Three
Five years Resnick's junior, Bill Berry was a hard-edged Lancastrian who had settled in the Midlands some twenty or so years before, without ever losing an accent that had been honed close to the Pennines, or an abiding interest in the fortunes of Lancashire County Cricket Club and Preston North End.
Much like Resnick himself, Berry had worked his way up through the ranks, the difference being that where Resnick's career had stalled, in part through his somewhat curmudgeonly resistance to change, Berry's had elevated him to the rank of Detective Superintendent.
Not without it being earned.
He was, in the old-fashioned argot of the trade, a good copper.
He had a full head of hair, a chiselled face and, since his last promotion, a taste for tailored suits that sat a touch uneasily on his rawboned, angular body. He was already at the table, leafing through the morning paper, when Resnick arrived.
'Charlie.' He half-rose. 'Good to see you.'
The two men shook hands.
'In the news again for all the wrong sodding reasons.'
Resnick grunted agreement. However hard the public-relations staff at Reputation Nottingham tried to put a positive spin on things, the public perception of the city these past years had changed. And not always for the better.
When it had been announced that London had won the bid for the 2012 Olympics, the joke had been that with several of the events being outsourced, the rowing would be at Henley, the equestrian events at Badminton, and the shooting would be in Nottingham. Robin Hood had now, it seemed, abandoned Lincoln Green for upmarket sportswear, developed a taste for crack cocaine, and, instead of his trusty bow, had a 9mm automatic tucked down into the back of his jeans.
Unfair or not, mud stuck.
'How's the lass?' Berry asked.
'Lynn? Well enough. Bruised ribs, nothing worse.'
'Young bones,' Berry said with a wink. 'Soon mend, eh?'
'Something you wanted to see me about,' Resnick said.
'You didn't catch local TV this morning, any chance?'
Resnick shook his head.
'Brent family out in force, bigging it up for the cameras. Breakdown in law and order, too many guns on the streets, police failing in their duty, the usual malarkey.'
'They're angry.'
''Course they're bloody angry. And looking for someone to blame, I can see that. Schools, teachers, the courts, the council, probation, you and me-everyone except them-bloody-selves. Anything other than accept responsibility. Fathers, especially. No, easier to go off and raise a petition, start a campaign. Come Sunday there'll be a minute's silence out on Slab Square, and everyone'll go off feeling better about themselves, but what flaming good does it do? By evening kids'll be back out on the streets and it starts all over.'
Resnick sighed. Education, wasn't that at the heart of it? Jobs, housing? Maybe the Brents were right to feel they deserved better.
'What was she, Charlie, this kid? Sixteen? Barely that. My kid or yours, she'd not be out there running with a gang, likely doing drugs, getting laid. Ask yourself why.'
Resnick didn't have a daughter. If he had, he'd no idea what it would be like to help her live her life without due harm. Except that it would be hard.
'Let's order,' Berry said. 'Smell from that grill's making me fair starving.'
He had bacon, sausage, and fried eggs, Resnick pancakes with a couple of rashers of bacon on the side. Coffee, rye bread. Resnick exchanged with the proprietress the few Polish pleasantries that came easily to the tongue. Since he'd started living with Lynn, his visits to the Polish Club had become less and less frequent; now months could pass without him ever stepping through the door.
'Kelly Brent's murder,' Berry said. 'I've drawn the short straw.'
Resnick broke off a piece of bread and wiped it around the bacon juices that had collected at the side of his plate.
'I want you for my number two.'
Resnick stopped what he was doing and looked at Berry squarely.
'Jerry Latham for office manager,' Berry said, 'and the outside team, that'd be up to you.'
'Prentiss'd love that,' Resnick said, popping the bread into his mouth.
'Fuck him,' Berry said.
Derek Prentiss was the City Divisional Commander, accountable for balancing budgets and hitting an array of ever-shifting targets, one of which, relating to robbery, was currently Resnick's specific area of responsibility. Since he'd taken charge of the division's robbery squad, the number of offences was down, all right marginally, but improving further, even if the clear-up rate was, as yet, lagging behind. Prentiss wasn't going to be happy with anything that put those figures under threat.
'Besides,' Resnick began, 'with Lynn involved-'
'Outside team, Charlie, that's where I want you, like I said. No conflict of interest there. Any part she's got to play, evidence, whatever, you steer well clear.'
'I don't know.' Resnick shook his head.
'It's your patch, Charlie.'
'Used to be.'
'Youths likely involved'll be known to some of your lot, I'd not be surprised. Street robberies and the like.'
'Possible.'
'More than bloody possible.' Berry speared a piece of sausage with his fork. 'Come on, Charlie. Stop dicking me around. Bring one of your lads in with you, if it'd make you feel happier.'
Resnick leaned back, pushing away his plate as he did so. 'What you're not saying, Bill, behind all this flannel, Homicide's stripped so bare there's no bugger else. It's either me or a DI you don't know from outside.'
Berry laughed. 'Some clever bastard wheeled up from the Met. I'd love that, right enough. But no, that's not it. That's not it at all.'
'No?'
'Charlie, Charlie. A bloke with a good head on his shoulders, someone I can bloody rely on, someone I can trust. That's why I want you.'
'Is it? Bollocks!'
Berry laughed even louder. 'Come on, Charlie. Kids thievin' mobile phones and MP3 players, old dears having their pensions snatched, that's not your mark. This'll get you out of the office for a bit, instead of shuffling bloody papers. Bit of real police work for a change. Let me put my feet up on the desk, instead.'
Angling away, Resnick looked out through the glass at the traffic making its way up Derby Road from the city centre. For years he'd been stationed at Canning Circus, no more than a stone's throw from where they were now, his squad handling everything from petty misdemeanours to murder. Not much time in those days for Best Value Programmes or monthly Performance Scrutiny Boards, little of the pressure of constantly changing Home Office directives.
What had Berry just said? Some real police work for a change.
'Prentiss,' Resnick said, swivelling back round. 'Even if I wanted to go along. If. He'll never accept it.'
'Don't be so sure. I had a word with the ACC, before I rang you. He'd like to get this little lot sorted as soon as possible. Now what d'you say. In or out?'
Resnick hesitated, but he didn't hesitate for long. 'In,' he said.
'Good man. Now let's get out of here and get things started.'
