“There’s nothing discreet about a solar farm,” I say. “Unless you plan to site the panels underground.”
He hands me my tea. “I can see why you wound that woman up,” he says, a hint of frustration in his voice. “Look, we both know I can build the village at a fraction of the cost using conventional methods.”
I look through the window at the woodland he wants to ruin. “You could throw me out tomorrow and save even more money.”
“Or we can work together to build something ground breaking and original.” He continues to watch me closely as he sips his tea. “Wouldn’t that be better?”
I wish he’d get out of my life, but that’s not likely now he thinks he’s my father. A simple DNA test would settle the matter, but it might prove he’s right. Without the test, there’s always hope.
“Why don’t you build your access road and leave me to run this place?”
“I can’t have paying guests passing this ramshackle collection of old barns.” He pauses and smiles. “Why don’t we make it part of the village experience?”
Columbo paws his leg, after another treat.
“Why can’t you leave the woods as they are? How much money do you need?”
“It’s not about money.” He takes a sip of tea before continuing. “I built everything I have to show the world what the son of a lowly groom could achieve. Nothing else mattered. Now I have someone to leave it to, I want to do things right.”
“Then give me the land and let me run the sanctuary.”
“Hey, I know it’s not easy and I’m not expecting you to like me,” he says, sitting at the table, “but at least let me help you. We could start with your disciplinary hearing.”
Now I know why he’s here. “You’re offering to use your wealth and influence?”
He shakes his head. “I have something far more devious in mind.”
Five
Kelly looks like a blousy barmaid, with thick blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, plump red lips and big blue eyes, crowned with false lashes you could shelter beneath. She flirts shamelessly and plays the dumb blonde routine to perfection. Her wide-eyed naivety encourages senior male managers and councillors to tell her more than they should. During her interview, Bernard Doolittle asked her why she wanted to work in local government.
“It doesn’t pay as well as lap dancing,” she replied, “but you get your own chair.”
She closes the door and saunters across Danni’s office, her scarlet stilettos sinking into the carpet. She reaches the sofa where I’m sitting and stops to straighten her short black skirt.
“Danni will go nuts if she finds you here.” A sly smile creeps over her lips. “Or are you hoping to unsettle her before the hearing?”
That’s what I like about Kelly. She’s one of the smartest women I know. Her disguise is so good, no one realises she’s never set foot in a lap dancing club.
“I need to strike first,” I reply.
“You make it sound like a war, Kent.”
“It’s not one I started.”
“You reckon?” she asks, sitting on the armrest. “You’re too used to getting your way, lover. But now you’re father’s gone, a bit of humble pie won’t go astray, even if it makes you choke.”
She loosens my tie. “You need to embrace power dressing, Kent. Wear a sharp suit, not this old jacket and trousers. Buy some long-sleeved shirts with cufflinks, but not the two-for-a-fiver ones from the supermarket. Finish it off with a smart tie and a discreet knot.”
She’s more or less repeated what Niamh said an hour ago, but I only need one suit. Short-sleeved shirts are more comfortable and practical in summer. And I already own three ties - black for funerals, blue for interviews, council meetings and court cases, and my Scooby Doo and Shaggy tie for people with no sense of humour.
“You know my money goes into the sanctuary.”
“Sure,” she says, undoing the knot, “but Danni will dress to impress, especially as Dr Doolittle has the hots for her.”
He’ll be out in the cold if I can circumvent the hearing. I glance at the door, knowing Danni could walk in at any moment. I whisper in Kelly’s ear, explaining what I want her to do.
She sighs. “You’re not going to tell me why, are you?”
“I may not need your help, but …”
“I love it when you get devious, Kent.”
She knots my tie and slides it up tight to my collar. She holds it there like a noose, staring into my eyes. “And while I have your undivided attention, lover, lose the Hush Puppies.”
My hands go to her waist. “We could have so much fun, Kelly.”
She wriggles free and gets to her feet. “We will when you grow up.”
I should never try to get the better of Kelly. “Say, can you check our records for a mobile caterer called Grub on the Go?”
While I doubt it ever existed, it’s the name of the business Colin Miller set up with Daphne Witherington, according to the Colonel’s file.
“I’ll check food registrations, closed premises records, and enquiries,” Kelly says, heading for the door. “Just like Gemma asked me to.”
With a little wave of her fingers, she’s gone.
I get to my feet and check my appearance in the mirror. My tie looks so much smarter, thanks to Kelly. Maybe I should take her advice and grow up instead of pining after Gemma.
I’m tempted to take a sweet from the bowl in the middle of the oval meeting table to quell the hollow feeling in my stomach. Why do I feel nervous when I have an answer for every question? Maybe it’s the ill-feeling I’ll leave in my wake. Maybe I’m worried that Danni knows something I don’t.
I wander over to her Motivational Pinboard, fixed to the wall behind her desk and executive chair. The pinboard contains quotes from her desk calendar. She types the quotes on sheets of A4 and posts them for us to read when summoned.
‘You never get a second chance to make a first impression’ remains her favourite. She points me to it at least once a day – more if I’m paying homage to Scooby Doo.
“Everything in its place and a place for everything,” I say, tempted to move something on her desk. A docking station and monitor, with keyboard and mouse neatly stashed where the laptop should be, occupy the centre. In the right hand corner, her internet phone and message pad align to the edge of the desk. A Downland District Council pen and pencil are poised to one side of the pad. Two letter trays occupy the left hand corner – In and an Out, as nothing is ever pending.
Hearing Danni’s voice outside, I glide over to the window. Moments later, the door bursts open. If she’s surprised to see me, she hides it well, striding across to her cupboard to park her executive wheeled trolley bag. She looks confident and full of authority in a designer suit, comprising a sharp blue jacket, and a skirt that finishes above the knee. Her cream silk shirt, unbuttoned at the top, costs more than my entire ensemble.
“You really shouldn’t give me more evidence of insubordination,” she says without looking at me. There’s a slight tremor to her voice, but otherwise she sounds confident. “You were instructed to attend the hearing in the Leader’s Room in 20 minutes.”
The hesitant, mousy-haired woman who was fast tracked into management has matured into the confident, smartly dressed Head of Environmental Health and Waste (HEHaW). Or Donkey, as we prefer to call it.
“Unless you’re handing in your resignation,” she says, checking her drawers to make sure they’re locked. “No? Then I suggest you leave.”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “I’m going nowhere.”
She smirks and walks around to the front of her desk. She perches on the edge, folding her arms as she regards me with a mixture of amusement and disdain.
“I wouldn’t pin your hopes on Colonel Witherington,” she says, unable to mask a smile. “He wasn’t sure which internal matters he could influence, but I clarified things for him.”
I must ring the Colonel and thank him for undermining my case. His unreq
uested intervention makes it look like I’m clutching at straws. Back at the meeting table, I reach into the bowl of sweets.
“Soft or hard centre?” I ask, swirling them about. “Which are you, Danni?”
“I think your time would be better spent preparing for the hearing.”
“I’m not attending your hearing.” I remove the wrapper from a toffee. “I promised Tommy Logan of the Tollingdon Tribune an exclusive.”
“If you fail to attend the hearing, it means you accept the charges against you.”
“What action are you planning to take?”
Her smile is immediate. “Oh Kent, you should follow your father into politics. You’re a natural, trying to get me to say I’ve planned your punishment already. That would hardly be impartial, would it?”
“Talking could save a lot of time and expense, but have it your way.” I drop the sweet, pull out my mobile phone, and call Kelly. “Hi, Tommy, it’s Kent Fisher. You were right. They’re determined to get rid of me. I’ll come straight round.”
I end the call, push the phone back into my pocket and stroll towards the door. I pause, wondering whether Danni will bite. She waits until the door is half open.
“Choose your words carefully, Kent, unless you wish to face action for libel.”
I close the door and turn. “There you go, threatening me again, Danni. Just like you did outside the barn at Tombstone.”
“I never threatened you.” She’s on her feet, closing the gap between us. “I’ve given you every chance to account for your behaviour.”
“Did I miss the informal hearing Council policy dictates?”
“Not needed for gross misconduct and insubordination.”
Her smug smile doesn’t distract me from the beads of perspiration on her forehead.
“You had a letter prepared when you confronted me at the barn,” I say. “You’d already decided on the charges before I had a chance to explain.”
“You’ve had two weeks to raise your concerns. Why wait till now?”
“The small matter of bereavement and a funeral, a close colleague seriously injured, police interviews.” I stare straight into her eyes. “Nothing important.”
She can’t stop her index finger ticking me off. “Then why didn’t you ask for the hearing to be postponed?”
“Why didn’t you offer?”
“You managed to contact the Tollingdon Tribune in the midst of all this distress.”
“Tommy Logan rang me. When he rang the council, you wouldn’t talk to him.”
She strolls back to her desk. “If you go running to the press, Kent, my hands are tied.”
I wait, wondering what’s keeping Kelly. Then, as Danni settles into her chair, the phone finally rings. She listens for a moment, a frown etching into her forehead. “What do you mean she’s been delayed?” She looks up at me. “Why have you invited Adele Havelock to the hearing?”
I pound my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Shit! I forgot to ring her.”
“You can’t bring her into a hearing.”
“I’m allowed to have someone with me.”
“A colleague to advise you, not a journalist. Anyway, I thought you were off to talk to Tommy Logan.”
“Looks like I’ll have to attend the hearing as I forgot to cancel Adele. She witnessed you confront me with your ready prepared letter, so I can prove you planned to dismiss me.”
“She was in the barn with you.” Danni slams the phone down on the desk and jumps to her feet. “You took her on an official health and safety inspection.”
Softly, I say, “Danni, it wasn’t a health and safety inspection.”
She smirks. “You arranged it with the site manager. I have a statement from him.”
“What time did I arrange it for?”
“You know what time. One o’clock.”
“And what time did you see me come out of the barn with Adele?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I came out at half past one, still on my lunch break.”
“I saw the two of you at lunch earlier. You were on duty, investigating a work accident.”
I take my time. “No, Danni, I was investigating a murder.”
Her mouth opens, but no words emerge. She walks back to her desk and drops into her chair. She stares at me, shaking her head in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me at the time, Kent? You handed over your ID without a fight.”
“You would have laughed at me if I’d said murder.”
“You could have tried.”
“When you couldn’t wait to dismiss me?”
She massages her temples. “You’ve had two weeks to tell me, Kent. Why wait till now? Are you trying to humiliate me?”
“We had all the fallout to deal with. We were grieving, but you pressed on regardless.”
“That still leaves your other misdemeanours,” she says, rising. “You broke into an empty house, you bullied staff.”
“Is that what Gemma told you?”
“She didn’t need to.”
“You never asked her, did you? Someone else told you. Well, I want this person at the hearing. I intend to cross examine him – or her.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Then let me see the statement you took from this person. If you took one …”
She turns away. “What’s it like, being right all the time? No, don’t answer that. It was bad enough when your father was alive. I couldn’t touch you because everyone was afraid of him. And now he’s dead and still I can’t touch you.”
“Then don’t make it a battle.”
“Then stop undermining my authority.”
I want to tell her she left me no choice, but I came here to save my job, not create a bitter enemy.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll let you brief Bernard Doolittle.”
“This isn’t over,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “From now on, you follow the rules and procedures. Is that understood? When you’re out on district, I want you catching up on your inspections, not nosing around crime scenes. If you miss your target by as much as one inspection, I’ll … oh, get out and stay out.” She swings around so her back’s facing me. “For eternity preferably.”
“I’ll need my ID and written authority.”
“In my trolley bag.”
While she phones Bernard Doolittle, I find my ID and associated paperwork in a clear plastic folder. Behind it, I spot a manila folder with the paperwork for the disciplinary hearing. Unable to resist, I open the folder.
At the front, I see my letter of dismissal, dated today, and signed by Danni.
Six
Lucy and Nigel look surprised when I walk into the Public Protection Team office.
“That was quick,” Nigel says.
Lucy checks her watch and nods. “Too quick. You’d never accept a written warning, so what happened?”
“You didn’t resign, did you?” Nigel asks, looking worried.
“Did you tell them where they could stick their stupid reorganisation?”
What’s Danni been planning in my absence? More efficiency gains, as she likes to call them. Fewer staff equals less management, less confusion, less repetition, and less mistakes. Fewer mistakes, surely, I pointed out, spoiling yet another of her mantras.
No wonder she had a dismissal letter ready.
I should feel angry, but she’s handed me another bargaining chip, which I’m bound to need sooner or later. I don’t go looking for conflict or trouble, but I refuse to be pushed around or remain silent when someone’s treated unfairly. And yes, I once chained myself to trees and sabotaged foxhunts before they were banned because I can’t stand by and do nothing.
“We resolved a few misunderstandings and there was no need for a hearing,” I say, knowing they’ll want the gory details. Thankfully, Kelly’s beside me.
“I’ll email everyone to let them know,” she says. “When I say everyone, I mean the guys from Pollution Control. No one e
lse in the council knows we exist, do they? When I strolled past Building Control a moment ago, they were still discussing last night’s TV.”
“Grantchester was ace,” Nigel says, nodding.
“We’re talking QVC,” Kelly says. “Shall I ask Mutton Geoff to do a media release?”
“The man who put the twit in Twitter?” Lucy shakes her head, her feelings about our Communications Officer well documented. “Forget him. I want to know why Danni dropped the charges. She wanted your head on a plate, Kent.”
“And your sweetbreads,” Nigel says. When Kelly gives him a quizzical look, he blushes.
Lucy sighs. “He means dangly bits. Now, come on, Kent, tell all.”
I’m tempted to head out onto the district, but she won’t let me off that easily. As Unison rep, she’s interested in anything that could undermine management – like her dress code, which tests Danni’s patience more than I do.
Lucy has a collection of waistcoats that run from the intriguing to the plain bizarre. No one knows where she gets them from, but today’s offering is a gold and red Paisley motif on a dark green background. She wears it with a lilac shirt, weary-looking purple corduroy trousers and scuffed Doc Martens. Like her clothes, she often looks frayed and has a lived-in face, as my friend, Mike, would say, thanks to too many cigarettes and pints of real ale.
“As you know, disciplinary matters are confidential,” I tell her, heading for my desk.
“But you weren’t disciplined, were you?”
“No.”
“I said they’d never sack a hero, didn’t I?” She’s on her feet now, striding towards the high moral ground. “Which means one of us will get the chop now, as I predicted, didn’t I?”
Nigel shrinks back as she slaps her hand on his desk to make her point.
“As environmental health officers earn far more than us humble technical assistants,” she says, eyes gleaming, “it looks like you’ll be leaving us.”
“B… b… b… but we can turn our hands to anything,” he says.
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