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Viv wondered if that might be a better plan than hers.
Through her side of the windscreen in the panda, Anjali Shah watched Special Constable Viv Smith and Freddy Calder passing by. Apparently concentrating on his driving, Toby wasn’t talkative at the moment, so Anjali had a moment’s respite. She was lost in her own thoughts of being close to and yet far from her family, from the frictions as well as the comforts of home …
‘Not feeling broody, are you?’ Toby interrupted her wanderings.
‘I need a husband first.’ Now why did she let that slip, even as a joke?
‘Well, then?’ Toby asked slyly, sneaking a quick look to gauge her reaction.
Now that the subject was out in the open, so to speak, better to approach it lightly.
‘Don’t you start. It’s like a broken record back home.’ She almost broke out laughing, remembering her mother’s constant scolding. ‘My Ma thinks I’ve missed the boat, and Uncle Ram keeps telling me no one will marry an old bat like me.’
Actually, although she challenged and generally opposed everything Uncle Ram said, on principle, she was often secretly inclined to agree with him on this unsettling topic. Not that she would admit that to Uncle Ram, or to Toby.
But again Toby interrupted her train of thought in a lower tone of voice.
‘From where I’m sitting, I see a pretty attractive bird.’
Anjali instinctively lowered her eyes, then immediately wished she hadn’t.
‘Thank you, kind sir.’
‘A bit tanned, maybe, but …’
She winced slightly, trying to let his remark slide by, to erase it from her memory. She knew his gesture was merely intended to defuse the age-old timebomb between their cultures rather than spark it off with a casual insult, so again she kept her thoughts to herself, allowing Toby to continue.
‘… not bad, not bad at all.’
Indeed, he was trying to give her a compliment, and she could see that it was sincere, although she wasn’t quite sure what to think about the new direction their conversation was taking. Just as quickly she banished her doubts, reasoning that there was nothing wrong in modestly accepting reassurance from a friend.
‘You’re good for my morale, Toby.’
She wished that that was the end of it, but Toby didn’t give her a second to change the subject.
‘Listen, you may not believe this,’ he began in his slow, smooth, baritone voice, ‘but I can remember the first time we met.’
The alarm went off somewhere in the back of her brain. Simply turning and raising her eyebrows was enough to question his intentions.
‘I’m serious. I remember the day and the time, and what you were wearing.’ He tossed a Prince Charming smile her way before resuming his scrutiny of the car ahead.
For the first time in their conversation, Anjali was embarrassed. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. In her way, she did love Toby, but she could not possibly love him in his way, and she would rather her ears be made of stone before listening to him continue any further along this path …
And yet she could barely wait for his next words.
‘You were wearing …’ Must he delay the suspense interminably? ‘… a white shirt, black skirt, a check tie and jacket with silver buttons,’ he intoned lovingly.
She punched him in the arm. It had taken her that long to catch on that Toby was describing her uniform.
After investing her time and expertise in ‘building a foundation’ for the financial advisory role with Freddy Calder, Viv was unwilling to give up her chance of gaining his confidence, and eventually the management of his savings. As they scouted the pedestrian shopping area she tried to offer him a strong dose of fiscal common sense.
‘People like you always think money is a complicated matter. It isn’t. It’s all a question of market forces, and getting your money to work for you.’
There. Maybe she could knock some of that common sense into his head after all.
‘Oh, bless you, Obewan Kenobi!’
So much for the notion he was buying any of her carefully prepared argument.
The clown’s voice soured. ‘This sucker’s always had to work for his.’
Viv was determined to be undaunted.
‘Very funny. Listen. You buy shares in a company being took-over. Then when it gets took-over, the company doing the take-over has to pay you more for the shares. Because the shares are worth more now it’s being took-over.’
Even the simplest, most basic human sounds apparently sometimes failed to penetrate Freddy’s thick skull.
‘It’s all very simple, you know, Freddy.’
‘Simple, my big toe.’
This monkey was exasperating. ‘What don’t you understand?’
Freddy had to think for a few moments before he could figure out his answer.
‘Where I get the money to buy the shares in the first place.’
Viv Smith sighed, and paused to contemplate the company she was keeping of late.
‘Freddy, talking to you is the quickest way of getting a headache I know.’
5 (#ulink_3e36c915-e811-5af5-ac38-38076527eb41)
In the corridor of Division ‘S’ outside his office, the sign on his door said CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT FRANK ELLSMORE, and when he walked out of his office through that door into the open territory beyond he wanted people to see that he had a clear-cut destination in view, plus the ever-resolute determination to get there. That was the mark of leadership, and he reasoned, rationally enough, that here was indeed what the troops needed to see in his demeanour: his attempt to embody the authority of the uniform, as well as to fill it. He wanted them to see a man of action.
Unfortunately, sometimes ordinary reality presented unexpected obstacles in his path: in this instance in the person of WPC Morrow, the new one. Just as Ellsmore was hitting full stride, he almost collided with WPC Morrow carrying a pile of folders, but just in the nick of time she managed to spin and evade him, yet still balance the folders in her arms so that only a few actually spilled to the floor.
‘Sorry, sir.’
One of Ellsmore’s oldest failings, and one of the rusty skills needing some polishing, was his conduct when caught in embarrassing situations, even of the most trivial nature.
‘My fault … er …’
‘Morrow, sir. WPC Morrow.’
Of course, Morrow. Neat. Agile. Attentive. What other mental resources might she be capable of contributing?
‘You’ve only just started here, right?’
‘Right, sir.’
Well, he had offered her the opportunity to introduce herself and make an impression, but she hadn’t taken the step forward. Talent should always be ready to rise to the top in an instant, he wanted to remind her. Instead he reminded himself that she had performed a nimble feat.
‘Well, if you’re as quick as you are on your feet, Constable, we won’t have much to worry about, eh?’
‘No, sir.’
WPC Morrow didn’t say anything more, and Ellsmore had nothing more to say. Standing here waiting for her laconic answers was getting him nowhere and only prolonging the agony of his embarrassment. So he did his best to nod a farewell, and left her for the lift.
WPC Morrow sighed and watched Chief Superintendent Ellsmore steam away with his sights firmly set on course. She was becoming accustomed to observing the Super sailing through life like a galleon in a high wind.
In the Specials’ parade room, Section Officer Bob Loach was vainly trying to make some semblance of order in his paperwork. His audible groans and grunts of brute persuasion seemed of no use in consolidating scraps of assorted documents.
Abruptly there was a sharp rap on the door, which opened immediately. To Loach’s surprise, standing there like a royal oak was Chief Superintendent Ellsmore.
‘Chief Superintendent?’
As Ellsmore entered, Loach hurriedly straightened and shuffled the paperwork to the side of his desk.
‘Should’ve known you’d be here …’ The Chief Superintendent didn’t sound overjoyed at this discovery. ‘Wanted a quick word, Loach.’
Loach was powerless to prohibit the Chief Superintendent from poking through the paperwork at random, like casually rummaging through someone else’s toolbox, looking for nothing. It was an ominous diversion.
‘Good God, it seems damn stupid you Specials giving up your free time to fight crime, just to end up processing bumff,’ Ellsmore lectured, rippling a few pages of paper with evident contempt. ‘Fruits of bureaucracy, that’s what it is, Loach.’
Why was he stalling? All that this delay accomplished was to make him more nervous. Maybe that was the idea.
‘We try and cope, Chief Superintendent.’
‘Yes.’ Ellsmore did not pursue that dead end. ‘I haven’t seen much of your SDO lately, but I hear he’s been having some trouble at home.’
Telling himself there was no reason to panic, Loach was patiently taking in the information the Chief Superintendent was feeding him, but he still didn’t quite understand what Ellsmore wanted him to swallow.
‘Anyway, I … wanted to have a word with you about one of your lads, Loach.’
‘Trouble, sir?’ Here it comes, he thought.
‘Oh, no, no, no.’ Three times: he doth protest too much. ‘Just a storm in an egg cup.’
Brace yourself, this is it.
‘But you know, I hate there to be any friction between Specials and Police. There are enough jokes as it is.’
What is it, what happened? Who? Why?
‘It’s Freddy Calder.’
Loach’s blood rose as his spirits descended to the satanic depths of the underworld. Freddy Calder was an Achilles’ heel if ever there was one.
‘How long’s he been selling lingerie?’ Ellsmore was, sad to say, dreadfully serious.
‘About a year, sir.’
‘Right. And before that, he flogged …’
This was getting more painful by the moment. ‘Kitchen ware.’
Ellsmore clucked his tongue in mock regret. ‘A pity he didn’t stick to it. You know, he tried to sell a pair of peach cammy knickers to a visiting Woman Police Inspector.’
Loach was sure his cheeks were already as red as he was going to lash Freddy Calder’s backside. But his own torture wasn’t finished yet.
‘And worse … cracked some blue jokes with that damned puppet of his.’
That was too much. Loach’s will was sapped, any hope of suitable revenge dwarfed by Freddy’s towering imbecility.
‘Have a word with him, Loach. Nothing strong. Just tell him to stop selling his ladies’ undies on the premises in the future.’
6 (#ulink_5fa6ac44-0335-5d68-9ea1-dca3619c0978)
Investigating the eerie surrounds of the Ellman Superstore at night gave Special Constable Viv Smith a weird case of the ‘creeps’, and having Special Constable Freddy Calder at her side was worse than Rosemary’s Baby: what loony Americans would call ‘a horror show’. Angular slabs of concrete cast deep shadows and what few sources of light were within reach merely served to spread the shadows out longer.
Slower and slower they walked, until Viv stopped. Freddy looked at her with questioning eyes, although not a sound emerged from his throat. She prayed there wouldn’t be another peep out of him, as she took a cigarette out of her shoulder bag.
‘Don’t say another word,’ Viv warned him in a low, cemetery whisper. ‘I said I’d give them up.’
The cigarette was in her mouth, and she was just about to light up, when a squeaky noise pierced the night air. She froze like a deer, although she might just as well have shrieked and jumped over the moon. Freddy also appeared to have been instantaneously transformed into a pillar of salt.
Slowly she turned, her antennae searching the horizon for the direction of the squeaking noise, which seemed to become louder every second, as if coming toward them from the shadows.
Suddenly one of the shadows was moving! And while it was moving closer, it was growing larger and the squeaking noise louder and louder.
The moving shadow expanded to fill an entire wall, appearing to be a giant creature of some sort inexorably screeching toward them. The cigarette fell out of Viv’s mouth, yet she wasn’t at all sure she could manage a scream.
Something appeared at the bottom of the wall, beneath and much smaller than the shadow: something that was causing the shadow.
It was a supermarket trolley with a young child inside, being pushed by another child.
Quickly the Specials headed for the trolley, trying not to frighten the children the same way that they had been spooked.
The children immediately saw them and waited where they were. Freddy got to them first.
‘Whoa there, stranger,’ he soothed with a friendly smile, almost in one of his character voice impersonations.
Pushing the trolley was a young boy, not more than six years old. In the trolley was a little girl even younger. The two looked up with fear, uncertainty and suspicion mixed into their expressions of bewilderment. Viv’s heart went out to them.
‘Hullo,’ she said gently. ‘What are you two doing here?’
The children said nothing.
