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The call he wasn’t looking forward to came sooner rather than later. On his entering the suite, Mrs Byrne, the Chief Constable’s secretary looked up with a friendly smile. “Go straight in, he’s waiting for you.”
Door closed, Thurstan stood, waiting for the Chief to finish his phone call. He was waved to a seat.
“Yes... yes... and some of those cannoli. They were very nice. Yep, same address as last time. Ok. Cheery-bye.” Not the farewell the DCI would have expected.
“Thurstan, long time no see. Have you been avoiding me?” The hint of an apologetic grin appeared on the DCI’s face. “You’ve been avoiding me. Can’t say I blame you. Anyway, I’m glad you were able to come so promptly. By now, I assume you’ve heard the bad news?” An enquiring look.
“If you mean about the new ACC Crime then ... yes, Sir.”
The Chief gave him a look of regret. “Not my idea, I have to say. Blame the PCC. There were only two candidates in the final run and I favoured the other one.”
He got up and went walkabout behind his desk. “Unfortunately, the horse I backed got caught out with an embellishment of their CV. Which is a shame, because they would have been a good choice, otherwise.” He turned and held his arms out, “So, we’re stuck with it for the time being, until the annual musical chairs. Can’t do it before because he’s actually quite good at what he does. It’s just as a person, he’s a complete twat.” A big smile.
Thurstan forced one in return. “I’ll survive, Sir.”
“Good. Well, do your best. I’ll do what I can to shield you from his excesses.”
The Chief sat down again, business face on. “Right, the South Road, Grassendale job. I want it written off, now. I’ve let you hang onto it long enough but your theory hasn’t panned out. You’ve nothing but a gut feeling and you’ve no hard evidence. The post mortem, apart from the gunshot wound to the head, was inconclusive. No signs of a struggle. Possible injection site by his ear, granted, but how do you sneak across an open room that size and convince someone to let you inject them with something we can’t find. Slightly higher levels of this or that in his blood but nothing that can’t be explained away by his medical history, especially with some use of clever English.”
He leant back in his large swivel chair and gave Thurstan a firm look, the cordial tone gone. “I’m getting pressure from on high and I’ve given you all the leeway I can. It’s going nowhere and you know it and it’s not as if you’ve nothing else to occupy your time.”
The DCI shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I know it’s not a suicide, Sir. I just can’t prove it, at the moment.”
The Chief picked up his pen and sat twiddling it. “I appreciate you’ve achieved all your ambitions but some of us still have places we’d like to go. I’m in the running for a knighthood. It’s expected of my position and length of service. For me to be overlooked would be a negative comment on my standing and ability. This poxy little pedo isn’t worth it for me, Thurstan. Time to put it to bed.” They sat in silence for several seconds.
“And what about the things we found on his computers, Sir? Are they going to be quietly swept under the carpet, for a knighthood? ”
The Chief smiled. “I know a lot of people, Thurstan, who would be extremely offended by your impertinence but luckily, for you, I’m not one of them. Being a pragmatic man, I think it serves everyone’s purposes to keep that information under our hats for the time being and bring it out as a sort of ‘historic’ enquiry after I’ve attended the investiture. So, the suicide ... put it to bed.”
The Chief narrowed his eyes, confirmation of intent mixed with a hint of invitation. The DCI remained silent.
“Well? What’s your answer? You are listening to me, aren’t you?” He was losing patience.
Thurstan suddenly blinked and his head visibly shook as he re-entered the Chief’s world. “Sorry, Sir. Yes, I was. I’ll sort it out. I understand fully.” He had been listening, but suddenly the image of Mrs Byrne and her smile had invaded his head. The same smile he’d seen her produce many times. The same smile he’d once seen her give the man whose dead, yet vaguely familiar, face stared down at him from the whiteboard in his office.
Leaving the Chief behind, he lingered until Mrs Byrne was free. She didn’t recall the meeting, initially, but when he added more detail she told him the man she’d met had been a member of her French classes, their meeting a chance occurrence. They’d had a coffee and spoke about their individual plans for holidays in France. Had she seen him since? No, and the classes they’d taken had finished a long time ago. He was simply one of those acquaintances one makes at such things, she’d said. What was his name? She’d only known him as ‘Don’.
He’d reached the lifts when it occurred to him he’d forgotten to ask. Sticking his head around the doorframe he almost got his question out but was beaten to it by the ever efficient Mrs Byrne and her charming smile. “Adult education at the old Waterloo Grammar School. It closed down a few years ago now. That is what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”