plinth in Trafalgar Square.’
‘That doesn’t mean there won’t be plenty of others looking to dig the dirt,’ Blake said obstinately.
‘Let them try.’ Brandon’s expression was as grim as his voice.
‘She has a drink problem.’ Blake, apparently, could be as dogged as the woman he was determined to discredit.
‘It’s not a problem,’ Brandon insisted. ‘Nobody has ever suggested she’s been drunk on duty. Or that drink has impaired her professional judgement.’
Blake snorted. ‘She could be as hammered as a Geordie hen party and that team of hers would cover her back. Listen, John. If I know she’s got a drink problem, how many others know it? And how many of them has she pissed off over the years? It only takes one with a grudge to hold her below the waterline.’
Brandon shook his head in disgust ‘It’s not public knowledge. It’s not even canteen gossip. I know exactly where you got your information from. And he’s one of that loyal team you’ve been going on about. Except he’s only loyal to himself. You forget, Bradfield was my patch before it was yours and I know who can and can’t be trusted. And so does she. Your boy will keep his mouth shut because he’s too ambitious not to. Carol Jordan’s secrets are safe, believe you me.’
‘The point is,’ Carver said, ‘the media will be looking for a hero, not a villain. We’ll be pitching this as a remarkable new initiative that could change the style of British policing. Unless and until they screw up, they’ll have a following wind of approval. I think we can manage the media, James. I think we can make them love her.’
And that had been the end of it. Blake finally understood that he’d been a crucial part of Brandon’s long game to win the new post for Carol. Brandon knew perfectly well that Blake would try to trash her. And he also knew that if there were any buried bodies, Blake didn’t know where they were. In the end, Blake had been a straw man, there because Brandon knew he could push him over with a flick of his wrist. It was humiliating. He lengthened his stride, determined to get away from Brandon as soon as possible.
Long-legged Brandon easily matched the increase in pace. ‘So, how are you enjoying Bradfield?’ he asked genially.
‘It’s never dull.’ Blake’s words were clipped and tight.
‘That’s what I liked about it. It kept me on my toes.’
‘Retirement must be pretty tedious by comparison.’
Brandon didn’t rise to the spite. ‘I’m never short of things to keep me occupied. The Home Secretary is full of interesting notions that need to be analysed and evaluated.’ He smiled. ‘It’s good to feel useful.’
Before he could reply, Blake’s mobile produced the ring tone of an old-fashioned landline. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned at the screen. ‘Bloody number withheld. Though at this time of night, I’d better…’ Another time, he’d have given an apologetic look, but he chose instead to go for the triumphant smile of a man who is too important to ignore his phone. ‘Blake here,’ he announced briskly. Then, ‘Yes, I do remember…’ He stopped dead. A spasm of some unidentifiable emotion flashed across his face, then nothing. He listened, then said, ‘And where is this?’ More silence, but this time, his shoulders relaxed. ‘Of course. No, you’re quite right. Nothing. But thanks for letting me know.’
Blake ended the call and carefully replaced the mobile in his pocket. He took a couple of steps to bring himself level with Brandon. ‘Well,’ he sighed, his voice and his expression indicating deep satisfaction. ‘That was a very interesting conversation. Tell me, John, did you ever come across a DCI Franklin in West Yorkshire?’
Brandon gave him a wary look. ‘John Franklin? Oh yes. Not personally, but he did cross swords with one or two of my detectives over the years. Is he working for you now?’
Blake shook his head. ‘He’s still with West
‘That doesn’t mean there won’t be plenty of others looking to dig the dirt,’ Blake said obstinately.
‘Let them try.’ Brandon’s expression was as grim as his voice.
‘She has a drink problem.’ Blake, apparently, could be as dogged as the woman he was determined to discredit.
‘It’s not a problem,’ Brandon insisted. ‘Nobody has ever suggested she’s been drunk on duty. Or that drink has impaired her professional judgement.’
Blake snorted. ‘She could be as hammered as a Geordie hen party and that team of hers would cover her back. Listen, John. If I know she’s got a drink problem, how many others know it? And how many of them has she pissed off over the years? It only takes one with a grudge to hold her below the waterline.’
Brandon shook his head in disgust ‘It’s not public knowledge. It’s not even canteen gossip. I know exactly where you got your information from. And he’s one of that loyal team you’ve been going on about. Except he’s only loyal to himself. You forget, Bradfield was my patch before it was yours and I know who can and can’t be trusted. And so does she. Your boy will keep his mouth shut because he’s too ambitious not to. Carol Jordan’s secrets are safe, believe you me.’
‘The point is,’ Carver said, ‘the media will be looking for a hero, not a villain. We’ll be pitching this as a remarkable new initiative that could change the style of British policing. Unless and until they screw up, they’ll have a following wind of approval. I think we can manage the media, James. I think we can make them love her.’
And that had been the end of it. Blake finally understood that he’d been a crucial part of Brandon’s long game to win the new post for Carol. Brandon knew perfectly well that Blake would try to trash her. And he also knew that if there were any buried bodies, Blake didn’t know where they were. In the end, Blake had been a straw man, there because Brandon knew he could push him over with a flick of his wrist. It was humiliating. He lengthened his stride, determined to get away from Brandon as soon as possible.
Long-legged Brandon easily matched the increase in pace. ‘So, how are you enjoying Bradfield?’ he asked genially.
‘It’s never dull.’ Blake’s words were clipped and tight.
‘That’s what I liked about it. It kept me on my toes.’
‘Retirement must be pretty tedious by comparison.’
Brandon didn’t rise to the spite. ‘I’m never short of things to keep me occupied. The Home Secretary is full of interesting notions that need to be analysed and evaluated.’ He smiled. ‘It’s good to feel useful.’
Before he could reply, Blake’s mobile produced the ring tone of an old-fashioned landline. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned at the screen. ‘Bloody number withheld. Though at this time of night, I’d better…’ Another time, he’d have given an apologetic look, but he chose instead to go for the triumphant smile of a man who is too important to ignore his phone. ‘Blake here,’ he announced briskly. Then, ‘Yes, I do remember…’ He stopped dead. A spasm of some unidentifiable emotion flashed across his face, then nothing. He listened, then said, ‘And where is this?’ More silence, but this time, his shoulders relaxed. ‘Of course. No, you’re quite right. Nothing. But thanks for letting me know.’
Blake ended the call and carefully replaced the mobile in his pocket. He took a couple of steps to bring himself level with Brandon. ‘Well,’ he sighed, his voice and his expression indicating deep satisfaction. ‘That was a very interesting conversation. Tell me, John, did you ever come across a DCI Franklin in West Yorkshire?’
Brandon gave him a wary look. ‘John Franklin? Oh yes. Not personally, but he did cross swords with one or two of my detectives over the years. Is he working for you now?’
Blake shook his head. ‘He’s still with West
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