only reason."
"Can we get together?" Wilson knew that he sounded pathetic but there was unfinished business between him and Kate. He had the feeling that she might think so too. "Maybe dinner or even a drink if that what's on."
"No," there was a hint of a tremor in her voice. "The past is another country and I no longer live there. There would be no point."
"How can I contact you?" Wilson said ashamed at the pleading tone in his voice.
"You can't," she clutched a crocodile briefcase to her chest and made for the door to leave.
He was going to move to block her path but he saw the Secretary staring at him from behind her desk. "We're not done."
"Oh yes we are," she said as she strode out of the office.
"He'll see you now," the Secretary said coldly.
Wilson heard her but he continued to look at the door through which Kate McCann had just exited.
Wilson ran his hand unconsciously through his hair and then despised himself for the involuntary nervous gesture. He turned and pulling himself to his full height he walked to the door to the DCC's office and pushed it open without knocking.
Wilson almost smiled as he entered Jennings’ office. He knew that the DCC hated the sight of him. Jennings had been nicknamed ‘the vulture’ at the police academy because of his long scrawny neck and his prominent nose. That was twenty years ago and as he had aged he had come to resemble even closer the scavenger of the desert. It had always been a bone of contention between Wilson and his wife that Jennings and himself had been in the same class. While he had travelled the traditional route from constable to detective constable and on to detective sergeant before reaching the exalted heights of detective inspector, Jennings had chosen a less arduous route to becoming his boss. Postings in training and personnel had been followed by a stint in public relations. Wilson had long ago realised that elevation within the ranks of the police force owed more to the ability to lick arse than the ability to solve crimes.
At the moment Wilson entered, Deputy Chief Constable Roy Jennings sat hunched over his desk examining papers with the same intensity as a vulture examines its next meal. Jennings glanced up briefly revealing a face was straight out of a Marcel Marceau mime class. The deathly white colour began at the neck of his shirt and continued through his eyebrows and over the crown of his bald pate. The lips were thin and closely held together as though composed in death by some uncreative mortician. The only feature which demonstrated that the person behind the face was alive were the piercing dark eyes which darted in Wilson’s direction before returning to the papers which lay before him.
"Bloody woman," Jennings muttered as he motioned at a chair in front of his desk. "Truth and reconciliation be damned." He looked up and saw Wilson still standing. "Do I have to order you to sit down? I'll be with you in a moment."
The Deputy Chief Constable continued to shuffle the papers on his desk as Wilson sat in the chair which he indicated. This was going to be an exercise in power and Wilson was going to have to grin and bear it. As soon as Wilson eased himself into the chair and looked across the desk, he realised that the visitor's chair was pitched several inches lower than the DCC's which meant that no matter how tall the visitor was, Jennings always looked down on them. Kate McCann must have sat in this very seat during her meeting with Jennings getting the full blast of his power and position. Wilson looked at the desk directly in front of him. Kate's visiting card sat on the edge of the
"Can we get together?" Wilson knew that he sounded pathetic but there was unfinished business between him and Kate. He had the feeling that she might think so too. "Maybe dinner or even a drink if that what's on."
"No," there was a hint of a tremor in her voice. "The past is another country and I no longer live there. There would be no point."
"How can I contact you?" Wilson said ashamed at the pleading tone in his voice.
"You can't," she clutched a crocodile briefcase to her chest and made for the door to leave.
He was going to move to block her path but he saw the Secretary staring at him from behind her desk. "We're not done."
"Oh yes we are," she said as she strode out of the office.
"He'll see you now," the Secretary said coldly.
Wilson heard her but he continued to look at the door through which Kate McCann had just exited.
Wilson ran his hand unconsciously through his hair and then despised himself for the involuntary nervous gesture. He turned and pulling himself to his full height he walked to the door to the DCC's office and pushed it open without knocking.
Wilson almost smiled as he entered Jennings’ office. He knew that the DCC hated the sight of him. Jennings had been nicknamed ‘the vulture’ at the police academy because of his long scrawny neck and his prominent nose. That was twenty years ago and as he had aged he had come to resemble even closer the scavenger of the desert. It had always been a bone of contention between Wilson and his wife that Jennings and himself had been in the same class. While he had travelled the traditional route from constable to detective constable and on to detective sergeant before reaching the exalted heights of detective inspector, Jennings had chosen a less arduous route to becoming his boss. Postings in training and personnel had been followed by a stint in public relations. Wilson had long ago realised that elevation within the ranks of the police force owed more to the ability to lick arse than the ability to solve crimes.
At the moment Wilson entered, Deputy Chief Constable Roy Jennings sat hunched over his desk examining papers with the same intensity as a vulture examines its next meal. Jennings glanced up briefly revealing a face was straight out of a Marcel Marceau mime class. The deathly white colour began at the neck of his shirt and continued through his eyebrows and over the crown of his bald pate. The lips were thin and closely held together as though composed in death by some uncreative mortician. The only feature which demonstrated that the person behind the face was alive were the piercing dark eyes which darted in Wilson’s direction before returning to the papers which lay before him.
"Bloody woman," Jennings muttered as he motioned at a chair in front of his desk. "Truth and reconciliation be damned." He looked up and saw Wilson still standing. "Do I have to order you to sit down? I'll be with you in a moment."
The Deputy Chief Constable continued to shuffle the papers on his desk as Wilson sat in the chair which he indicated. This was going to be an exercise in power and Wilson was going to have to grin and bear it. As soon as Wilson eased himself into the chair and looked across the desk, he realised that the visitor's chair was pitched several inches lower than the DCC's which meant that no matter how tall the visitor was, Jennings always looked down on them. Kate McCann must have sat in this very seat during her meeting with Jennings getting the full blast of his power and position. Wilson looked at the desk directly in front of him. Kate's visiting card sat on the edge of the
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