Fade to Black (5 page)

The reaction was as she had expected. There were expressions of surprise, sadness and one or two of the long-time employees were clearly very upset. Surprisingly to Allie, none of her core team appeared to take it too hard—at least that she could see.

“I’m aware that some of you knew Billy for a long time and if anyone feels they need time to deal with this, I leave it to you to do as you see fit. You have my support and sympathies.” No one came forward or expressed a desire to leave the room.

“I don’t want to go on about it, but I can tell you he died suddenly and with virtually no suffering.”

There was silence.

“Just so you know,” she continued, “DS Carr is aware of the situation, and I imagine funeral arrangements will be announced later today. I will organize a wreath from us and flowers for Billy’s widow, Suzie.”

“How do you know?”

Allie looked to the side of the room to see Rachel Strauss gesturing towards her.

“Sorry… how do I know...?”

“That he didn’t suffer," she replied, the nasty edge to her voice evident to all. “I mean, you weren’t exactly
close
were you? Socially,
universes apart
, wouldn’t you say?’’

There it is
, Allie thought. Ok, she’d deal with this right now. Electricity crackled in the room.

“Rachel, I think everybody knows Billy and I had our differences—it’s not exactly news. It is regrettable and something I personally feel considerable remorse about.”

“
Really
?" Rachel barked. “But you haven’t answered my question yet.”

Adrenalin surged through Allie’s veins, carrying a boatload of pent-up anger with it. Her natural inclination was to let her have both barrels. This was inappropriate and untimely behavior from Strauss, but she had to resist the obvious bait.

She eyeballed Rachel, delaying a response for nearly five seconds, until she saw her flush bright crimson. Only then did she speak—slowly and calmly.

“I can see that Billy’s sudden passing has upset you, Rachel, and I fully understand that. If, unlike the rest of the team, you feel you need to take a break for an hour or even go home,
feel free to do so now.”

She waited, along with everyone else in the room, for Rachel to respond. Rachel said and did nothing, however, except remain crimson.

Allie allowed herself to be sidetracked no longer and returned to the subject at hand. “Despite this awful development, we all have a busy day ahead. Once again, I’m sorry to be the bearer of such sad news.”

No one shuffled or looked away now.

“I'd planned to at least begin a series of one-on-one interviews with you, as is our normal procedure when a senior management change occurs, but under the circumstances, let’s leave that for tomorrow. Thank you everyone.”

Turning to leave, Allie brushed DCS Carr, whom she now realized must have been standing behind her, watching the show.

“Good morning, ma’am," Allie managed, despite her lingering annoyance with Strauss.

Ellen Carr smiled and suggested Allie walk with her to the cafeteria downstairs.

They walked in silence, beginning the elevator descent to the first floor a minute later.

“I suggested we go for a walk rather than talk in your office, Allie, because it may have looked to the others as though you were copping a bollocking.”

“I appreciate that courtesy, ma’am.”

They ordered coffees and walked to the table Allie expected—Carr’s favorite spot, which overlooked Broadway from just above the building's main entrance.

Carr had not spoken again for a couple of minutes and Allie wondered what was coming next.
First morning on the new job and in trouble already
, she thought.

“Well done in there, by the way. Nasty little scenario on two fronts,” Carr finally said.

Allie could not deny she was relieved.

Carr continued, “Strauss was out of line there—I was approaching the door to the room and heard her performance.”

Allie blew a stream of air and flicked back a lock of dark hair.

“And I thought it was my evil eye that had turned her crimson ,” she said.

Carr laughed. “Oh you did that alright; she was staring at you like a rabbit caught in the headlights. I doubt she even knew I was there.”

Allie had to smile despite the tension of the morning.

“Well, I hope never to have another exchange like that with her—at least not in public.”

Carr caught the ‘not in public’ qualifier and frowned.

“I couldn’t agree more, Allie. You need to sort this problem out before it becomes a monster.”

“Absolutely,” Allie broke in. “I plan to talk with her privately at the first opportunity—perhaps even later today.”

“Glad to hear it. Let me know how it goes.” It was an order.

For ten minutes longer, they discussed Billy and the events at the hospital the night before. Carr finally drained her coffee and suggested it was time to get on with things, but not before reminding Allie that over the slightly longer term, building a strong cohesive team was her core challenge. The message was not lost on Allie, particularly in the context of the morning’s theatrics.

Allie enlisted the help of two administration staff and completed her move into Billy’s glass-encased office by 11:45 a.m. It offered a different perspective on the CID operations center. From her new desk, she could see the length of the general office and, apart from the little I.T nook off to the side by the fire escape, she could see all twenty occupants of the section—or at least their desks. She’d catch up with the office supervisor and go over all the resources issues later. She called a meeting for 3:00 p.m. to review all active cases. The issue of DC Rachel Strauss floated back to the front of her mind. It had been hovering all morning, of course. She checked her watch; she had about an hour before catching her friends for lunch.
Time to do it
, she decided. She rang the head of human resources, then DS Strauss.

Allie figured that Rachel had been expecting the call from her, but perhaps not quite so soon. Rachel had crossed the line earlier and she would know that Allie would not be able to let it go. In truth, no DCI worth his or her salt could have ignored her outburst. Rachel had been curt on the phone, arriving at her door fifteen minutes later.

“Take a seat, Rachel,” Allie said, waving at the narrow vinyl-covered chair she’d placed in front of her desk moments earlier. From her reaction, it was clear Rachel did not anticipate there being a human resources representative present.

“You know Trevor, I assume?” Allie asked her.

Rachel looked at him and offered a faltering smile. Trevor Bailey was a thirty-year veteran of the Met and had interviewed Rachel four years ago when she’d first applied to be a detective. He was as plump as ever and had lost even more of his wispy, silver hair.

“Yes, of course. Hello, Trevor.”

“DS Strauss.”

Trevor was usually a jovial type despite his job description, but he showed no hint of cheer. Strauss already knew she was in trouble.

Allie studied Strauss and was a little disappointed in what she saw. Rachel had been attractive in a healthy, buxom, outdoorsy way only a few years ago. But hardness lurked about her now—her hair was cut thin and bleached, her eyebrows penciled in unnecessarily. Thin lines radiated from the corners of eyes that narrowed over dark circles her heavy make-up failed to mask.

“Rachel, I’ll get to the point: I cannot and
will not
accept the type of behavior you exhibited this morning.”

Rachel was taken aback by the aggression, but replied nonetheless. “May I ask what behavior that is… exactly?”

Allie realized she was still angry with Rachel and made a huge effort to control it. She wanted this conversation to be short.

“Ok, you know very well what I’m talking about—your sullenness towards me, your refusal to communicate in a normal, effective way and that bitter outburst this morning—you must realize I cannot abide it.”

Rachel stared back at her.

“Look, whatever personal views you may hold about me are beyond my control and are yours to hold. However, I believe you to be an intelligent and effective operative and I will give you every opportunity to shine and progress your career. It would be an abrogation of my duties to ignore your insubordinate remarks—particularly those made publicly.”

Strauss said nothing. Allie pressed on.

“Do you understand that the open animosity you display towards me is unprofessional, could undermine our effectiveness as a unit, and is demeaning to you personally?”

Rachel Strauss looked as though she’d crawl into a hole if God opened one up for her. Big tears glistened in her eyes. The best she could manage was a nod.

Allie and Trevor glanced at each other. Allie continued, but in a softer tone.

“Rachel, if there are issues you prefer to discuss with Trevor, or if you feel you need to talk to a counselor, just say so. I’ll understand and support that.”

Again, there was no response.

“Something has to change or we have an insurmountable problem.”

Allie thought she caught a ‘You can go fuck yourself’ look pass across Strauss’s face, but her reply belied that.

“I understand,” Strauss said quietly. “But I’d like a transfer to another division.”

Allie jumped on the comment hard. “You’re not getting one, Rachel. That’s not the answer. I’m not transferring my problem from here to someone else.”

“It’s not all about
you
, Allison, and how
you
look,” Strauss pouted. It was an answer a child might have given.

Allie thought quickly. If she pursued Strauss’ infantile reaction, this conversation would never end, plus, Strauss would end up out of the force—such was the road she was starting to travel. Despite Strauss’ animosity, she had been a close friend once, and she was a damn good cop and they were in short supply. Allie threw her a lifeline, simply by ignoring her outburst. She hoped Trevor Bailey would do the same.

“What’s it to be, Rache? Can you see yourself buckling down and applying yourself in a positive way to your job?”

Strauss squirmed in her chair, her inner conflict obvious. She held a half-smile.

“Yes, DCI St. Clair, I believe I can.”

“Starting now?”

“Yes, starting now.”

“Alright,” Allie said, “I’m personally very glad to hear it. I’ll discuss this issue further with Trevor and make a note in your file about your favorable response.”

Rachel nodded.

“Thank you, Rachel. I know this isn’t fun, but I hope you understand the reasons for it.”

Rachel nodded, more at Trevor than Allie, then left the office. She didn’t return to her desk, preferring instead to go to the restroom.

Allie looked at Trevor.

“What do you think…?”

“Dunno,” said Trevor, with stunning insight. “You’re not exactly her pin-up girl, are you?”

Allie had to admit he was right on that score.

Trevor went on to suggest there be a further performance review for Rachel in six weeks. Allie readily agreed, glad to get the difficult business over with.

She was late for lunch.

*****

Rachel had not just been upset by the meeting with St. Clair; she had been incensed. How
dare
she drag HR into this! Now her record was besmirched, all over what she considered to be home truths that St. Clair had been too thin-skinned to handle.

Rachel always thought that she and Billy had been good ‘mates’ over the journey. Sure, Billy was over the hill, but he had treated her alright and they’d had the odd drink together. She knew Billy was uncomfortable around St. Clair. He’d never said much, but it was obvious that they were not close. So how would
St. Clair
know how he died? It was pure PR veneer from her—pretending to have an intimate connection to his last hours. St. Clair had become smug and superior over the past year, and it was going to be a nightmare working at the Met with her in charge of the unit. She examined herself in the restroom mirror and decided her little burst of tears hadn’t made her look too puffy.
Good
, she thought.
Don’t want her to think I’m still bothered
. It was, after all, still only round one.

Chapter Five

The Feathers Inn was only a hundred yards from her office, but approaching the building, Allie wondered why on earth she had chosen that location for lunch. It was great by all accounts and a historic eatery, but she had simply never thought of it before. A text message blipped. She reached for her phone, sure that Greg and Phoebe were wondering where she had gotten to. The message read:
Great pub The Feathers, a personal favorite -Michael.

She stood still, scanning the immediate area. No one was taking an inordinate interest in her. She checked the message and knew there would be no reply number.
How could that be?
IT stuff was not her forte. She was worried. This was amounting to electronic stalking, if there was such a thing—harassment at the very least.

She dodged a plumber’s smoky van that wheezed across her path. The façade of the Feather’s Inn, with its bright row of flowers atop the verandah, red timberwork and dark wooden door, came into view. It was British charm at its best. The huge white bird sculpture above the flower boxes took her eye as she entered the warm, polished wood interior of the Inn.
In all
, she thought,
an inviting place
.

Greg and Phoebe stood and clapped as Allie approached their table.

“Hail, the conquering heroine!" Greg Johansen proclaimed, waving thin arms in the air. “The youngest DC—”

“Shut up, for God’s sake, Greg!” Allie laughed. Phoebe was in hysterics as well, her bright, red lips surrendering the battle to contain her big, gapped teeth as she laughed loudly, throwing her head back, her frizzy brown hair shaking like a shrubbery in a breeze. Phoebe Kite was the flower child her mother would have loved to have been.