depressed that she had failed yet again to convince him.
“Thank you for your time!”
As the door closed behind Tennison, Kernan leaned back in his chair. A few more months and she would leave of her own accord. He had never liked working with women and knew that his men felt the same way. All the same, he knew she was right. She was a highly qualified officer, it was just something about her, about all the high-ranking women he had come across. Maybe it was simply the fact that she was a woman.
Tennison had missed breakfast in the rush to get Joey ready, but her anger seemed to have sharpened her appetite. She decided to have a bite to eat in the canteen.
She ate alone, eavesdropping on the rowdy conversation from the next table. DI Burkin was cracking a joke about somebody being trapped on a mountain when the “bing-bong” went. He and DI Haskons were wanted in Administration. They stood up, laughing. Young DC Dave Jones, newly transferred from Cardiff, turned from the counter with his loaded tray to see the two DIs heading towards the exit.
“You want me along?”
Burkin pointed a finger and Jones’s eager face fell. “You always interrupt my jokes, Daffy. Give yourself fifteen, then get down to the Incident Room.”
Tennison watched in amazement as Jones tackled the vast amount of food he had piled on his tray: sausages, eggs, chips, baked beans, a heap of toast and two puddings with custard.
“Brunch, is it?” she asked, pleasantly.
“No, ma’am, I missed my breakfast because I had to go over to the labs for the guv’nor.” He stuffed a huge forkful of food into his mouth.
“You’re on Shefford’s team, then?”
Unable to speak, Jones nodded vigorously.
“I hear he’s going to charge the suspect this morning, is that right?”
Jones wiped his mouth on a paper serviette. “Yes, ma’am, he and Sergeant Otley are with the Super now. It looks good, the Sarge said.”
Tennison sipped her coffee. “Have they found the car? I hear your suspect says his car’s been stolen?”
Jones had timed his eating badly; again, he could only nod. He was relieved when the “bing-bong” went; this time it was for Tennison.
She drained her coffee cup and picked up her bag of groceries. Passing Jones, she smiled. “See you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Several officers, some of them uniformed, acknowledged her as she made her way to the door. There was an air of embarrassment; no one seemed to like her, but her rank of DCI demanded respect.
Jones waited until she had left before he burped loudly, which was received with a smatter of applause, then he continued eating at a frightening rate. He didn’t want to miss the big moment. The Sarge had told him it was a dead cert that they’d charge Marlow, and Paxman’s record would be smashed.
It was Maureen Havers who had put out the call for Tennison, to tell her that the photocopier was now out of order, so she was still unable to do the stuff Tennison needed for court. She asked if she should take it to another station or wait until their own machine was repaired.
Tennison dropped her bag on the desk. “I don’t believe this place, can’t they get a bloody mechanic to fix it? What the hell’s wrong with it, anyway?”
“Someone used the wrong type of paper and it’s all jammed inside. We’re trying to find the guilty party, ma’am, but it’s really fouled up this time.”
Tennison rolled up her shirt-sleeves. “Right, I’ll fix it myself, at least it’ll keep me occupied for a while. We’ll take all the copying, and that stuff on my desk is for the shredder, let’s do something useful . . .”
With their arms full of paper, they passed the open door of the Incident Room. The men were standing around in groups, with DI Burkin in the center telling another of his shaggy dog stories.
“I hear they’re charging the suspect. You heard anything, Maureen?”
Havers had to jog to keep up with her. “Yes, ma’am, they’ll break the record.
“Thank you for your time!”
As the door closed behind Tennison, Kernan leaned back in his chair. A few more months and she would leave of her own accord. He had never liked working with women and knew that his men felt the same way. All the same, he knew she was right. She was a highly qualified officer, it was just something about her, about all the high-ranking women he had come across. Maybe it was simply the fact that she was a woman.
Tennison had missed breakfast in the rush to get Joey ready, but her anger seemed to have sharpened her appetite. She decided to have a bite to eat in the canteen.
She ate alone, eavesdropping on the rowdy conversation from the next table. DI Burkin was cracking a joke about somebody being trapped on a mountain when the “bing-bong” went. He and DI Haskons were wanted in Administration. They stood up, laughing. Young DC Dave Jones, newly transferred from Cardiff, turned from the counter with his loaded tray to see the two DIs heading towards the exit.
“You want me along?”
Burkin pointed a finger and Jones’s eager face fell. “You always interrupt my jokes, Daffy. Give yourself fifteen, then get down to the Incident Room.”
Tennison watched in amazement as Jones tackled the vast amount of food he had piled on his tray: sausages, eggs, chips, baked beans, a heap of toast and two puddings with custard.
“Brunch, is it?” she asked, pleasantly.
“No, ma’am, I missed my breakfast because I had to go over to the labs for the guv’nor.” He stuffed a huge forkful of food into his mouth.
“You’re on Shefford’s team, then?”
Unable to speak, Jones nodded vigorously.
“I hear he’s going to charge the suspect this morning, is that right?”
Jones wiped his mouth on a paper serviette. “Yes, ma’am, he and Sergeant Otley are with the Super now. It looks good, the Sarge said.”
Tennison sipped her coffee. “Have they found the car? I hear your suspect says his car’s been stolen?”
Jones had timed his eating badly; again, he could only nod. He was relieved when the “bing-bong” went; this time it was for Tennison.
She drained her coffee cup and picked up her bag of groceries. Passing Jones, she smiled. “See you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Several officers, some of them uniformed, acknowledged her as she made her way to the door. There was an air of embarrassment; no one seemed to like her, but her rank of DCI demanded respect.
Jones waited until she had left before he burped loudly, which was received with a smatter of applause, then he continued eating at a frightening rate. He didn’t want to miss the big moment. The Sarge had told him it was a dead cert that they’d charge Marlow, and Paxman’s record would be smashed.
It was Maureen Havers who had put out the call for Tennison, to tell her that the photocopier was now out of order, so she was still unable to do the stuff Tennison needed for court. She asked if she should take it to another station or wait until their own machine was repaired.
Tennison dropped her bag on the desk. “I don’t believe this place, can’t they get a bloody mechanic to fix it? What the hell’s wrong with it, anyway?”
“Someone used the wrong type of paper and it’s all jammed inside. We’re trying to find the guilty party, ma’am, but it’s really fouled up this time.”
Tennison rolled up her shirt-sleeves. “Right, I’ll fix it myself, at least it’ll keep me occupied for a while. We’ll take all the copying, and that stuff on my desk is for the shredder, let’s do something useful . . .”
With their arms full of paper, they passed the open door of the Incident Room. The men were standing around in groups, with DI Burkin in the center telling another of his shaggy dog stories.
“I hear they’re charging the suspect. You heard anything, Maureen?”
Havers had to jog to keep up with her. “Yes, ma’am, they’ll break the record.
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