to fire and you're away. The gun comes with an extending rifle stock and they usually snap it into position silently, in the privacy of the van, before moving into position. For more intimate situations a few officers have invented a little strategy that's not in the manual. They will have the stock loosely extended but not locked. At the right moment they will bark their instructions at the target and yank the stock home, hard. The resulting chuck of catches snapping into place is mundane and meaningless, but in the psychology of brinkmanship it strikes terror in the already sweaty palms of the hearer.
Annabelle had cooked one of my favourites trout and almonds for me, followed by home-made cheesecake. We'd called at the Granada services on the M62 and I'd bought a bunch of carnations, to put me in the good books, and the JFK video, to save time collecting Sparky's copy from home. Only trouble was, I was wearing the clothes I'd been sitting and standing about in all day and was unshaven. I apologised for my appearance and told her about Rodney, which was a mistake. All her sympathy immediately transferred to him.
'So,' I said, after I'd topped up her glass with the last of the Spanish red we both like, 'how did the trip go?'
'Very well,' she replied. 'I'll show you my ideas.' She stood up and left the room. We'd eaten off the large refectory table in her kitchen. I cleared our crockery away and when she returned we spread the drawings out.
'Unfortunately the fabrics have already been ordered,' she said, 'so we have to work around them. Actually, it makes it easier, I suppose.'
They were architects' impressions of the interiors, and Annabelle had coloured them in. Her schemes looked good, although her skills with the pencils required polishing. 'Use the edge, like this,' I said, and coloured a wall on a spare drawing. 'And make the end of the wall that is nearer to you a little bolder. If you're doing it quickly, for an immediate impression, use big zigzags, full of confidence. Don't be faint-hearted. Like this.'
I handed her the pencil and made her show me. We were talking about drawing, which I know about, and avoiding discussing her trip to London, which I didn't. She was grateful for the diversion, I accepted it.
'These are very good,' I told her, pointing, meaning it. 'You have brilliant colour sense, and you're prepared to be adventurous. Zorba should be delighted.'
'He's called Xavier,' she reminded me.
'Sorry. So when is your next expenses-paid jaunt?'
'I have to go to the new site, near West Midlands Airport, to meet the architects, sometime on Thursday.'
'Will you stay down there?'
'I think so. It's called market research. If it's a morning meeting it might be easier for me to go down tomorrow night. I'll stay at the Post Chase our big rivals to see what I can learn, and consider ways of improving upon same.'
'It sounds fun,' I admitted.
'Mmm, it is. I'm enjoying myself.'
'Will you drive down?'
'Yes, I'll have to. I can manage the West Midlands.'
'You know you've only to say the word and I'd gladly take you.'
When she smiles at me like she did I know there is nothing I wouldn't do for her. I almost wished some great catastrophe would overtake us, some suffering we could rise above that would hold us together for ever. But all I had was a lopsided grin and a few stumbling phrases.
'I know you would, Charles,' she said. 'You're very kind to me. Shall we take our tea in the other room and watch the video?'
I was a child of the Kennedy era. We believed we were poised on the brink of a new age, when war would be waged against poverty and ignorance, and not against our fellow men. 'Let us begin,' he told us.
Those shots at Dallas didn't just kill a president, they blew out the dreams of a generation. I'd never known that a prosecution had been brought against factions of the mafia and their Cuban connections. New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison pursued his case until it almost destroyed his family, but in the end he lost the trial and saved his marriage. I'd call that success.
Annabelle's head was on my shoulder as we watched it, my arm around her. I had cramp for the last hour, but bore it stoically. 'Do you think we'll ever know the truth?' she asked, as we washed the supper dishes.
'Not really,' I replied. 'Where does this go?'
'In there, please.'
'We'll know it, but not recognise it. It's there, somewhere, along with all the other stuff.'
'Do you believe there was a conspiracy?'
'Yes,' I replied. 'I'm a pathological believer in conspiracies.'
I stayed the night. We went to bed and made love, because that's what grown-ups do when they go to bed together. Afterwards, I lay awake for hours, wondering what might have been. I think Annabelle did, too. She was snuffling in her dreams when I sneaked away at about six thirty, my car engine rattling like a clarion call in the stillness of the vicarage close.
I was close-shaved and clean-shirted when I took the morning meeting.
The petty criminals of Heckley hadn't taken a day off while I went to the seaside, so there was plenty to talk about. After that the first team met in my office for an update on the doc's murder. I let Nigel tell Sparky and Maggie all about the Siege of Scarborough.
'And the psychiatrist is calling in the local nick this morning to make a statement,' he finished with. Sparky put a number three in the appropriate box on his chart and looked glum.
Nigel had a report to write and the computer to update. Sparky and Maggie were investigating ways of breaking the confidentiality rules around the abortions at the clinic. Barraclough was the obvious approach, or perhaps their counsellor might be helpful. He'd told us that all the potential mothers were given counselling. We didn't want copies of all the records a nudge towards someone they'd had concerns about would do nicely.
I rang Les Isles with the bad news and spent the rest of the morning on paperwork. Les said not to worry, it had been worth a try, which was seven orders of support away from what he'd claimed yesterday. In the afternoon I went to the regional inspectors' meeting. We're supposed to talk about trends, developments and tactics. As usual we discussed pay, tenure of office and the precarious nature of the chief inspector rank. I didn't hear a word of it. My mind was elsewhere. Before I left Annabelle's, earlier that morning, I'd written her a letter and left it propped against the electric kettle. Now she knew exactly how I felt, and what my plans were.
I called in the office on my way home, in case there was anything brewing that I needed to know about. It could all wait. I had the place to myself, so I rang the force medical officer. He's an old pal of mine. We wished each other a happy New Year and had a long chat. He complained that he and his wife hadn't seen me for a long time and, pleasantries over, confirmed what he'd told me a few years earlier about the state of my health. I promised to go for Sunday lunch in the near future and dialled my next number.
Our divisional chief inspector (personnel) was still at Ms desk. 'No,' he said, as soon as he recognised my voice.
'You don't know the question,' I argued.
'The answer's still no.'
'So, if my question was… oh… 'Are there any disadvantages if I retire at the weekend?' the answer is still no?'
'Bugger!' he exclaimed. 'It's no wonder you've got to where you are.
Happy New Year, Charlie. What can I do for you?'
'Happy New Year, Bob. I've just rung Doc Evans and he's confirmed that I can still go on ill health, if I so desire. I've had a word with pay section and they're calculating my terms. All I want now is the go-ahead from you.'
'You're wanting out?'
'I think so.'
'I don't blame you, Charlie. I've had enough, myself. It's a different game from when we joined. You haven't been sick, have you?'
'No, it's the old war wound. There's still a couple of shotgun pellets floating around inside me that could cause trouble anytime. The doc tried to persuade me to go when it happened, but I didn't want to leave, then. Now I want to sort out my private life, so it might be better to jump, before I'm kicked out.'
