Staying Power (15 page)

Subsequent to the course I have just attended, it has been decided that all non-European female personnel will be required to be experienced in the normal sexual practices of uncircumcised men. Please let me have a list of dates when you are free from your normal duties and can undergo the appropriate training, which I will personally attend to.

Shit! No, it wasn't from Graham. Of course it wasn't. Not Graham. Not the man she liked and respected. Her friend. No. It was a cruel, wicked spoof. Perpetrated by none other than the delightful Selby, no doubt. Who else would still right justify the text? Well, there was Cope, but surely he wouldn't be party to this sort of thing. Not a man in his position.

She laid a sheet of paper on top of the memo, and then picked up it, the memo and the sheet underneath the memo too. Even Selby probably hadn't been stupid enough to leave prints but she sure as hell didn't want hers to stand out. Or perhaps there would be prints – whoever had perpetrated this would not doubt claim it was only a joke. To the photocopier – so far so good. And two clear copies. Then back to her desk. She slid the original into an envelope, which she sealed. Then she slipped it into another, larger envelope together with a note.

Fatima

I happened to see this on your desk. I'm sure it's not from the person it's supposed to be from. Please let me help.

Kate.

And put the lot back where she'd found it. She was breathing horribly hard. And there were footsteps in the corridor. Back to her desk. Fast. She was burrowing in the bottom drawer when her colleagues came in.

They acknowledged her briefly but were too busy arguing about some case she wasn't involved in to do anything more than greet her. She responded with a flap of the hand. She managed a short laugh: their raised voices would provide an authentic background if it was Mrs Harvey who happened to answer the phone.

An hour later, in his office, Graham flung his hands in the air. ‘Don't you realise what a risk you were taking? Removing it and photocopying it? What if someone had seen you!'

Damn it, she hadn't emptied the whole desk! She shot back, ‘Don't you realise the risk you ran as long as it was visible? No. No. Sorry. I was out of order there. Your reputation would have carried you through. But mud tends to stick, Graham, for however short a time. And I couldn't just remove the thing altogether – she had to receive it or she couldn't complain about it.' She filled the kettle from the plastic water bottle.

‘But will she anyway?' He joined her by the kettle and dug in the caddy for a herbal tea bag. Then he shoved it back, dropping a fully-caffeinated one in his mug instead. He poked it with a teaspoon as she poured the water. Then – they had a good routine by now – he transferred it to her mug and poked it again. They exchanged what she thought was a comradely smile. It didn't do much to wipe the anger or anxiety from his face. It probably didn't do much more for her own, particularly as she still had to tell him about Sanderson.

‘It strikes me she's already taken some shit and isn't prepared to talk about it,' he continued.

‘Not to me, anyway. She doesn't want to snitch. Any more than I would in her position. Not that I'd keep quiet if I'd had something like that.'

He turned so he could look her straight in the eye. ‘What happened to you on your first day here? Not just that business of sending you hither and there for those files. When Cope and I came into the office we interrupted something. It's time you told me, Kate.'

Somehow he infused into his voice a blend of kindness – tenderness, even – and authority. The mixture was compelling.

‘You came in just after Colin had stopped – stopped what I suppose I'd have to call a simulated rape.' Trying to make her voice business-like made it sound gruff. She turned away from his gaze, and looked towards the window. ‘Selby pushed me face down on the desk and—'

‘Attempted penetration or merely feigned it?' His voice sounded very dry, very forensic.

Why didn't he show some emotion? Some anger? Outrage? ‘He didn't lift my skirt,' she said flatly.

‘But you're his superior officer.'

His comment so took her aback it was a moment before she could continue. ‘That's not the point. The point is I'm a woman. And – yes – I'll go before any tribunal you want – provided it's to support Fatima. Not on my own account. I'm too busy pursuing him over something completely different,' she added, trying for a rueful grin and succeeding. ‘I'll tell you all about it when I've managed it.'

Not the wisest thing to say to Graham, knowing his belief in the hierarchy. ‘You'll tell me now. You're not the Lone Ranger riding the range avenging ills.'

‘Oh, it's all quite trivial in one sense. But it wastes so much time. He's got this habit of playing patience on his computer. Not just the odd game when we're quiet. All the time.'

‘You've warned him?'

‘In private.'

‘You see him at it again get him in here so quick his feet don't touch the ground.'

‘What about evidence? My word against his.'

‘Get evidence. This week.'

‘Evidence? Even with all this urgent stuff going on?'

‘Allow me to be the judge of what's urgent. OK, if you can't get evidence, bollock him again – you're well within your rights, Kate – and warn him it's three strikes and he's outside my door.'

‘Fair enough. Now: the urgent stuff. I've been invited to drinkies at Howard Sanderson's tonight. I'm supplying the cheese straws,' she added, enjoying the expression the irrelevance brought to his face.

‘You're not going and you're not supplying anything.'

‘I've been invited to go with Patrick Duncan,' she said, carefully.

‘Duncan! Oh, yes. I could see he was after you. And I suppose you like his flashy car and executive house.'

‘I've seen neither yet. I've heard all about his motorbikes,' she said. She tried for a mocking smile. ‘
All
about them.'

‘So if you don't like him why are you going out with him?'

Turning back to the window she took a deep breath. It had been all too easy to be frank with her DVU colleagues. Opening up to Graham wouldn't be. Not the way he was these days, bouncing from one emotion to another, like a badly balanced ball. She put her hands on to the sill to steady them.

Graham didn't prompt her, but she could feel him willing her on.

If she turned back her face would be in shadow: her distress wouldn't be quite as humiliatingly obvious. ‘If I don't go out with Patrick who do I go out with?'

He flung up his hands. ‘That chapel you go to. There must be a social life there. And that nice neighbour of yours. Zenia. Colin.'

‘I'm not specially
persona grata
at the chapel. And, given some of the congregation, I'm not so sure I'd want to be,' she added, chin in the air. ‘Zenia's just getting over flu. Colin's a dear but we tend not to clutter each other's lives.'

‘You wouldn't get very far with him anyway.'

She bit her lip.

‘OK, it's not the sort of remark I'd make in general. And never in front of Selby.'

‘Nor,' she added, before she could stop herself, ‘in front of Cope. Or anyone in the squad. I'm reasonably sure that homosexuality isn't the flavour of the month round here. Even in these enlightened days of Equal Opportunities courses.' She looked him straight in the eye.

For once he accepted the implied criticism. ‘So you're saying you're a bit lonely?'

‘A lot lonely. I mean, circumstances haven't helped – the bad knee, going on leave and so on. And I probably haven't helped. I've probably been pretty prickly.' She smiled, as if in apology.

He didn't contradict her.

As if she hadn't paused to let him, she continued, ‘So you can see why, even if a man bores me silly with his gearboxes, I'm not going to turn down invitations for parties and so on. I need to build up a network of contacts. Midge from the DVU's going to teach me how to—'

‘DVU: why have you been down there?' He jumped in very quickly.

‘One of Cassie's nurses is getting beaten up. I got one of those help cards to give her. And besides,' she added more slowly, ‘it occurs to me that it's odd for a woman who phones in to try and report a crime to cut her complaint off in mid-breath. Not once, but several times. She may be phoning illicitly from work, of course, and have the boss come in unexpectedly. Or she may be phoning from somewhere else and have someone else come in unexpectedly.'

‘You mean her husband?' If his voice was harsh it might be because he recognised the secrecy to which he was driven if he phoned Kate. And that one-four-one business if she phoned him from her home. The fact she mustn't pick up the phone immediately he'd made a call to her, lest his wife press the redial button to check up on him.

Poor bastard. And don't tell him he should use the term ‘partner', either.

‘Spot on,' she said lightly. ‘So I wanted to talk to Lorraine and Midge to find out what a woman could do to get out from such a situation. What I'd like to do is have another talk with them about the sort of man that bullies his wife. You see, I saw a really cowed woman the other night – no, not a bruise in sight – and I wondered how affluent, respectable men might torment their wives.'

She'd tried to keep her voice neutral, but he picked up on it. ‘Are you talking Isobel Sanderson here?'

‘Would it worry you if I were?'

‘You don't mean you think she made that call! For God's sake, Kate!' He turned on his heel, and strode back to his desk. He flung himself into his chair.

What was with this man? She followed, taking a chair opposite. Just in case, the hard one.

For a long time he said nothing, staring at the files on his desk as if they would open up to provide him with a solution. Even if he wasn't entirely sure what the problem was. At last, still at a loss, she took the initiative.

‘How well do you know this guy?'

‘Well enough. I may even be at the party tonight.'

She produced a huge sarcastic beam. ‘Well, won't that be cosy? I'll hear you talking shop in the intervals of Patrick talking motorbikes.'

He pushed away from the desk, prowling back to the window. ‘Do they have any inkling of your job?'

‘I shouldn't think so. Patrick and I made a pact not to broadcast our respective occupations to those not already in the know. All they know about me for definite is that I can mend double-0 locomotives. But that may connect me back to the Baptists via Tim.'

‘Tim? Oh, the parson's son. And they certainly know what you do.'

‘I doubt if anyone's interested enough to find out. They may ask me directly, in which case I shall have to give a direct answer. But no one seemed overly interested. Apart from John, our host last night, people tended to regard me as just someone Patrick had brought with him.'

‘Apart from John?'

‘He wanted a gentle flirt. Actually, there was a bit of trouble – I have to say I thought Sanderson handled it very well.' She explained. ‘It all goes to show you can solve any problem provided you've got enough money.' When he didn't react, she added, ‘And there was an awful lot of money around at that house last night. Well, look at the house itself. You could have got the whole of my place in their ground floor – with room to spare!' How did he fit in if he was one of their circle? She had a pretty good idea of how much he earned. If his wife wasn't working and he had a big mortgage to pay on that nice house of his, he couldn't be anywhere near their league.

‘OK. Go to the party tonight. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. If they should invite my wife and me I'll find an excuse not to go. She rarely goes anywhere anyway, with those migraines of hers.'

‘What,' she risked, ‘if she wants to go to this particular party?'

‘In that case I shall have to claim pressure of work – maybe even come in here.'

‘She could go by herself – recognise me?'

‘She never goes anywhere like that by herself,' he said, with absolute finality.

Eight-thirty in the morning, and this was the third time Graham was picking over Kate's account of her evening at the Sandersons. They were on their second mug of tea, him ensconced behind his desk, her on the comfortable chair opposite him.

‘So we have no bruises and no verbal violence to support your theory of domestic bullying.'

She shook her head. Even Howard's tone had been right: affectionate, proud, even, of a wife who could conjure a feast from nowhere.

‘And nothing to show that Isobel could be responsible for the phone-calls,' he concluded.

‘But we have her cowed demeanour,' she insisted. ‘And, incidentally, that of their son. Most teenage kids I know run a mile if their parents have a party. But Nigel passed drinks and nuts like a waiter. A pretty obsequious waiter.' Horribly well-scrubbed and neatly dressed for a kid of his age. But she had a feeling that Graham might prefer sanitised teenagers to the usual sort.

‘They had some trouble with him, I gather. The wrong crowd. His father had to come the heavy.'

‘That figures. Oh, I know the place is very nice.' She'd better not favour him with her views on the Sandersons' taste in interior decor: all that designer furniture and carpets you need a machete to slice a way through – more of a conference centre than a home. It was perilously close to that of his own home. ‘But there's something funny there, Guv, honest. Know wot I mean, sniff, Squire?'

He cocked a quizzical eyebrow, grinning as if in spite of himself. ‘I love it when you talk London. You bleedin' Savvernas.' His cockney accent was atrocious. ‘Funny thing, my wife was saying she didn't think Isobel was a very happy woman. But you should see their garden. It's magnificent.'