by Derek Fee
"Oh yes we are," she said as she strode out of the office.
"He'll see you now," the Secretary said coldly.
Wilson heard her but he continued to look at the door through which Kate McCann had just exited.
Wilson ran his hand unconsciously through his hair and then despised himself for the involuntary nervous gesture. He turned and pulling himself to his full height he walked to the door to the DCC's office and pushed it open without knocking.
Wilson almost smiled as he entered Jennings’ office. He knew that the DCC hated the sight of him. Jennings had been nicknamed ‘the vulture’ at the police academy because of his long scrawny neck and his prominent nose. That was twenty years ago and as he had aged he had come to resemble even closer the scavenger of the desert. It had always been a bone of contention between Wilson and his wife that Jennings and himself had been in the same class. While he had travelled the traditional route from constable to detective constable and on to detective sergeant before reaching the exalted heights of detective inspector, Jennings had chosen a less arduous route to becoming his boss. Postings in training and personnel had been followed by a stint in public relations. Wilson had long ago realised that elevation within the ranks of the police force owed more to the ability to lick arse than the ability to solve crimes.
At the moment Wilson entered, Deputy Chief Constable Roy Jennings sat hunched over his desk examining papers with the same intensity as a vulture examines its next meal. Jennings glanced up briefly revealing a face was straight out of a Marcel Marceau mime class. The deathly white colour began at the neck of his shirt and continued through his eyebrows and over the crown of his bald pate. The lips were thin and closely held together as though composed in death by some uncreative mortician. The only feature which demonstrated that the person behind the face was alive were the piercing dark eyes which darted in Wilson’s direction before returning to the papers which lay before him.
"Bloody woman," Jennings muttered as he motioned at a chair in front of his desk. "Truth and reconciliation be damned." He looked up and saw Wilson still standing. "Do I have to order you to sit down? I'll be with you in a moment."
The Deputy Chief Constable continued to shuffle the papers on his desk as Wilson sat in the chair which he indicated. This was going to be an exercise in power and Wilson was going to have to grin and bear it. As soon as Wilson eased himself into the chair and looked across the desk, he realised that the visitor's chair was pitched several inches lower than the DCC's which meant that no matter how tall the visitor was, Jennings always looked down on them. Kate McCann must have sat in this very seat during her meeting with Jennings getting the full blast of his power and position. Wilson looked at the desk directly in front of him. Kate's visiting card sat on the edge of the wooden desk a mobile number scrawled in blue biro on the bottom. Wilson had an almost photographic memory for faces and names but numbers weren't his thing. He stared at the figures trying to impress them on his brain.
"Good to see you, Ian," the clear dark eyes finally raised and focused directly on Wilson.
"Good to see you too, Roy," Wilson took pleasure in Jennings' wince at the use of his first name. Wilson noticed that the Oxford accent which Jennings had tried so hard to cultivate had deepened since their last meeting. There was hardly a trace left of the bog Northern Irish accent he had entered the police college with.
"Yes, well I'm sure you've got a very busy caseload so I won't take up too much of your time," Jennings bundled up the papers he had been examining. “I understand you’re dealing with that business last night in the Woodvale Road.”
“I am,” Wilson said. He could smell what was coming.
“I don’t have to tell you how delicate the matter is,” Jennings stared into Wilson’s eyes. “The Chief Constable has been up half the night taking phone calls from politicians of all hues who are wetting themselves that this murder could put us back on the road to perdition. It would be useful to have the matter cleared up as quickly as possible ”
“I’m aware of the overtones,” Wilson said returning the stare “I don’t think we should second guess the situation at this juncture. All we have is a corpse who doesn’t appear to have any political connections. In fact the man appears to be a complete nobody. At a guess I’d say that politics and sectarianism has nothing to do with the murder but it’s early days. We still don’t know very much about the dead man. When we find out more about him maybe we’ll have a line of enquiry.”
“Time is a luxury you may not have on this investigation,” Jennings said.
“I’m aware of the constraints,” Wilson replied. “Every man in the squad will be working full time on this until we get a breakthrough. But you know we’re not exactly over-staffed.”
"You people in the Murder Squad are always bleating about how understaffed you are,” Jennings smiled. “You'll be pleased to hear that we're going to give you an additional officer."
Jennings paused to allow Wilson to react but the Chief Inspector sat impassively before him.
What the hell is this conniving bastard up to? Wilson thought as he watched the DCC press his palms together in imitation of the praying mantis.
"The person we intend to put in your unit has just been assigned to Belfast from Strabane," Jennings continued. He glanced at the file in his hand. "A Constable McElvaney."
Now it was Wilson's turn to wince. He sat upright in his chair.
"We've known each other too long for this kind of bullshit, Roy." Again the wince from the DCC. "I suppose that this McElvaney character is a Catholic."
"You suppose right," Jennings replied pursing his lips so tightly that they disappeared completely. "Constable McElvaney is a member of the PSNI and as such one of your colleagues."
"You can keep that rubbish for your interviews with the media. My squad is one hundred percent Protestant. You drop a Catholic in the middle of them and I'll have six transfer requests on my desk before the week's out. That is if Constable McElvaney is still interested in a career in the PSNI at the end of his first week."
"There's no need to over-react, Chief Inspector."
Wilson noted that they were no longer on first name terms.
"However," Jennings continued. "I am counting on you to ensure that the Constable's career in the PSNI continues for a lot longer that one week. I don't have to tell you that there's been a lot of adverse publicity about the composition of the Force. The Police Service of Northern Ireland is not simply a new name, it is a new concept. I don’t have to tell you that following the Patten Report the Chief Constable himself has decided that we must make greater efforts to integrate Catholics at every level of the Force. And that means into every station in the country whether it finds itself in the middle of a Protestant enclave or not. It’s a new world out there, Wilson, whether we like it or not. Contrary to what some people think we’re not exactly the Rainbow Nation but a lot of changes are going to have to be made and accepted."
"What the hell does the Chief Constable know about this Province?" Wilson spat out the words. "He's an Englishman sent here to impose civilised English morals on a force which doesn't easily take to civilisation. The culture of this Force is Protestant whether we like it or not and that means for a lot of our ‘colleagues’ Catholics just aren't welcome on board whatever the directives from the top say. We all know that it’s got to change but this is shoving it down people’s throats before they have a chance to digest it. The Chief Constable should haul his fat arse and his knighthood back to where he came from and leave us to fight crime the way we're supposed to. I'll tell you one thing, Roy. If you put this fellow into my squad," Wilson leaned forward and put his two large hands on the desk for emphasis. "You’re prepared to screw up whatever chance we have of bringing to justice any of the well-known psychopaths running around this town just to appear modern to the politicians."
Jennings met the hard look in Wilson's eye. "Firstly I don't appreciate the tone of your voice but I’m willing to over
look that for the moment. Secondly I think that you are particularly suited to look after this officer."
"Why me?" Wilson had to restrain himself from standing up, "Do you really want to get at me that badly?"
Jennings ignored the questions. "You've never been a member of the Orange Lodge, have you, Wilson?"
Things were certainly disintegrating, Wilson noted the progression from Ian to Chief Inspector and then to Wilson.
"I never saw the need." Wilson was used to having this old chestnut pushed into his face. He glanced down again at Kate's card. The mobile number had already erased itself from his mind. To hell with Jennings he would have to manufacture a situation where he could get his hands on that card. "But that doesn't mean that I've volunteered to wet-nurse some…", the word `Taig' was about to issue from Wilson's lips but he cut it off, "Catholic officer" Christ, he thought, I'm beginning to sound like Whitehouse.
"McElvaney doesn't need to be wet-nursed," Jennings said coldly. He tapped the file on his desk. "First class record in uniform and passed first in the class at detective training. You are not being sold a cripple."
"In that case maybe you'd like to propose this guy for membership in your local Lodge," Wilson said sarcastically.
Jennings was about to reply when the door opened and the Secretary entered carrying a tray holding two cups, a tea pot and a small plate of biscuits. She laid the tray on a small side table beside Jennings while studiously avoiding his visitor.
Wilson took his chance as Jennings turned sideways and palmed Kate's visiting card. He slipped it quickly from his palm to his pocket.
Jennings lifted up one of the cups and handed it back to her. "Chief Inspector Wilson won't be staying for tea," there was a tone of finality in his voice. He picked up a blue folder from his desk. "This is McElvaney's file. Return it to my secretary when you’re finished with it."
Wilson took the folder from the Chief Inspector's hands without comment.
"Constable McElvaney is downstairs in the cafeteria," Jennings started to pour his tea. "I suggest that you go there and introduce yourself. Then you can both return to your squad-room and get back to work." The Deputy Chief Constable poured a stream of milk into his tea and stirred the mixture to a light brown consistency.
"I can't be responsible for the repercussions," Wilson pushed the chair back and stood up.
"That's just it, Chief Inspector," Jennings sipped on his tea. "I'm going to hold you personally responsible. And by the way. Be especially kind to Constable McElvaney. You may end up working for a Catholic one day."
As he passed through the outer office he glanced at Jennings' secretary. She had a smug smile on her face.
"It doesn't suit you," Wilson said as he turned the handle of the door to the office.
"What doesn't suit me?" she asked.
"Being that fucking poodle's poodle," Wilson said as he exited the office.
CHAPTER 7
Wilson took a quick look around the cafeteria at Castelreagh. His glance encountered several tables of four or five uniformed officers chewing the fat. He continued to look around the room and saw that the only single person seated at a table was an attractive female with a head of frizzy red hair. Where the hell had this guy McElvaney got to? He flicked open the file and gazed at the coloured picture stapled to the right-hand corner of the first page. The colour drained from his face and he looked again at the single female who was returning his look.
Holy shit, he thought. A woman and a Catholic. The woman sitting at the table was dressed in civilian clothes as would befit her position as a detective constable. She wore a light blue blouse which set off her pale complexion. Her ensemble was completed by a dark blue trouser suit. Her demeanour and dress was more that of a management consultant than a police officer. Wilson walked slowly towards the table at the back of the room. "Constable McElvaney, I presume?" he said standing in front of the young woman. “I’m DCI Wilson.”
"Sir," Constable McElvaney stood to attention.
Wilson looked into her deep green eyes. “Sit down please.” He looked at the cup on the table. “I see you’re having tea.” Christ what do I sound like, he thought. This is worse than a schoolboy on his first date.
The young woman sat. “It could be worse, sir,” she said as she took her seat.
“Worse?” Wilson said wondering in his mind how things could possibly be worse.
“Well, I could be black. That would be a full-house. Catholic, a woman and black.”
Wilson started to smile. “It was a bit of a shock,” he said taking the seat directly across from hers and opening her personnel file on the table before him.
“I could see that from here, sir,” she said returning his smile. He noticed that her teeth were almost perfectly white and the smile lit up her otherwise pale freckled face. “Your face dropped so much I thought that you might have thought that you were on Candid Camera. Can I get you a tea or a coffee, sir?”
“No thank you. I think that I’m going to need something much stronger than tea or coffee. But perhaps later.” You bastard Jennings, he thought to himself. He knew that the DCC hated him but this was way out of order. This was a possible career finishing tactic on the part of the DCC. Introducing a catholic officer into his all-protestant squad was one thing but introducing a female catholic was a horse of a totally different colour.
“Moira McElvaney,” Wilson started reading from the personnel file. He castigated himself for not opening the file before entering the cafeteria and that wily old fox Jennings had been damn careful not to indicate the sex of his new officer. The colour photo was of the passport variety and it did not do its subject justice. “Nice bunch of A levels,” he said scanning the page.
“But not good enough to read law,” she sipped her tea.
“Bachelor of Arts in Sociology,” he said without responding.
“I was going to change the world.”
“Stint with Concern in Africa. Then social welfare officer and now PSNI.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m tempted to ask what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this.”
“You were gracious enough to skip over the failed marriage,” she said returning his gaze. “Just to get it out of the way. I married young. I didn’t realise that I was marrying a wimp until I lived with him and we parted amicably. No children, thank God.”
“You’re rather up-front as they say,” he turned the pages in the file to her superiors’ reports on her.
“If we are going to work together then I think it’s important that you should know what you’ve got, sir.” He had kind eyes, she thought. His face was rugged and lived in. He would have been considered a handsome devil when he had been younger. She might even have fancied him herself. As the thought struck her she felt her face flush and she fought to push any sexual thoughts from her mind. When they had told her that she was being posted to Tennent Street her reaction had not been so far removed from Wilson’s. Shock horror was the order of the day. But when they told her she would be working directly with the legendary Ian Wilson her courage had returned a little. Her instructors at the training college had used several of Wilson’s cases to illustrate correct police procedure. It had been her dream to work with someone like him. Now she found herself seated directly before him and staring back into blue eyes that seemed to reach right into the back of his head. He was a lot bigger than she had expected. She’s known that he had been a big-wheel rugby player but he seemed enormous to her. She was reminded of a large black bear. He certainly didn’t seem to be the sort of guy to get into a hassle with. She found him instantly likeable unlike most of her previous bosses.
Wilson glanced at the appraisals written by her superiors. They were uniformly excellent. “Social work didn’t suit either?” he asked.
“Social work wasn’t my bag. I didn’t have the required level of empathy to deal with the under-age mother who gets off on beating her child just because it interfered with the continuation of her social life or because
it cried too much when it was hungry. So I really wanted to be a lawyer but when you don’t have the grades you don’t have the grades. Maybe I should have studied more and watched less of Kavanagh QC. So next best thing - join the police force. A couple of years on the beat in Strabane, exam to become one of the elite and three months college and here I am, sir.”
“You’re sure about this?” he asked. Please say no, he thought. She was obviously intelligent. Her superiors had graded her at the highest level and she was undeniably good-looking. What the hell had gotten into her red-haired head? He wanted to scream at her to go get a life. There would be no offers to her to join the Masons or the Orange Order. She could of course attempt to move up by offering her body to her superiors and he was sure that there would certainly be some takers but in the end loyalty to the Lodges would be the primary force in deciding promotions.
“As sure as I can be,” she finished off her cup of tea. “It’s a job and a damn good one at the moment. The PSNI looks like it might amount to something and it might just be the right horse to ride at the moment.”
“What about Law School?” he asked.
“Too late or it can wait,” she laughed. “If I didn’t know better I’d say that you were trying to ditch me. We studied some of your cases at Police College. You’re kind of famous in a certain way. And there’s a group of officers who’d look up to you as a sort of hero.” Was it her imagination or did she see colour rising in his cheeks. This man was a legend among the younger officers and he could still be embarrassed. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who’d walk away from a challenge and taking me on is quite a challenge. But I think that I can learn a lot from working with you and you can be a ground-breaker for others like me.”
“Good God,” he laughed. “You’re beginning to talk like you’re the Chief Constable already. What a politician you could turn out to be. That’s a hell of a gauntlet you’ve thrown down. If I wasn’t so world-weary and cynical, I’d think myself less of a man if I walked away and told the assholes upstairs that I wouldn’t take you.” Maybe that’s what Jennings and gang were hoping for. He turns down the new copper and they cashier him for refusing an order. Quite Machiavellian but also quite possible.