lead the investigation into the murder of that same person as a DI. The Chief Constable, the Assistant Chief Constable and Superintendent Barrow didn’t want me as SIO on Helen Yardley’s murder. And yet here I am – SIO on Helen Yardley’s murder. Go ahead, Waterhouse. You look as if you have a question.’
‘Am I getting the wrong end of the stick, or are you implying that Barrow, the Chief and the Assistant Chief don’t want it known that they were instrumental in sending Helen Yardley to prison?’ Simon stopped short of asking Proust if he’d threatened to go public about their role in an extremely visible miscarriage of justice if they assigned the investigation into Helen Yardley’s murder to any DI but him.
‘The Chief and the Assistant Chief weren’t involved,’ said Proust. ‘Though as Superintendent Barrow’s superior officers, they have his best interests at heart, as well as the best interests of Culver Valley Police Service.’
Sam Kombothekra cleared his throat, but said nothing.
‘So . . .’ Simon began.
‘In so far as your hypothesis applied to Superintendent Barrow, Waterhouse, I
would say
, to borrow a phrase from Sergeant Leckenby, that your purchase on the stick needs no lateral adjustment.’
‘What . . .? Oh.’ Simon got it, just in time to avoid making an idiot of himself.
‘Will you both read the book?’ Proust asked. ‘It’s not an order. I’m asking you as a favour to me personally.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sam.
Simon had ordered
Nothing But Love
from Amazon this morning, after talking to Gaynor Mundy. He would read his own copy when it arrived, because he wanted to – nothing to do with being asked.
A favour
. He’d have preferred it to be an order. Friends asked favours; the Snowman was no friend.
‘Tomorrow morning I want the two of you standing on either side of me for the briefing and tasking, so get in early,’ said Proust, more relaxed now that the meeting seemed to be going his way. ‘I want everybody to see that I have yourfull support when I announce that from now on, anyone who makes a remark along the lines of “No smoke without fire” or “Just because they let her out doesn’t mean she was innocent” will be formally disciplined, no matter where and in what circumstances that remark is made – as somebody’s idea of a joke, under the influence of alcohol. Any bobby who so much as whispers the words in his bedroom in the middle of the night, with his head buried in his duvet – he’ll rue the day. From now on, you two are my eyes and ears. You hear any comments like that, you report them to me, whether the commentator is your closest friend or someone you hardly know. You pick up on any bad attitudes, I want to hear about them.’
Simon couldn’t believe Sam was nodding.
‘I know I can count on your support, and I’m grateful for it,’ said Proust curtly. ‘Waterhouse, any other points you want to raise, now I’ve said my piece?’
There was plenty more Simon could have said – had been planning to say – about where he thought the investigation was going wrong, but until he’d had a chance to think about what he’d just heard, he didn’t want to say another word in the Snowman’s presence.
Count on nothing, shithead
.
‘Let’s call it a night, then,’ said Proust, who would have called it whatever he wanted to call it, whether it was morning, night or the middle of the afternoon.
3
Wednesday 7 October 2009
‘It’s exactly the kick up the arse I need – that’s the way I’m looking at it,’ says Tamsin, taking a gulp from her sixth gin and tonic of the evening. ‘Control freak like me, any sort of disruption to my routine has to be good for me.’ She’s started to slur her words. Her top lip keeps slipping on her bottom one, like a smooth-soled shoe over snow.
I could sneak off to the loo, phone Joe and tell him to come and pick her up, but if I leave her unattended she’s bound to accost a stranger, and there
‘Am I getting the wrong end of the stick, or are you implying that Barrow, the Chief and the Assistant Chief don’t want it known that they were instrumental in sending Helen Yardley to prison?’ Simon stopped short of asking Proust if he’d threatened to go public about their role in an extremely visible miscarriage of justice if they assigned the investigation into Helen Yardley’s murder to any DI but him.
‘The Chief and the Assistant Chief weren’t involved,’ said Proust. ‘Though as Superintendent Barrow’s superior officers, they have his best interests at heart, as well as the best interests of Culver Valley Police Service.’
Sam Kombothekra cleared his throat, but said nothing.
‘So . . .’ Simon began.
‘In so far as your hypothesis applied to Superintendent Barrow, Waterhouse, I
would say
, to borrow a phrase from Sergeant Leckenby, that your purchase on the stick needs no lateral adjustment.’
‘What . . .? Oh.’ Simon got it, just in time to avoid making an idiot of himself.
‘Will you both read the book?’ Proust asked. ‘It’s not an order. I’m asking you as a favour to me personally.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sam.
Simon had ordered
Nothing But Love
from Amazon this morning, after talking to Gaynor Mundy. He would read his own copy when it arrived, because he wanted to – nothing to do with being asked.
A favour
. He’d have preferred it to be an order. Friends asked favours; the Snowman was no friend.
‘Tomorrow morning I want the two of you standing on either side of me for the briefing and tasking, so get in early,’ said Proust, more relaxed now that the meeting seemed to be going his way. ‘I want everybody to see that I have yourfull support when I announce that from now on, anyone who makes a remark along the lines of “No smoke without fire” or “Just because they let her out doesn’t mean she was innocent” will be formally disciplined, no matter where and in what circumstances that remark is made – as somebody’s idea of a joke, under the influence of alcohol. Any bobby who so much as whispers the words in his bedroom in the middle of the night, with his head buried in his duvet – he’ll rue the day. From now on, you two are my eyes and ears. You hear any comments like that, you report them to me, whether the commentator is your closest friend or someone you hardly know. You pick up on any bad attitudes, I want to hear about them.’
Simon couldn’t believe Sam was nodding.
‘I know I can count on your support, and I’m grateful for it,’ said Proust curtly. ‘Waterhouse, any other points you want to raise, now I’ve said my piece?’
There was plenty more Simon could have said – had been planning to say – about where he thought the investigation was going wrong, but until he’d had a chance to think about what he’d just heard, he didn’t want to say another word in the Snowman’s presence.
Count on nothing, shithead
.
‘Let’s call it a night, then,’ said Proust, who would have called it whatever he wanted to call it, whether it was morning, night or the middle of the afternoon.
3
Wednesday 7 October 2009
‘It’s exactly the kick up the arse I need – that’s the way I’m looking at it,’ says Tamsin, taking a gulp from her sixth gin and tonic of the evening. ‘Control freak like me, any sort of disruption to my routine has to be good for me.’ She’s started to slur her words. Her top lip keeps slipping on her bottom one, like a smooth-soled shoe over snow.
I could sneak off to the loo, phone Joe and tell him to come and pick her up, but if I leave her unattended she’s bound to accost a stranger, and there
Similar Books
