Hatchley grinned. “Let me put it this way. It’s a bit like a holiday. Trouble is?and I never thought I’d be complaining about this?it’s a holiday that never bloody ends. There’s not much goes on for CID to deal with out there, save for a bit of organized pickpocketing in season, a few B-and-Es, or a spot of trouble with the bookies now and then. It’s mostly paperwork, a desk job.” Hatchley uttered those last two words with flat-vowelled Yorkshire contempt.
“Thought you’d be enjoying the rest.”
“I might be a bit of a lazy sod, but I’m not bloody retiring age yet. You know me, I like a bit of action now and then. Out there, half the time I think I’ve died and gone to Harrogate, only by the sea.”
“What are you getting at, Jim?”
Hatchley hesitated for a moment, then put his knife and fork down. “I’ll be blunt. We’re all right for now, Carol and me, but after the baby’s born, do you think there’s any chance of us getting back to Eastvale?”
Banks sipped some wine and thought for a moment.
“Look,” Hatchley said, “I know the super doesn’t like me. Never has. I knew that even before you came on the scene.”
Three and a half years ago, Banks thought. Was that all? So much had happened. He raised his eyebrows.
“But we get on all right, don’t we?” Hatchley went on. “I mean, it took us a while, we didn’t have the best of starts. But I know my faults. I’ve got strengths, too, is all I’m saying.”
“I know that,” Banks said. “And you’re right.” He remembered that it had taken him two years to call Sergeant Hatchley by his first name. By then he had developed a grudging respect for the man’s tenacity. Hatchley might take the easy way out, act in unorthodox ways, cut corners, take risks, but he generally got what he set out to get. In other words, he was a bit of a maverick, like Banks himself, and he was neither as thick nor as thuggish as Banks had first thought.
Apart from Gristhorpe, Banks felt most comfortable with Hatchley. Phil Richmond was all right, pleasant enough, but he always seemed a bit remote and self-absorbed. For God’s sake, Banks thought, what could you expect from a man who read science fiction, listened to New Age music and spent half his time playing computer games? Susan Gay was too prickly, too oversensitive to feel really at ease with, though he admired her spunk and her common sense.
“It’s not up to me,” Banks said finally. “You know that. But the way Phil’s going it wouldn’t surprise me if he went in for a transfer to the Yard before long.”
“Aye, well, he always was an ambitious lad, was Phil.”
It was said without rancour, but Banks knew it must have hurt Hatchley to be shunted to a backwater so as not to impede a younger man’s progress up the ranks. Transfer to CID was no more a “promotion” per se than transfer to Traffic and Communications —a sergeant was a sergeant, whether he or she had the prefix “detective” or not— though some, like Susan Gay, actually saw it
that way, as a mark of recognition of special abilities. Some detectives were transferred back to uniform; some returned from choice. But Banks knew that Hatchley had no desire to walk the beat or drive the patrol cars again. What he wanted was to come back to Eastvale as a Detective Sergeant, and there simply wasn’t room for him with Richmond at the same rank.
Banks shrugged. “What can I say, Jim? Be patient.”
“Can I count on your support, if the situation arises?”
Banks nodded. “You can.” He smiled to himself as the unbidden image of Jim Hatchley and Susan Gay working together came to mind. Oh, there would be fun and games ahead if Sergeant Hatchley came back to Eastvale.
Hatchley finished his pint and looked Banks in the eye. “Aye, well that’s all right then. How about a sweet?”
“Not for me.”
Hatchley caught the waiter’s attention and ordered Black Forest gateau, a cup of coffee and another pint of Theakston’s. Banks stayed with his glass of red wine, which was still half-full.
“Down to business, then,” Hatchley said, as he tucked into the dessert.
Banks gave him a summary of the case and its twists and turns so far, then explained what he wanted him to do.
“A pleasure,” said Hatchley, smiling.
“And in the meantime, you can concentrate on installing that shower or whatever it is. I can’t say how long we’ll be. It depends.”
Hatchley pulled a face. “I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”
“Problem?”
“Oh, not really. As you know, I’ve got a few days leave. There’s not a lot on in Saltby at the moment, anyway, and Carol will be all right. She’s built up quite a
gaggle of mates out there, and there’ll be no keeping them away since we heard about the baby. You know how women get all gooey-eyed about things like that. You can almost hear the bloody knitting needles clacking from here. No, it’s just that it might mean staying on longer than I have to at the in-laws, that’s all.”
“You don’t get on?”
“It’s not that. We had them for two weeks in July. It’s just… well, you know how it is with in-laws.”
Banks remembered Mr and Mrs Ellis from Hatchley’s wedding the previous Christmas. Mrs Ellis in particular had seemed angry that Hatchley stayed at the reception too long and drank too much. But then, he thought, she had every right to be annoyed. “They don’t approve of your drinking?” he guessed.
“You make it sound as if I’m an alcoholic or something,” Hatchley said indignantly. “Just because a bloke enjoys a pint or two of ale now and then… . No, they’re religious, Four Square Gospel,” he sighed, as if that explained it all. “You know, Chapel on Sundays, the whole kit and caboodle. Never mind.” He sat up straight and puffed out his chest. “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Just hurry up and find the bugger. What about this Olivers bloke? Any leads?”
