Power Shift

by Judith Cutler

  His jaw set.

  Smacking his silly head was an attractive prospect, too. She looked hopefully at Oxnard.

  ‘It’s not just you, Harvey, that’s at risk. It’s anyone likely to drive that car.’

  ‘Or anyone who might be at the address to which the car is registered,’ Rod said, very formally, as if at last irritated. ‘Your wife, Chief Inspector, for instance.’

  Very huffily, Graham said, ‘I’ll take on board what you say, sir.’

  ‘You’ll do more than that,’ Oxnard said, his face reddening. ‘You’ll get one of our security buffs around to your house first thing tomorrow. And meanwhile, you and your—you have got … got … a wife? Well, you’ll move out for a bit. Take her away for a quiet romantic weekend. And that’s an order.’ The more embarrassed he got, the louder he barked. And there was no doubt that he was very embarrassed indeed.

  As was everyone.

  ‘Why don’t you leave your car here?’ Rod suggested. ‘Pick up one from the pool?’

  ‘That surely can’t be necessary.’

  ‘Put it another way,’ Oxnard chimed in, ‘you’re not even touching the bloody car till it’s been checked over. Unless by any chance you left it in the secure parking area?’

  ‘It was full by the time I got in. I parked in Steelhouse Lane. Nice and public—far too public for anyone to tamper with it.’

  Oxnard stood up, shaking his head. ‘Laddie, I’ve seen what they can do to a car in two minutes in Northern Ireland. Give me the registration number so I can get the boffins to look it over, and get yourself a cab home at the end of your shift. Understood?’

  Graham stood, face red with baffled fury. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Keys?’

  He fumbled them out of his pocket, then nodded to Oxnard and Rod, studiously ignoring Kate as he slammed out.

  After a moment, during which he might have been suppressing amusement or indignation, Oxnard looked straight at Kate. ‘And you, young lady, how do we look after you? Because I honestly don’t see how we can send you on compassionate leave or whatever when you’ve got yourself two jobs to do.’

  ‘Always assuming she’d consent to go,’ Rod put in. ‘Well, Kate?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Leave everyone else to look for one of my own team? But I know I’ve got to take a few precautions. For one thing, perhaps I should wear everyday clothes, and fairly pretty ones at that,’ she added, ‘something as unlike blue serge as possible.’

  ‘But baggy enough to wear body armour underneath,’ Oxnard said. ‘Remember that.’

  ‘And I have been known to wear a wig, if absolutely necessary. Nasty itchy thing it was too,’ she recollected, ready to giggle—with reaction, she supposed.

  ‘I’d have thought night duty was off,’ Rod said, absolutely not meeting her eye.

  ‘You’ll certainly be more use to the MIT during the day,’ Oxnard mused. ‘But look here, Power, I’m not having you act as some dolly-bird secretary to Smith. He’s got a whole team there, and you’re still responsible for a raft of everyday policing activities.’

  ‘Including wall-to-wall policy meetings,’ she agreed, with a sigh. ‘Look, gaffer, I could simply travel backwards and forwards in ordinary gear. It might be better for morale if I wore uniform once I was safely inside.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Let me think about it. Look, it’s the weekend tomorrow. You wouldn’t normally be going in, would you?’

  ‘With a murder investigation going on? With due respect, you’ve got to be joking, gaffer. I’ll be in by seven.’

  He ran his hands through his hair. ‘It’s not as if there are lots of different routes you can take to Scala House. And you certainly aren’t taking your own car and leaving it in its usual spot.’

  ‘So how do I get to all my meetings, sir?’

  ‘I think the taxpayers’ll have to run to having you ferried around as and when necessary. Did you ever go on one of our advanced chiving courses, Rod? You know, the sort they send you on if you’re having to protect diplomats and so on?’

  Rod shook his head. ‘Not as advanced as that. But I drove on motorway patrol for a couple of months.’

  Oxnard looked at him shrewdly. ‘I wonder why you stopped. Anyway, Kate, if you want to work tomorrow you’ll do it from home.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. My place is with my team. Perhaps Superintendent Neville would be kind enough to drive me in.’

  Rod responded with a gracious inclination of the head worthy of royalty. He also raised two fingers of the hand Oxnard couldn’t see.

  Oxnard shrugged. ‘Very well. But I’d much rather you both came into town on the bus and did your Christmas shopping with everyone else.’ He stood up, indicating with a somewhat absent smile that the interview was over. As they reached the door, he called, ‘Where’s your car now?’

  ‘Steelhouse Lane—on a meter.’

  He considered. ‘You’ll be running her home, I take it, Rod? Well, since we’re getting the boffins out anyway, it might just as well stay there. Keys, please, Kate.’

  ‘How are you off for clothes?’ Rod asked, as he unlocked his car. ‘And when did you last collect the post?’

  ‘Seems like a year ago. Have we time?’

  ‘Well, I’m not going back to work tonight, and I truly hope you’re not, now you’ve done your duty by Madame Constantinou ‘

  ‘Eventually! Rod, I feel so ashamed—’

  ‘—and you know she’s in safe hands,’ he overrode her. ‘I must say, by the way, I think Oxnard’s right to worry about you being a dogsbody for Smith. The man could delegate for Europe. Now, you deserve a decent meal and some decent wine.’ He fastened his seat-belt.

  ‘Trouble is, if we’re in the Moseley area I rather think I ought to pop in to see Aunt Cassie,’ she ventured. If he was anything like as tired as she was, this wouldn’t be the best suggestion.

  ‘Are you going to tell her about us? About your moving in?’ He gripped her hands with boyish enthusiasm.

  ‘Oh, I’d love to! Yes!’ And then she reflected, all the dead-of-night worries flooding back. ‘But I’m not quite sure how to. She may not be very happy about it.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘Because—shall I talk while we drive?’

  ‘Let’s see how she is before we make any decisions, shall we?’ Rod suggested, pulling up neatly half-way down Worksop Road—not because he had any obvious fear of an attack but because there was nowhere else to park.

  Kate nodded. ‘The important decision’s been taken, after all,’ she said, slipping her hand into his, ‘Ours. My God, it’s colder than ever tonight. I’d better notch the central heating up.’

  She left Rod gathering up post and sorting it while she took a couple of bin-liners upstairs for more clothes. On impulse, she threw in all of her jewellery, even the items she rarely wore, and some favourite books, too. She came downstairs to find Rod on a similar mission. From time to time he’d bought items of glass and china for her, and now he was wrapping them in tea-towels. He popped them into the bin-liners letting the clothes pad them further.

  ‘You’re afraid they’ll get on to this place, aren’t you?’

  ‘My love, I hope not. And lightning isn’t supposed to strike twice.’ He gathered her to him, a tacit apology for letting her down the last time she had been at risk like this, when her house had been torched. ‘Anyway,’ he said positively, ‘you ought to have your things around: it’s your home, now. You must decide what to do about furniture.’

  ‘It’d be nice if there was room for this.’ She stroked the dining-table. It was George II, not in perfect condition but she loved it. Whether she let the house furnished or unfurnished, this ought to live with her.

  ‘Thank goodness it’s so small. It’ll fit into the back of the car now, if you want. You’ll need a study table. I’ll go and fold down the seats. Whatever did we do before we had hatchbacks?’

  Aunt Cassie was bursting with news. Mrs Nelmes’s daughter and son-in-law—Flavia and Graham Harvey�
�had had a row while they were supposed to be visiting her. ‘On and on it went, according to Mrs Nelmes. She says—Mrs Nelmes, that is—her daughter says young Graham has a fancy woman. Not those words, of course, far too mealy-mouthed for that, both of them. She’s got a mouth like a hen’s backside, Rod, Mrs Nelmes has. And her daughter—only hers is a hen’s with piles!’

  Kate gripped Rod’s fingers till both sets of knuckles were white. Swiftly he laid his other hand on hers. It was all right: she mustn’t panic, the hand said. His mouth said, ‘Hen with haemorrhoids would sound even better!’

  Kate giggled, but not as loudly as the old lady. She must make an effort. ‘Let me freshen that drink for you, Aunt Cassie. Is there enough for Rod and me? It’s been a long, hard day.’

  ‘In that case you ought to go and get yourselves a decent meal. Why not treat her, Rod? You both work hard—she shouldn’t have to cook every night.’

  Kate took one look at Rod and collapsed into giggles again. ‘Oh, Aunt Cassie, it’s Rod who’s the cook. I can barely boil an egg.’

  ‘That’s not true, and you know it,’ Aunt Cassie said sharply. ‘You were a good little cook when you were a girl. Come on, Rod, you make her do her fair share. She’ll forget how if you’re not careful. And that’d be a shame.’

  ‘I’ll let her off tonight, though—as she said, today’s been a bit hectic.’

  ‘In that case you should get her to take you out. Fair’s fair, you know. Off you go. No, I’ve got my television programme to watch and there’s talk of a bit of whist later. Go on, be off with you. Tell you what, you can give me a hand down to the TV lounge.’

  ‘She’s such a good sort, Aunt Cassie,’ Kate said, as soon as they’d delivered her. ‘She usually watches TV in her room, so this business of our escorting her was just an excuse to get rid of us.’

  ‘Quite. But I’m not arguing. I can’t wait to get home, have a very quick shower and something to eat.’

  He drove home, glancing at her from time to time. She knew she had to say something about Graham.

  ‘The Graham business didn’t exactly help, did it?’ she began. ‘He was at Scala House before eight, on his high horse about who should be looking into Bates’s disappearance. The only sensible thing he said was what you said later: that I’d be better value working days, not nights.’

  ‘He wants you back, does he?’

  ‘You know what Aunt Cassie would say: “I want doesn’t get.” Apparently the missing letter was to warn me that his wife was suspicious and to deny everything if she phoned. As if I were likely to confess all. Except to you. You can have chapter and verse, if you want.’

  ‘Sweetheart, we both come with a sexual history. I’m not at all sure that confession of such matters is good for the soul. Especially the soul of the person being confessed to. Would it make you any happier to know exactly what I said and did to Jill Todd? Well, then.’

  ‘Mrs Harvey might phone you to warn you against me.’

  ‘How on earth would she know anything about me?’

  ‘Knowing Graham, he’ll have said that I was with someone else. And knowing her, she’d worm your name out of him. And then she’d phone you at work and—oh, I don’t know.’

  ‘Stop demonising her. She’s probably just a very unhappy woman in a bad marriage. You know there are rumours about him with other women? Romantic entanglements, if not full-blown affairs.’

  ‘Even I know someone who certainly carried a torch for him. I must say, when I met Mrs Harvey, long before—before I even fancied Graham—I didn’t take to her at all. I had to go round to their house once, when he had a sickie, and I was about as welcome as a cat at a canary show.’

  ‘Why “Mrs Harvey” all the time? Doesn’t she have a name?’

  ‘Not one Graham uses. He always calls her “my wife”. But then, with her first name, I might prefer to be called “Mrs Harvey” or “my wife” too.’

  ‘What the hell’s her name, then? Lucretia or something?’

  ‘Joke not. Flavia.’

  He shook his head. ‘Parents have a lot to answer for, don’t they? Come on, no more wasting your breath on her.’ He turned the car neatly into his drive—their drive—and parked. ‘Let’s not bother sorting all that stuff out tonight. We’ll just dump it in the hail and deal with it tomorrow. We need to eat,’

  She heaved the bin-liners into the house. ‘It’ll be hard getting in anywhere at this time of night.’

  ‘That’s why, my love, I booked this morning. We weren’t going to celebrate the first night of the rest of our lives here with a bag of chips in front of the TV.’ He kissed her. ‘Now, give me a hand with this table, will you? I don’t want to knock it. There. And lest you’re about to worry over how much champagne I can consume without risking my-licence, I’ve got a cab booked too. We’ve got about twenty minutes before it arrives. Last one in the shower,’ he added, flying upstairs, ‘is a ninny!’.

  Chapter 20

  Rod extended a hand to silence the alarm. ‘I could wish,’ he said mildly, ‘that Bob Oxnard had actually ordered you to go. Christmas shopping this morning.’ He switched on the bedside light, burrowing back to pull the duvet over his eyes.

  ‘You could go shopping without me,’ she pointed out, rubbing her face. ‘We ought to get some Christmas cards, charity for preference.’

  ‘You’re rather missing the point.’

  ‘Am I?’ She sat up. ‘My God, whose idea was it to have a whole bottle of fizz?’

  ‘Not to mention that very elegant Burgundy.’ He emerged again. ‘Shall I make coffee while you shower or vice versa?’

  ‘Honestly, there’s really no need for you to get. up. I can take a cab into work.’ It was a very feeble protest. Reaching for her dressing-gown, she felt for her slippers. ‘Hell, the central heating hasn’t come On yet.’

  ‘Of course you could. But it would be much more entertaining for me to drive you in and go and irritate Greg Smith for a few hours.’ He pushed back the duvet decisively.

  ‘He ought to be at Steelhouse Lane today. Scala House is only an Outpost of his empire.’

  ‘If past form’s anything to go by, Mr Smith will be at the place of least activity. He’s not a man for epicentres at all. All in all it’s ironic that it should be he who’s looking into Bates’s disappearance—I suppose it takes one skiver to know another.’

  Kate had a suspicion that Rod wouldn’t want to know that,

  rather than improving her vocabulary, he’d started to use her clichés. But she had a to ask, ‘Why put him in charge of an MIT, then?’

  ‘Not guilty. I just inherited him And would love to get rid of him.’

  ‘But did you have to allocate him to Scala House?’

  ‘I’m afraid so What with on-going cases, annual leave and a couple of victims of that stomach bug, there was no one else to choose from. And-much as I’d have liked to don my pants over my trousers, and fly in to your rescue…’

  Rod might not have taken the most advanced driving course available to police officers, but he drove very well. This time he’d set himself the task of eluding an imaginary tail, not hard, he confessed, before seven on a Saturday morning.

  ‘I must say, I’ve never come such a bizarre way to Scala House’ Kate laughed, as they approached from Bristol Road, having briskly taken in many of the lesser sights of Edgbaston en route.

  This is the last time you’ll be travelling in this car for a while,’ Rod said, going all the way round the Holloway Head island as if retracing his steps. He pulled into a bus stop. ‘Scarper. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve parked.’

  The early-duty team were clearly surprised to see her in mufti. Her brief explanation, given in her flattest, driest voice, brought gratifying expressions of concern to most faces. But there was no doubt that she was right to be there: her absence would have been deeply resented, when many of the day shift had come in early, and even one or two of the late shift had slipped into the back of the room. A long day for them. Almo
st as long as hers was likely to be. Warning everyone to be extra vigilant, she retired to her office to check her e-mails.

  There was one from Meg Walker: yes, that was where she’d start.

  As she brought it on to the screen, Rod popped his head round the door to tell her he’d parked in the Arcadian complex car park, which had the reputation of being safe. He’d be reviewing any progress Smith had made—he winked at this point—and would no doubt see her later when the whole team had a meeting.

  Meg reported that all the women had been rattled by the events of the previous day.

  Natasha’s suddenly into co-operation, Kate, pouring stuff out, but poor Mme C is terribly hesitant with her translation Can hardly blame her, I suppose—fancy seeing your flat on fire and not being able to check it out. Then when the news came about her dog. Well, the funny thing is, Natasha came up with the goods, and started singing this Albanian lullaby—sounded a real dirge to me, but they ended up with their arms round each other sobbing their hearts out. Fortunately as soon as they’d arrived, they’d sent one of the constables on guard out with an enormous shopping list—real specialist stuff—so they could cook their favourite food. Had it for supper. Tasted OK if you like that sort of thing. Give me a decent British curry any day. (Joke!) Anyway, the good news is they’re both determined to bring this Vladi to book, so we’re due for an early start tomorrow. Talk to you then.

  Meg XX

  Kate put her head into her hands she’d joined the police, like Smith, to make things better, yet she hadn’t spared time to make a simple phone call reassuring an anxious woman about her property until five or six hours after she should have done. She hadn’t even thought of sending her some flowers. Admittedly that would have been hard, since she wasn’t supposed to know the safe-house address, but it wouldn’t have been impossible. Not if she’d thought about it. A job for today. If she had time.