I went on: 'The danger was there because I made a cock-up. An error of judgement. I was being clever, short-cutting normal procedures. It should never have reached the shooting stage. I brought that on.'
I remembered what I'd said to Gilbert about some aggro doing me good.
I'd wanted to go in and prove that I was still as good as anyone.
Bring-'em-back-alive Charlie had wanted to show that he could still do it; but this time he'd brought one back dead. Two, if you included George. The ball-pen slipped out of my fingers and fell to the floor.
I hadn't realised I'd picked the bloody thing up again.
'Are you in trouble, Charlie? Do you think you'll be criticised?'
Sam's tone was soft and concerned.
I took a long time to answer. 'I'll be all right. There'll be some searching questions, but we'll pull through. Deep down, I'm happy that I did the right thing; and that's what counts. I'll be able to sleep at nights.'
Sam made sympathetic noises, and waited for me to go on. I couldn't think of anything to add, so I told him what had happened in Spain. He looked shocked.
'Right, you've convinced me,' he stated. 'I'm grounding you, at least for the rest of the week.'
'That's no good, I've work to do,' I protested.
'Someone else'll do it. And I think you ought to see Foulkes. This is not really my field.'
'No, I don't want to see him.'
'Then you're grounded. Why don't you clear off to the coast for a few days, do some fishing or something? You need a rest and a complete change. There's life outside the police force, you know.'
'Okay, it's a deal,' I reluctantly agreed.
'Good. Come and see me next Monday and we'll take it from there.
Meanwhile, if you do need something to help you sleep for a night or two, you know where I am.'
'Cheers, Sam. How's Yvonne?'
'She's fine, thanks. A lot better. Sold a painting last week for sixty quid. Says she ought to be paying you commission. Why don't you call in to see her? While you're off work.'
'I might do that.'
Chief Inspector Brabiner didn't give me such an easy ride. I still had the Walther in my pocket when we met. I ejected the cartridge clip and placed it, with the gun, on the desk in front of him. He didn't look pleased. His main line of enquiry was why was I armed with a pea shooter and the others with pistols. We should have gone in brandishing Heckler and Koch rapid-fire assault weapons. This would probably have resulted in a siege, with lad do holed up in the loft, but, hopefully, he would have survived. It didn't matter that the street would have had to be evacuated, and all the neighbours found alternative accommodation. Thousands of hours of police time would have been consumed, while he hurled down roofing slates for the benefit of the newsreel cameras. A life would have been saved, and that was above valuation, even if it was a life dedicated to thieving, drug peddling, corruption of the young and the destruction of society. And he was right.
I felt depressed, and wished I'd accepted his offer to have a solicitor present. After nearly two hours he asked me if I had any questions.
'Only the obvious one,' I said. 'What's the outcome likely to be?'
He gathered his papers together. 'I'm happy with what I've seen and heard. It's a miracle you didn't have your head blown off. With any sort of luck, the inquest will come out in our favour. I'd say it was cut and dried. There's always the possibility, though, that some trendy lefty politician will jump on the bandwagon and try to make capital out of it.'
I smiled at the irony. 'I'll get called a trendy lefty,' I said.
That's why we'd gone in how we did, instead of armed to the teeth like Captain Blackbeard's pirates.
'I know, but they'll still stab you in the back if it will help the cause.' He clicked his briefcase shut and smiled for the first time.
'You'll be all right. Our masters won't fall over themselves to give you a commendation, but plenty will think you deserve one.'
I shook my head: 'I don't need a commendation, just get them off my back.' But he'd made me feel happier.
I went home and made a corned beef and pickle sandwich, which I didn't finish, and a pot of tea, which I did. I tried watching some TV, without any enthusiasm, and dipped into a couple of books. They didn't grip me, either. In the smallest bedroom, the one I'd slept in as a child, were boxes of possesions that I'd brought back with me when I returned to live here again. I sat down in the middle of the untidiness and started opening boxes. Eventually I found the one containing a comprehensive collection of Ordnance Survey maps, relics of my days as a budding mountaineer. I thumbed through them, extracting the most interesting ones. My old rucksack still held my waterproof clothing, and the boots were sound if you ignored the mildew. I stuffed the treasure into the sack and took it downstairs.
The rucksack might have earned a place in a Museum of Scouting, but nobody would be seen dead carrying one like it these days, so I binned it. The boots were expensive leather ones and cleaned up beautifully.
Then I settled down to pore over the maps. That evening the phone rang more often than a whore's doorbell when the party conferences are in town. All the calls were to wish me luck and offer support. One was from Mike Freer.
'Sheepshagger! How y'doing?' he greeted me.
'Gannet Breath! I'm okay, how are you?'
'Not bad. I was wondering if you could use a pinch of this stuff of yours in our safe. Might be just what you need.'
'Don't tempt me, Mike, I'm in deep enough already. I take it you've heard?'
'Yeah, you did well. The rest of the team send their regards. How are you feeling about it?'
'Fed up. Brabiner gave me a grilling this afternoon. Then there'll be the inquest. He thinks I'll be okay, but he made it clear that I broke the rules. Maybe you were right: it's not worth it.'
'Listen, Sheepdip,' he said. 'The only rule you broke was to move. If you'd stood still and let him kill you, everybody would be saying what a splendid fellow you were. Past tense. Right now the high and the mighty would be pressing their best uniforms and practising the purple prose. You weren't carrying a gun to scratch your arse with, you know.'
'Yeah, thanks. When are you taking me out for a swift half?'
'Sorry, Charlie, no can do for a while. It's the party season and we're busy. However…' he paused for maximum effect,
'I've some good news about your friend Parker.'
'The pen pusher I asked.
'None other. We've tracked him down, plus one or two others he's involved with. Any day now we'll invite him to help us with investigations.'
'Invoke the law against him,' I suggested.
'Exactly. Stick him before the Great Invigilator. No doubt he'll produce some suitable invective.'
'Great. People like him have no backbone.'
'Invertebrate, true. Never mind, the information you gave us was… er… priceless.'
'Invaluable. Pity it can't be used.'
'Invalid. Wonder if he's got a maiden aunt in Scotland?'
'Inverness?'
We both started laughing.
Chapter Thirteen
I should have accepted Sam's offer of some sleeping tablets. A thousand thoughts were racing through my mind as I lay in bed, and, when I almost did drop off, the reports of the guns jolted me back to alertness. I listened to the World Service for an hour, then rose and dressed.
All my old oil paints were in the junk room, together with an easel. I found a board of about, but not quite,
