Doing the Best I Can_A Manchester Crime Story featuring DSI Jeff Barton

by David Menon

  ‘Where the Hell is DSI Barton?’ demanded Chief Constable Ronald Hermitage as he burst his way through the door and into the squad room. ‘I want results on the all the tradesman fraud that’s been going on in this city and when that’s done I’ve got some equally as fulfilling little mysteries for him to solve’.

  ‘He’s in his office, sir’ said Bradshaw.

  ‘And DS Masters? Where is he this morning?’

  ‘He had some personal business to attend to sir that was to do with his son’ DCI Wright explained. Both Wright and Bradshaw had quickly changed screens on their computers so that Hermitage wouldn’t be able to see that they were working on finding the killer of Karina Kowalewski and Stacey Donaldson. It shouldn’t have to be like this. It was a ridiculous situation but they were all behind Barton in seeing it through.

  ‘Detective Constable Ng?’ commanded Hermitage. ‘Could we have a word, please?’

  He led a bewildered looking Emily out into the corridor outside.

  ‘Emily, you’d do well not to taint yourself with DSI Barton’s bad reputation’.

  ‘Excuse me? Are you threatening me, sir? And with all due respect, I don’t share the view that DSI Barton has a bad reputation, sir. As far as I can see he has an exemplary one’

  ‘Except when it comes to Scott Delaney’ said Hermitage but didn’t give her the chance to answer and his voice suddenly so much softer than before. ‘Emily, I’ve seen the way you are with DSI Barton and the way you support him and I think that’s admirable, I really do. Heaven only knows we need more respect shown by junior officers towards their senior colleagues in this force. But you need to make the right kind of friends in the hierarchy of this force if you’re going to have a successful climb of the promotional ladder because there are only a handful of places that can be filled by people from your kind of background’.

  Emily’s anger immediately began to rise. ‘My kind of background, sir?’

  ‘Emily, we need faces like yours on our promotional materials to show we’ve embraced the new realities of this so-called multicultural society’.

  ‘And are you saying that’s a bad thing, sir?’

  ‘No, of course I’m not’ lied Hermitage. He absolutely detested this whole idea of a multi-cultural society. Although he did see Asians like the Vietnamese and the Chinese as industrious souls who got on with things without moaning and complaining about how badly they were treated in the country that had given them sanctuary. What he didn’t were all the other kinds of Asians – the Indians and Pakistanis. They all seemed to represent trouble of some kind. They had such big mouths and like that pathologist Dr. Rashid Ahmed they so often had to be put back in their bloody place.

  ‘Don’t go developing a chip on your shoulder about your background, Emily’ said Hermitage. ‘It wouldn’t do you any favours’.

  ‘Oh I couldn’t be more proud of my background, sir’ Emily insisted. ‘But if I was to develop a chip on my shoulder it would be because people like you put it there, sir’.

  ‘You know what I mean, Emily’.

  ‘Do I? Because from what you suggest, sir, with all due respect, is that all I’m good for is to be a face on a recruitment leaflet. So if that’s not the case then you’ll need to explain. Sir’.

  ‘Look, Emily, you applied from your previous position as a uniformed officer and you got your promotion. I’m glad that you did. It the right spirit with which to embrace the modern way we now do policing around here’.

  ‘Meaningless’.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your supposed answer to my question is totally meaningless’ said Emily. It was so lacking in credibility that it was laughable, she thought. ‘The modern way we now do policing around here?’ That was the biggest joke of all when it came to Hermitage. He was an absolute dinosaur of the first order. ‘You should stand for office in Westminster, sir’.

  Hermitage laughed because he didn’t know what else to do. The way Emily Ng was looking at him made him feel like she looked upon him as a complete fool. And next to her he probably was. He probably had no credibility as far as she was concerned and that would make it very difficult when he did start to try and drive a wedge between her and Barton. And he would have to do that if he was going to realise his mission to drive Barton out of the force. He’d only been playing with that particular fire so far. He hadn’t gone anywhere near being serious about it yet.

  ‘Just remember where the most important place is to place your loyalties, DC Ng’.

  Emily’s response was swift. ‘My loyalties, sir, are with those who can teach me about honest police work and getting the right result based on an open- minded examination of the facts. That’s why my loyalties are with DSI Barton. Sir’.

  Hermitage managed a half smile. ‘Your loyalty to your immediate boss is admirable but like I’ve already implied, don’t let your reputation and therefore career get tangled up with his failures’.

  Both Hermitage and DC Ng were then shocked by the sudden appearance of DSI Barton who asked them both to step back into the squad room. Barton then turned to Hermitage.

  ‘Sir, I expect you’re here about your daughter?’

  Hermitage looked absolutely perplexed. ‘My daughter?’

  ‘I’m sorry but don’t you know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘She’s been reported as missing, sir’.

  Hermitage’s face was full of distain for Barton. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing here, Barton, but it stops right now. My daughter Vanessa disappeared twenty years ago. She was only eight at the time and was found murdered not long after with her friend Imelda Stratton’.

  ‘Sir, it’s about your other daughter Suzanne’.

  ‘What about Suzanne?’

  ‘Well like I said I’ve just been informed that she’s been reported missing, sir’ said Barton as delicately as he could. He didn’t want to be a deliberate arsehole even though he was enjoying the obvious look of unease on Hermitage’s face. If he did start to shed any tears then Barton would happily make wine from them but he needed to put all that to one side. A young woman had apparently gone missing and nothing else mattered but finding her.

  ‘What do you mean missing?’ Hermitage demanded. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Have you been in the sun too much or something?’

  ‘Sir, if you’d just listen for one second’ said Barton, firmly. ‘Suzanne’s two house mates and her boyfriend Lance Parkin have reported her missing. Her house mates haven’t seen her since she left Costello’s bar in the city centre two nights ago ostensibly to go outside for a smoke. They’re worried sick and so is her boyfriend. Now, sir, if there’s anything you know that might help us find your daughter then please speak up now’

  Hermitage suddenly looked solemn and uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He looked down at the floor. ‘I haven’t spoken to Suzanne in years. She wouldn’t have anything to do with me after I left her mother’.

  ‘I wouldn’t dwell on all that now, sir’ said Barton, suddenly sympathetic to the creep. ‘We just need to concentrate on finding her’.

  ‘Don’t you ever try and tell me what to do where my family is concerned, Barton’ warned Hermitage, bitterly. ‘Don’t you even bloody try’.

  When Nathan picked up the keys to his new flat in East Didsbury, right next to the station, his boss and secret lover Ken Stratton said he wouldn’t go with him because there would be too much of a risk of people putting two and two together and adding up the truth. The area wasn’t part of his North Cheshire constituency but he felt the need for caution anyway. It was one of those things when Nathan was reminded that he wasn’t in a normal relationship.

  But then again it was Ken who’d instigated the move because he didn’t like Nathan’s old flat. He thought it was too small and in completely the wrong area. This was typical of Ken. He had to make everything about him, right down to where Nathan lived, without him giving anything at all to what Nathan might really need. It never occu
rred to Ken that it might sometimes piss Nathan off. It never occurred to him how it sometimes made Nathan feel like a glorified escort. He just carried on having his cake and eating it because Nathan let him.

  ‘So when will Ken be over here to help you?’ asked Callum, Nathan’s cousin. He’d brought in the last of the boxes holding all of Nathan’s worldly goods. The flat had a bright feel to it thanks to the benefit of high ceilings and large windows. The owners had spared no expense in making the décor as neutral and bland as they could. It was off white everywhere and they’d given the agency strict instructions to pass on to the tenants that no pictures were to be hung using nails on any of the walls.

  ‘Oh he’ll be here this evening’ Nathan replied cheerfully.

  ‘You mean once he’s read his kids a bedtime story?’ suggested his friend Rosie Franklin sarcastically. She’d come along to help. ‘Then he might be able to give you just a modicum of his oh so precious time’.

  ‘Feeling particularly sour today are we?’ said Nathan.

  ‘No’ said Rosie. She was slightly stung by Nathan’s sharp tongue but it wasn’t the first time he’d used it on her and she was getting used to his defensiveness over Ken.

  ‘It sounds like you are’ said Nathan. ‘In fact, it sounds like you’re having a go again, Rosie’.

  ‘You know she’s only got your best interests at heart, Nathan’ said Callum. He wiped his brow of sweat. He’d taken a couple of hours off to help Nathan move in even though he had more work than he could handle at the moment.

  ‘Yea, I know’ said Nathan with an appeasing face at Rosie. ‘I know. But I’m alright’.

  ‘Yea but the moment you’re not we’ll be ready’ said Rosie. ‘And I meant to ask you. Can you really afford a place like this? I mean, I hardly think Ken pays you more than he thinks he can get away with and this is in a smart area’.

  ‘Yes, but not as expensive as it would be if it was in the centre of Didsbury’.

  ‘There’s not much in it, Nathan’.

  Nathan wondered why everything in life seemed to come down to pound signs and how much somebody who loved you was prepared to spend on you. He knew that money could end up threatening your life instead of enhancing it. His parents had nearly lost the house once when his Dad had been laid off and hadn’t been able to find a job for a while. His Dad once admitted that they’d only been a month or so away from being homeless during that period.

  ‘I’ll be alright, Rosie’ said Nathan, trying not to sound irritated. He knew that Rosie meant well but he didn’t always know what to say in answer to her questions. ‘Ken is going to subsidise the rent’.

  Rosie didn’t know whether to believe him or not. ‘So he’s set up a regular bank transfer and everything?’

  Nathan sighed. ‘Rosie, you know he can’t do that in case some nerd from the press sets against him and decides to investigate his private life. And in any case, how could he explain that to his wife?’

  ‘So how is he going to subsidise you living in this place? I mean, what will it actually look like in practical terms as far as you’re concerned?’

  ‘He’s going to give me cash. Jesus, were you in the bloody gestapo in your past life?’

  ‘I just want to know that you’re going into this with your eyes open to what’s actually happening and not to what your love blind heart wants to see’.

  ‘Look, I’m not stupid’ said Nathan. ‘And do we have to go through this shit every time we’re together? Honest to God, Rosie, I love you dearly but you’re really starting to try my bloody patience. I know I’ll never be top of Ken’s list of priorities but in his own way he makes me happy and right now that’s all I need. And if it gets to the point when I’m not happy with that anymore then I’ll think again’.

  ‘No you won’t because you’ll be in too deep by then’.

  ‘Well then you’ll be able to say I told you so, won’t you’.

  ‘Let’s not fall out over this, Nathan’ Rosie pleaded.

  Nathan leaned over and gave her a hug. ‘I promise you we won’t’.

  Neither of them had noticed that whilst they’d been locked in their little domestic that had made them sound like an old married couple, Callum had been busy texting. Messages had been going back and forth between himself and the guy he’d been put in touch with who sold the tools and components he needed for work at much lower prices than the wholesalers. He arranged to meet him at seven that night in a pub across the road from Deansgate station. His boyfriend Angus had a business meeting tonight and wouldn’t be home before nine by which time Callum would be sitting waiting for him in Angus’s city apartment. Job done. Callum then turned to Nathan’s box of CD’s. ‘Hey Nate, when are you going to let your taste in music get beyond prehistoric?’

  Nathan had always been a big fan of American rocker Billy Joel and had seen him in concert several times when the great man had brought his tours to the UK. But he was always being knocked for it. Not that he cared.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Well everybody knows that Billy Joel is just a poor man’s version of Bruce Springsteen’ said Callum.

  Nathan was aghast. ‘A poor man’s version of Bruce Springsteen? How can you say that when you listen to songs like ‘Goodnight Saigon’, ‘My Life’, or ‘New York State of Mind’ for fuck’s sake? They’re fucking timeless classics. So many images in those words. Poetry set to music’.

  ‘Stevie Nicks writes poetry set to music’ said Rosie.

  ‘Well we do agree there’ said Nathan who shared Rosie’s admiration for the Phoenix, Arizona born singer and performer, both solo and as a member of what both Nathan and Rosie think of as a legendary rock band, Fleetwood Mac.

  ‘Her songs have saved my life on occasions and I don’t mind admitting it’ Rosie continued.

  ‘Well when the two of you have finished hosting Rock FM could we get on to some more contemporary stuff like Little Mix?’ said Callum. ‘I think they’re pretty good’.

  Both Nathan and Rosie shot Callum a look that told him to shut up if he valued his life.

  ‘You cannot put Billy Joel, Stevie Nicks, and Bruce Springsteen in the same sentence as Little Mix when the topic of conversation is music’ said Rosie. ‘Little Mix only make records for today. They don’t make music that will stand the test of time’.

  ‘You know sometimes you actually come out with stuff that makes a lot of sense, Rosie’ said Nathan.

  ‘Well I’ll take that as the compliment that I think it was meant’ said Rosie.

  Nathan then took a call on his mobile phone and from the screen he saw it was Ken. ‘I’ll take this out there’. He headed onto the balcony and once he was there he pressed the answer button but before he had a chance to say anything Ken went straight for it.

  ‘I cut my finger this morning and there was nobody here to fetch me a band aid’ he protested.

  ‘And you really called to tell me that?’

  ‘Well I could’ve bled to death’.

  ‘I don’t think a cut finger would’ve led to your premature demise, Ken’ said Nathan who hated this pompous egotistical side of Ken. He blamed it on his mother who apparently spoilt him rotten, especially after his sister had been murdered, and now his wife did the same thing. He’d married well in that respect. She’d taken over his mother’s role in letting him be King of the castle.

  ‘I’m using my private mobile’.

  ‘I know you are’.

  ‘Well then why don’t you call me lover?’

  ‘Okay then, lover’.

  ‘And I must say that the work is really piling up here’.

  Nathan closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Ken, it’s only 11.30 on my day off and in case you hadn’t noticed I was in the office until eight last night after having got there at 7.30 yesterday morning’. It was so easy to see why Ken was in the Tories. He really couldn’t give a stuff about anybody else and almost considered it a weakness in those who did. Except if they were rich of course. Th
ey were the only ones worthy of caring about as far as liberals like Ken were concerned. The poor were what charities run by do good bleeding hearts were for.

  ‘And that charity concerned with murdered children has been on to me again’ Ken went on. ‘I thought you’d told them I wasn’t interested?’

  ‘I did, lover’.

  ‘Well they obviously didn’t get the message’.

  ‘Well I’ll call them again tomorrow’.

  ‘Yes, well make sure you do because I’ve told you I don’t want anything to do with them’ Ken emphasised. ‘No matter how useful you think it might be for my image. Maybe that would be the case if I was a Labour MP. And look, do you have to take the whole day off to move?’

  Nathan sighed. ‘Lover, when was the last time you moved house without an army of expensive removal men to make sure that none of the activity interfered with your reading of the papers or the consumption of your lunch?’

  ‘Point taken’ said Ken, smiling. Nathan was the only one who he’d let talk back at him. Not even his wife got that privilege. ‘But make sure it’s all done by the time I get there tonight. I don’t want to walk into a place full of cardboard bloody boxes and you know I don’t like you dividing your attention away from me’.

  After the call had ended Nathan paused and smiled to himself. Ken may be one pompous tool but there was something about him that Nathan just couldn’t turn away from.

  Callum arrived at the pub at about ten minutes to seven. It seemed like a busy evening in town and there were a lot of people about enjoying a drink and perhaps a takeaway before heading for home. He really wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing but he had to reduce the cost side of his balance sheet if his business was going to survive. He couldn’t ask his boyfriend Angus for help. He knew that Angus would be only too willing to help but he didn’t want to risk Angus thinking of him as a business failure who needed bailing out.

  He bought himself a pint of lager and sat down at one of the high tables in the middle of the pub. He had a good view of the door and could well see when someone came in who was obviously looking for someone he’d arranged to meet. And Callum didn’t have to wait long before a tall, slim masterpiece of mid to late twenties vintage came in who looked exactly like he was looking for someone. Callum thought he was kind of hot with his brown eyes, brown hair cut short and brown stubble covering his face. In the days before he’d met the always clean shaven, smartly dressed suited and booted businessman Angus, Callum would’ve probably tried to get into his knickers but not now. That’s what love does for you.