The Sad Man Read Free Page A

think about him as a leader of men?’
    Tom considers this for a second. ‘I think he fosters a familiarity, a camaraderie within his team. Most of the team are loyal to him.’ Tom also knows DI Ashe likes to frequent strip clubs and get hand-jobs from teenage prostitutes in return for not arresting them. He says nothing of that.
    ‘Familiarity. That’s a strange word to use, Sergeant Bevans.’ Drake drums his fingers on the desk. ‘I’d say he builds a team – I would also say that loyalty is bloody important.’
    Tom feels his jaw tighten. He doesn’t believe you build loyalty by going to the pub: leadership is not the same as being liked. ‘I appreciate DI Ashe’s qualities of leadership, Ch—’
    ‘Liar. I can see it in your face. You don’t rate Ashe as a DI. And it’s mutual.’
    ‘Sir.’ It creeps like a condemnation from Tom’s mouth.
    ‘Bloody hell, Bevans, you’re an excellent family officer, a seriously good evidence analyst, a ferret up a drainpipe where it comes to finding the flaws in some bastard’s alibi – but a fucking liability as a senior copper.’
    ‘I think you’ll find—’
    ‘Lia-fucking-bility. Bevans, you are not the sort of man I trust at the top level. Do you know what it means to lead men? Do you have any idea what you need to do to be a DI, let alone run a CID team? Run a unit without enough people or resources – where half of the staff are depressed and the other half are too stupid to know they should be? Where you see guilty men – men you know are villains – walk free every day because you can’t make something stick? Where colleagues hate each other or are fucking each other, or both? Where every day is a juggling act and there is pressure from the top to catch more villains – and to do it more cheaply, more quickly? A good copper these days isn’t Sherlock-fucking-Holmes. He’s an accountant, a ringmaster and an organiser. And he has to know when to lick arse and when to stick the knife in.’
    Tom stays silent but his jaw clamps tight.
    ‘And you know what I think of you? I think you’re a bleeding heart in a uniform. You think a copper is some kind of superhero or a knight on a fucking white charger. You are an idealist. I hate idealists. They’re messy.’
    ‘White knight? Oh, he doesn’t know you very well, does he?’ Dani-in-his-head whispers.
    Tom feels battered. He should resign here and now, he could—
    ‘But needs must and you’re the best I’ve got. I want you to go home, get some sleep and be here at the crack of dawn. You’ll be acting DI.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘What part didn’t you understand, lad? Ashe isn’t here, Bennett is an idiot and maybe you can make the grade. Maybe, I’m not sure.’
    ‘Sir, I will—’
    ‘I’ll do the paperwork now; you’ll get the pips in a few days. It’s no more money and longer hours – none of which you will get as overtime, not any more. You will coordinate blue team and report directly to me. No Miss Marple shit like hunches or clues. You and all your team goes by the book: tag and bag evidence; chase down alibis; check friends, family and neighbours. Good and proper policing and we clean ’em up or hang ’em out to dry. At 9 a.m. tomorrow I will introduce you to the floor as acting DI. You need to be aware that DI Bennett will fucking hate you—’
    ‘He does already.’
    ‘No difference, then. Go home, get some sleep – because you won’t get any more for the next month – and be back here in the morning. Congratulations, acting DI Bevans.’ They stand and shake hands. The older man’s hand is weak. Tom grips it firmly and nods slowly.
    ‘What’s wrong with DI Ashe, sir?’
    ‘Bloody idiot fell down the stairs. Probably pissed, and he broke his – oh, I can’t say it without laughing. The bottom of his spine.’
    ‘Coccyx?’
    Chief Superintendent Drake sniggers like a schoolboy. ‘Coccyx – yeah.’

Three
    Wednesday 13 October 1999
    On the way home Tom buys a portion