horrible moment Romney feared that the man was going to bellow at her, but he breathed out again quickly and quietly. He indulged himself with a last and lingering look around the space that had been his home from home and said, ‘No. Actually, I’m just leaving. It’s all yours now.’ He didn’t wish her luck and he didn’t offer his hand.
The departing senior officer picked up his regulation cap and moved to his cardboard box on the table.
‘Let me take that down for you, sir,’ said Romney, more for an excuse to get away than out of any great charitable sentiment.
‘Thank you, Tom. I’d appreciate that.’
Falkner adjusted his hat in the office mirror, straightened up and fixed a proud look to his face. He marched out of the room without another word or glance in the direction of his successor who had wandered in.
Romney gathered up the box, said, ‘Ma’am,’ and went after him.
The short journey down to the car park was an uplifting experience. On the staircases, in the corridors, in the foyer and even outside, every officer they passed offered Falkner their best wishes or a kind word for the future. Falkner’s step developed something of a spring by the time they got to the bins.
The superintendent lifted the plastic lid on one of the station’s industrial refuse receptacles. ‘In there, please, Tom.’ Romney hesitated. ‘Come on. Nothing I want now.’ Romney heaved it in and Falkner let the lid fall with a loud symbolic crash on the pathetic remains of his long career, ruffling Romney’s hair with a waft of foul-smelling air in the process.
They shook hands once more at Falkner’s Jag. ‘Good luck, Tom. You’re a good detective and a good policeman. I’ve enjoyed working with you.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘A word to the wise?’ Romney nodded. ‘Prepare to change. We bent the rules at times. We did it because that’s where we came from. We did it because we had to to get results. And results are what matter most to coppers like us. But those days are over. She won’t tolerate our kind of policing. It’ll be by the book. Her way or the highway. Short-cuts and sharp practice are things of the past. Mark my words, Tom. She’s got that rock she calls a heart set on higher offices than mine and woe betide anyone that looks to foul up her chances of that, deliberately or otherwise.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Good man. Take care.’
‘You too, sir.’
Romney stood and watched as his old boss negotiated the parked vehicles and other obstacles of the confined space to drive out of the gate, out of sight and out of the police. He felt a little sad for it. The end of an era.
As he stood indulging his melancholy, he became aware of an insistent tapping on glass. A memory was stirred and it confused him. The only person who ever tapped on windows for his attention had just driven out of the gate. He looked up to see Superintendent Vine staring down at him. In a horrible moment of history repeating itself, she crooked her finger at him and beckoned him up. She wasn’t smiling.
*
Vine was deep in conversation with a man wearing the uniform of the professional painter and decorator: white cap, white dungarees over a white T-shirt. His clothes were splattered with emulsion from previous jobs. After a few seconds of being ignored, Romney rapped on the doorframe. They looked up and stopped their talk.
‘Come in, Detective Inspector. Give us a minute, would you?’ she said to the tradesman. He nodded and left. ‘Close the door and sit down.’ Romney did as he was told. She took Falkner’s old chair the other side of Falkner’s old desk without ceremony or obvious sentimentality.
Superintendent Vine put Romney in mind of Boudicca, or rather the more imaginative and colourful artists’ impressions he remembered from school of the leader of the Iceni. Like the Boudicca of his textbooks, Vine exuded harsh authority. Like Boudicca, she was a tall
The departing senior officer picked up his regulation cap and moved to his cardboard box on the table.
‘Let me take that down for you, sir,’ said Romney, more for an excuse to get away than out of any great charitable sentiment.
‘Thank you, Tom. I’d appreciate that.’
Falkner adjusted his hat in the office mirror, straightened up and fixed a proud look to his face. He marched out of the room without another word or glance in the direction of his successor who had wandered in.
Romney gathered up the box, said, ‘Ma’am,’ and went after him.
The short journey down to the car park was an uplifting experience. On the staircases, in the corridors, in the foyer and even outside, every officer they passed offered Falkner their best wishes or a kind word for the future. Falkner’s step developed something of a spring by the time they got to the bins.
The superintendent lifted the plastic lid on one of the station’s industrial refuse receptacles. ‘In there, please, Tom.’ Romney hesitated. ‘Come on. Nothing I want now.’ Romney heaved it in and Falkner let the lid fall with a loud symbolic crash on the pathetic remains of his long career, ruffling Romney’s hair with a waft of foul-smelling air in the process.
They shook hands once more at Falkner’s Jag. ‘Good luck, Tom. You’re a good detective and a good policeman. I’ve enjoyed working with you.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘A word to the wise?’ Romney nodded. ‘Prepare to change. We bent the rules at times. We did it because that’s where we came from. We did it because we had to to get results. And results are what matter most to coppers like us. But those days are over. She won’t tolerate our kind of policing. It’ll be by the book. Her way or the highway. Short-cuts and sharp practice are things of the past. Mark my words, Tom. She’s got that rock she calls a heart set on higher offices than mine and woe betide anyone that looks to foul up her chances of that, deliberately or otherwise.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Good man. Take care.’
‘You too, sir.’
Romney stood and watched as his old boss negotiated the parked vehicles and other obstacles of the confined space to drive out of the gate, out of sight and out of the police. He felt a little sad for it. The end of an era.
As he stood indulging his melancholy, he became aware of an insistent tapping on glass. A memory was stirred and it confused him. The only person who ever tapped on windows for his attention had just driven out of the gate. He looked up to see Superintendent Vine staring down at him. In a horrible moment of history repeating itself, she crooked her finger at him and beckoned him up. She wasn’t smiling.
*
Vine was deep in conversation with a man wearing the uniform of the professional painter and decorator: white cap, white dungarees over a white T-shirt. His clothes were splattered with emulsion from previous jobs. After a few seconds of being ignored, Romney rapped on the doorframe. They looked up and stopped their talk.
‘Come in, Detective Inspector. Give us a minute, would you?’ she said to the tradesman. He nodded and left. ‘Close the door and sit down.’ Romney did as he was told. She took Falkner’s old chair the other side of Falkner’s old desk without ceremony or obvious sentimentality.
Superintendent Vine put Romney in mind of Boudicca, or rather the more imaginative and colourful artists’ impressions he remembered from school of the leader of the Iceni. Like the Boudicca of his textbooks, Vine exuded harsh authority. Like Boudicca, she was a tall
Similar Books
A Family Affair: A Novel of Horror
V. J. Banis
No Trouble for the Cactus Kid
Louis L'amour
The Can't Cook Book: Recipes for the Absolutely Terrified!
Jessica Seinfeld
VOLITION (Perception Trilogy, book 2)
Lee Strauss, Elle Strauss
Ghosts of Manila
James Hamilton-Paterson
Mina
Elaine Bergstrom
Killing Spree
Kevin O'Brien
Girl Overboard
Justina Chen
Hot Decadent Rising (Breath of Darkness)
Candice Stauffer