to talk to whoever is in charge,’ Gran said.
The man behind the desk was white and alarmed. He wore a dark uniform and his long fingers were already reaching for a pen and clipboard.
‘Did you hear me?’ Gran said. ‘The boss man, right now.’
‘Well,’ the officer replied, ‘our police commissioner is a woman. But I don’t expect she can see you without an appointment, Mrs …?’ He trailed off, waiting for Gran to give her name.
‘Mrs Adesina. I am not going anywhere until I have given this boss woman a piece of my mind. The way I have been treated is disgraceful!’
He scrawled something quickly at the top of the clipboard. Then something else. Then he crossed that out and looked up. ‘Could you please tell me the nature of your complaint?’
Gran heaved in a heavy breath. She pulled her handbag up to her chest. She fixed needle sharp eyes on the officer. ‘Are you the police commissioner?’ she asked with a bass rumble.
The officer quailed. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Then I will thank you for not wasting my time. Get me the commissioner. ’
Gran was formidable.
The officer put down his pen and reached for the phone. He spoke quickly to someone, then was transferred to another someone. He told whoever was on the other end that Mrs Adesina was most insistent, but no, had no appointment; he paused, waited, wavered. Then he looked shocked: his eyebrows almost hit his hairline. ‘Really? What, now? No, of course, right away.’
He put the phone down gently, as though it were made of glass. ‘She says she’ll see you,’ he whispered in amazement. ‘Follow me.’
He buzzed them through a door beyond reception. They were in a small corridor painted a watery blue that was clearly meant to say ‘stay calm’ but made Minnie think of hospitals and secondary schools and other panicky places.
The officer appeared beside them. ‘This way,’ he said as he led them past closed doors with black and white nameplates, rows of tired-looking chairs, noticeboards with sheets of paper pinned on top of each other in bureaucratic petals. Gran stayed silent.
They came to a closed door with ‘Police Commissioner Anthea Swift’ written on it. The officer rapped smartly. When the reply ‘Come!’ came, he opened the door and ushered them inside.
The police commissioner stood up from her desk. She smiled warmly and held out an elegant, French-manicured hand. Minnie briefly admired the quality of the work. Her dark hair fell in a neat bob; a ribbon of silver grey ran through her fringe like a badger’s stripe. Classy. Definitely classy.
‘Mrs Adesina,’ she said. ‘Please, call me Anthea.’ She took Gran’s hand, wrapping both of hers around the shake. ‘Do, please, sit.’ Anthea waved towards two chairs set in front of her desk. They were much more vibrant than the corridor ones. These were cerise pink, with velvet buttons decorating the back. Gran settled into hers like a Dobermann taking guard.
Anthea winced as the expensive-looking chair creaked.
‘My son,’ Gran began, ‘called the police yesterday to report a break-in. And no one has so much as looked in our direction. It’s not good enough! This wouldn’t happen in Lagos!’
Anthea sat back into her chair on the other side of the desk. ‘You’re from Lagos? Such an exciting city, a great mix of old and new.’
‘Don’t try to divert me with your sugar-tongue flattery! What I want is police work!’
Anthea reddened. ‘Yes, of course. Let me just see … Adesina.’ She tapped at a tiny laptop, which was the only clutter on her desk. She frowned. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid there was a clerical error. The case was marked ‘Concluded’. I’m so sorry for the mix-up. I’ll get someone on it right away.’
‘Special Constable Wright?’ Minnie asked hopefully.
‘Would you like that?’ Anthea said.
Minnie nodded. Jimmy would do his best for Gran, she was sure of it.
‘Then Jimmy Wright it will be!’ Anthea tapped
The man behind the desk was white and alarmed. He wore a dark uniform and his long fingers were already reaching for a pen and clipboard.
‘Did you hear me?’ Gran said. ‘The boss man, right now.’
‘Well,’ the officer replied, ‘our police commissioner is a woman. But I don’t expect she can see you without an appointment, Mrs …?’ He trailed off, waiting for Gran to give her name.
‘Mrs Adesina. I am not going anywhere until I have given this boss woman a piece of my mind. The way I have been treated is disgraceful!’
He scrawled something quickly at the top of the clipboard. Then something else. Then he crossed that out and looked up. ‘Could you please tell me the nature of your complaint?’
Gran heaved in a heavy breath. She pulled her handbag up to her chest. She fixed needle sharp eyes on the officer. ‘Are you the police commissioner?’ she asked with a bass rumble.
The officer quailed. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Then I will thank you for not wasting my time. Get me the commissioner. ’
Gran was formidable.
The officer put down his pen and reached for the phone. He spoke quickly to someone, then was transferred to another someone. He told whoever was on the other end that Mrs Adesina was most insistent, but no, had no appointment; he paused, waited, wavered. Then he looked shocked: his eyebrows almost hit his hairline. ‘Really? What, now? No, of course, right away.’
He put the phone down gently, as though it were made of glass. ‘She says she’ll see you,’ he whispered in amazement. ‘Follow me.’
He buzzed them through a door beyond reception. They were in a small corridor painted a watery blue that was clearly meant to say ‘stay calm’ but made Minnie think of hospitals and secondary schools and other panicky places.
The officer appeared beside them. ‘This way,’ he said as he led them past closed doors with black and white nameplates, rows of tired-looking chairs, noticeboards with sheets of paper pinned on top of each other in bureaucratic petals. Gran stayed silent.
They came to a closed door with ‘Police Commissioner Anthea Swift’ written on it. The officer rapped smartly. When the reply ‘Come!’ came, he opened the door and ushered them inside.
The police commissioner stood up from her desk. She smiled warmly and held out an elegant, French-manicured hand. Minnie briefly admired the quality of the work. Her dark hair fell in a neat bob; a ribbon of silver grey ran through her fringe like a badger’s stripe. Classy. Definitely classy.
‘Mrs Adesina,’ she said. ‘Please, call me Anthea.’ She took Gran’s hand, wrapping both of hers around the shake. ‘Do, please, sit.’ Anthea waved towards two chairs set in front of her desk. They were much more vibrant than the corridor ones. These were cerise pink, with velvet buttons decorating the back. Gran settled into hers like a Dobermann taking guard.
Anthea winced as the expensive-looking chair creaked.
‘My son,’ Gran began, ‘called the police yesterday to report a break-in. And no one has so much as looked in our direction. It’s not good enough! This wouldn’t happen in Lagos!’
Anthea sat back into her chair on the other side of the desk. ‘You’re from Lagos? Such an exciting city, a great mix of old and new.’
‘Don’t try to divert me with your sugar-tongue flattery! What I want is police work!’
Anthea reddened. ‘Yes, of course. Let me just see … Adesina.’ She tapped at a tiny laptop, which was the only clutter on her desk. She frowned. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid there was a clerical error. The case was marked ‘Concluded’. I’m so sorry for the mix-up. I’ll get someone on it right away.’
‘Special Constable Wright?’ Minnie asked hopefully.
‘Would you like that?’ Anthea said.
Minnie nodded. Jimmy would do his best for Gran, she was sure of it.
‘Then Jimmy Wright it will be!’ Anthea tapped
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