across to the coat rack. “I’m going out, to interview Lois Turner, for the second time.” He grabbed his coat from the rack and stormed from the office.
7 - THURSDAY
“Myra, get your coat. You’re coming with me,” Jack barked as he walked into the squad room.
Myra looked up from her desk and hesitated.
“We haven’t got all day.” Without waiting for her to follow him, he headed out to the car park.
Myra still sat at her desk mouth slightly agape. She had never seen him look so angry.
“I think you’d better get your skates on, love,” Andy Brewer, the desk sergeant, said. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
As if stung, Myra rushed over to grab her coat and hurried after her boss.
She caught up with him in the car park. “Where are we going?” she gasped as she tried to catch her breath.
“To talk to the Turner woman again,” Jack said as he unlocked the car door.
“And you want me along?”
He looked at her sharply. “Why shouldn’t I? You know the turf. Get in the car.”
“Right, sir, Yes, sir.” She climbed into the passenger seat. Once she had shut the door, Jack started the car and pulled out of the car park.
Myra watched him as he drove. His face was set in a frown and his mouth was a thin grim line. This wasn’t the Jack Callum she was used to seeing and it unnerved her.
“Is everything all right, sir? Only you seem a little put out.”
He glanced round at her. “I’m not a little put out, Myra. I’m bloody furious. Here we are investigating a savage murder, and the chief superintendent deprives me of one of my best officers.”
“He wouldn’t budge on my application rejection then.”
“No, Myra, he would not, and for that I’m sorry. I raised your hopes and that was wrong of me.”
“I didn’t want you to stick your neck out, sir. Not on my behalf.”
“Well, who the Hell’s going to, Myra? Tell me that. Did you know that there are less than fifty women in the CID in the entire country? It’s a bloody disgrace and men like Chief Superintendent Lane are largely responsible for that situation.”
“Why do you think that is, sir?”
“Backward thinking. A hangover from the time just after the war when the men of this country returned home and women were once again expected to be housewives. Some were happy to do that, to go back to what it was like before the conflict, but others were used to having something more to do with their lives than cleaning the house, looking after the kids, and making sure there was a hot meal on the table when their husbands got in from work. During the war women kept this country going. Some working in factories, others driving lorries or toiling on the land. Without their contribution this country would have ground to a halt. My Annie was one of them, working in a munitions factory, as well running a house and bringing up three small children.”
“She doesn’t work now though?”
“That’s entirely her choice. If she wanted to get a job I certainly wouldn’t stand in her way. We’re entering a new decade, Myra, and I think it’s going to be a time of change. The police force is just one of this county’s institutions that is going to have to rethink the role of women within its ranks.”
“You seem very passionate about it.”
“I live in a house with three very strong women,” Jack said ruefully. “They keep me in my place.” He flashed Myra a smile. “Lecture over.”
“Don’t mind me. It’s good to know there’s men like you on our side. It gives me hope.”
“If there’s nothing else, Myra, there’s always hope.”
Myra was silent for a while. “How do you intend to deal with Lois Turner this time?”
“I don’t intend to deal with her.” He paused and gave her a knowing smile. “You will, as you seem to have her measure. I’ll give you an idea of what we need to find out, and this time I want to speak to the daughter as well. You didn’t see her last time, but she was there.”
“Oh, she was there, sir. Pretty little thing, blonde hair.”
“That’s Geraldine. You saw her?”
Myra nodded. “She was on the stairs when we arrived, but she ducked out of sight when she realized I’d c
locked her.”
“Yes, I saw her as well. She’s pretty highly strung, apparently.”
“You’ve met her before then?”
Jack explained his encounter with Geraldine Turner at the school.
“Why would she say such a thing?” Myra said. “Killing her brother. That’s pretty macabre, even for a teenage girl going through puberty.”
“That’s what I thought, though it has a whole new resonance in light of what happened to her father. That family just aren’t right.”
“And you’re going to try to find out what makes them tick?”
Jack nodded. “And open their closets to see if I can’t shake out a few skeletons.”
Myra smiled. “I almost pity Lois Turner. Almost.”
For the rest of the drive to Elsinore, Jack primed Myra for the interview. Lane couldn’t see her worth, but he certainly could.
“Chief Inspector Callum to see Mrs Turner,” Jack said to Hester, in case she had forgotten who he was.
“Yes, of course.” The plump woman pushed the door open wide for them to enter. “I’ll fetch her for you. Come in.”
They stood in the hallway, listening to someone playing the piano somewhere in the house. A Chopin étude, Jack thought, and a pretty decent attempt.
It was a few minutes before Lois Turner finally made an appearance. The Chopin carried on as Lois sashayed down the hall towards then, stumbling in her high heels. When she reached them it was obvious from her glazed eyes and the smell of whisky on her breath that she’d been drinking.
“Hello, Chief Inspector. What can I do for you this time?” She was slurring her words.
“A few more questions,” Jack said.
She again led them towards Turner’s office. She glanced back over her shoulder, blinked twice, refocused, and made a beckoning motion with her arm. “Come through.”
“Actually, Constable Banks has the questions. I’d like a word with your step-daughter.”
Lois gazed at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. She blinked again. “Geraldine? What do… Oh, never mind. Hester, show the chief inspector through to the conservatory.”
Hester stepped forward. “This way, sir.”
Jack turned to Myra. “You go with Mrs Turner.”
Myra grimaced. “Certainly, sir.”
Jack followed Hester through to the back of the house.
The conservatory was much more than a sun lounge. It was four times the size of Turner’s office, took up the entire back of the house, and was furnished with chintz upholstered bamboo furniture. Ferns in large terracotta pots were spaced out underneath wide picture windows, the floor was laid to tiles that looked Italian and expensive, and in the centre of the room was a full-sized concert grand piano.
The slight figure of Geraldine Turner was seated at the piano, her head bowed as her fingers moved effortlessly over the keys.
“Geraldine,” Hester said loudly over the Chopin. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Gerry’s fingers stopped mid-arpeggio and she glanced round at Jack.
“Oh, hello.”
“Hello, Gerry.” He turned to Hester who was moving towards the door. “If you could stay.”
“What? Oh, yes, all right.” She went across to one of the bamboo chairs and sat, folding her arms.
He sat down next to Geraldine on the piano stool. “You play very well.”
“I know,” Geraldine Turner said without a hint of conceit. “My ambition is to go to the Royal College of Music to study composition. Of course, that’s probably all going to change now.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Look, shall we sit in comfort?” He indicated the bamboo sofa.
Geraldine shrugged. “Okay.”
Jack went across to the sofa sat down again. Geraldine joined him, curling her legs underneath her.
He caught the disapproving look on Hester’s face, but the woman said nothing. She just edged forward in her seat in case she should miss anything.
“I’m sorry about your father, Gerry,” Jack said.
Geraldine gave a non-committal shrug.
“When he brought you home on Tuesday, he went out again in the afternoon.”
She nodded.
“Do you have any idea where he was going?”
“He was meeting someone in town.” Geraldine’s bright, open face showed no trace of guile.
“Do you know who?”
“He didn’t say. When we got back on Tuesday I came straight in here to practice and he went upstairs. I didn’t see him again.” She bit her lip, wanting to cry but forcing herself not to.
“Not at all? Not even as he left the house?”
“She told you,” Hester said. “She didn’t see him again after she came in here.”
“Thank you, Mrs…”
“Gough. Hester Gough.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs Gough, but I’d like Gerry to answer for herself if you don’t mind.”
“Her name is Geraldine,” Hester said tartly.
“I prefer Gerry,” Geraldine said, glaring at the woman.
Jack tried again. “So you didn’t see him again. Did he tell you who he was going to meet?”
“We weren’t talking by the time we got home. We had an argument in the car. That was why I came straight in here. I had to get out of his way.”
“Did you argue often?”
Hester Gough cleared her throat, loudly.
Jack asked the question again.
“We never used to argue at all when mum was alive. It’s only since she came to live with us.”
“You mean your stepmother?”
Geraldine looked at him, a contemptuous look in her eyes. “Who do you think?”
“I take it she and you don’t always see eye to eye.”
“Try never. You’ve seen what she’s like. If she isn’t drunk, she’s drugged up to the eyeballs.”
“Geraldine! That’s enough!” Hester Gough was on her feet. “I’ll not sit here and listen to you say such horrible things about your mother.”
“She’s not my mother!” Geraldine’s voice rose to a shout. “She’s just dad’s wife. My real mother died.”
Jack took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “Okay, Gerry, calm down. I’m sure Mrs Gough didn’t…”
“It’s not Mrs Gough. It’s Miss,” Geraldine said. “Ask her about her relationship with my stepmother. Her darling Lois.”
Hester moved towards her. “Not another word, you ungrateful child. If it wasn’t for you your brother would still be alive.”
“Now that’s enough!” Jack sprang to his feet, putting himself between Hester and Geraldine who was cowering slightly on the sofa, her eyes brimming with tears.
Jack put his arm around Hester’s shoulders and with some effort guided her towards the door and out of the room.
“Would you mind explaining that last comment you made to her?” he said.
Hester was red in the face and breathing loudly. “It was that little bitch with her constant demands and her temper tantrums that brought about Lois’s miscarriage.”
“You can’t blame a thirteen-year old girl for that.” Jack was fighting down his own temper.
“That’s what her father said. Always giving in to her. Letting her have everything she wanted. He was a weak, weak man. I just don’t know what Lois saw in him.”
Jack looked up to see Myra walking toward them. “Is the interview over?”
“Apparently.” Myra smiled. “She passed out on the settee.”
Hester pulled away from Jack. “Is Lois all right?” she said, her voice rising in panic.
“She will be once she sleeps it off,” Myra said.
Hester glared and pushed past her. “I think you’d better leave.” She hurried away to tend to her mistress.
Myra watched her as she bustled away. “What now?”
“Come through to the conservatory and meet Gerry. I think you’ll like her. She’s got spark, a bit like you really.”
&nbs
p; 8 - THURSDAY
He led Myra through to the conservatory. Geraldine had returned to the piano and was lazily practicing scales. “Gerry, I’d like you to meet Myra Banks. Myra, Miss Geraldine Turner. Known to her friends as Gerry.”
“Hello, Gerry,” Myra said, stepping forward and sticking out her hand.
Geraldine shook it enthusiastically. “Are you police too, like Mr. Callum?”
“Yes,” Myra said. “But I’m only a lowly WPC.”
“I saw you,” Geraldine said. “The other night.”
“Yes, and I saw you too. You should have come and said hello.”
“I was trying to hide.” Geraldine blushed.
“Yes, I thought you were.”
“I was trying to hear what was going on,” she said. “Did she really pass out on you?”
Myra smiled. “Sparko. Out like a light.”
Geraldine giggled. “Serves her right. She’s been drinking all morning.”
“Are you going to be all right?” Jack said, “only Miss Gough made it quite clear she wants us to leave.”
“I’ll be fine. Hester will be preoccupied with Lois. She won’t even notice what I’m doing.”
“And what will you do?” Myra said.
“What I always do. I’ll amuse myself.”
“If you’re sure.” Jack frowned.
Geraldine gave him an old-fashioned look. “I’m not a child, Mr. Callum.”
“Well, take care,” he said and reached into his pocket. He took a card from his pocket, scribbled down two telephone numbers and handed the card to her. “If you need me during the day call the top number. The bottom number is my home. I’m available night or day.”
Geraldine took the card and stared at it. “Thank you, You know, you’re not so bad…for a copper.”
“I try,” Jack said. “I try.”
Eddie Fuller walked into the office DS Frank Lesser was sharing with two detective constables, Trevor Walsh and Harry Grant. Lesser looked round as Fuller entered the room. A T-shaped dressing was covering Lesser’s nose and there was bruising around his eyes. “Christ, Frank, what happened to you? You look like just gone fifteen rounds with Rocky Marciano.”