“They can’t have been too easy for you either,” said Gideon. “I didn’t get the impression he was the easiest boss in the world to work for.”
“Oh, not so bad. One has to make allowances. One has to consider who he is. It’s been a privilege to work with him, really. I’ve learned a lot.”
“I admire your staying power,” Gideon said.
“Well, yes, it was a little hard at first,” Robb admitted, “but after a couple of months on the island he mellowed. He likes the idea of living at the police station, for one thing.”
“He lives at the police station?” Julie said, surprised.
“Well, above it. Above the store, as we say,” Robb said with a smile. “Upstairs, on the first floor. My wife and I do, too. There are several flats up there. It used to be a common arrangement years ago, but you don’t see it much anymore, except in out-of-the-way places like this. And then…” He hesitated. “The fact is, he’s gotten himself a lady-friend who more or less lives there too. That’s really mellowed him. For one thing, she’s gotten him off the sauce. He’s a teetotaler now, which has made all the difference in the world. He’s put his life together again. But any time he has to deal with Exeter”—he shook his head—“he’s an unhappy man.”
They got up from the table and walked to the terrace’s metal railing to look out over the water at the outer islands for a few moments. The sun was warm on their faces, the breeze cool. “That’s Samson on the left,” Robb said, slipping on his tunic, “and Tresco over there, and Bryher lies between them. Beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Lovely,” Julie agreed.
“Enjoy the view while you can. This is what we call fog season, you know, and it looks like it may be a bad one. It’s already starting to build out there. I suspect we’ll be socked in pretty soon now.” He sighed, put on his helmet, adjusted the chin strap, and tapped it into place with his palm. “Ouch.”
“But it’s so becoming on you,” Julie said.
Robb smiled his thanks. “So what do you say, sir? Will you come by the station? Anytime now would be fine. He’ll have come back from lunch.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in half an hour or so. And Kyle—I want you to know I appreciate this. I hated to just let it drop.”
“You’re welcome. Mostly, I’m doing this for the sergeant. I know that working on a real murder case again would do him a world of good. Otherwise, you know, I’d never have said… I wouldn’t have told you…”
“I understand. But listen, you’re sure he hasn’t gotten any calls from Exeter today?”
“None,” Robb said laughing. “He’s as gentle as—”
“A lamb,” Gideon finished for him.
“An old lion with most of his teeth pulled would be closer to it,” Robb said, and then, in friendly warning: “But not all of them.”
EIGHT
SERGEANT Clapper was awaiting him at the entry to Robb’s cubicle, leaning casually against the frame of the glass partition, sipping from a chipped mug of coffee and chatting with Robb, who was seated at his desk, sorting desultorily through the mess of files on it.
“Here’s the very man,” was his indisputably genial greeting. “PC Robb was telling me you might be coming in again about that bone of yours.” He was in uniform today: open-throated, short-sleeved white shirt with blue-and- gold epaulets decorated with chevrons; dark blue trousers; and heavy, polished black shoes.
“Well, yes, I thought that maybe there was a little more to talk about,” Gideon said.
“Indeed, yes. I was thinking the same thing. I was extremely interested in what you were saying yesterday, you know, but then we were interrupted by that…” He made a growling noise deep in his throat. “… that sodding telephone call, and when I came back you’d up and left, hadn’t you?”
That’s not quite the way I remember it, Gideon thought, but it didn’t seem meanly intended, so he let it pass with no more than a murmur. If that was the way Clapper wanted to recall it, that was fine with him.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Clapper went on, motioning Gideon to follow him to his own office, “and I’ve done a bit of checking in the—oh, coffee?” he said, pointing to the coffeemaker in the unoccupied cubicle.
“I’m about coffeed out, thanks,” Gideon said.
“A wise decision,” Clapper said, grimacing and placing a hand on his belly. “Kyle, you can come along too, lad,” he called over his shoulder. “I know you’re interested.”
Walking behind him, keeping pace with his slow, billowing stride, Gideon saw that Clapper was an even bigger man than he’d realized, matching Gideon’s six-one, but probably pushing 250 pounds. Not that much overweight, really. Brawny was more like it. Basically, he was a constitutionally thickset man to begin with, with an unusually broad thorax and a wide pelvis. He’d make an interesting skeleton, Gideon couldn’t help thinking.
His office was at the end of the little hallway, just past a door that said “Interview Room.” It was no larger than Robb’s cubicle but with real walls instead of glass partitions, and a door that opened and closed. There was the usual clutter here: charts and maps on the walls, and files scattered across the desk—but not a single one of the many plaques and commendations he had received, according to Robb, no framed copies of the magazine articles that had been written about him, nothing that would indicate he had ever been anything more than the constable sergeant in St. Mary’s.
There were a few old, framed photographs on the walls—groups of smiling constables with their arms linked, but apparently they’d been left there by his predecessor, inasmuch as none of them included Clapper. Or Robb, for that matter. On his standard-issue desk, in addition to the paperwork and a pair of reading glasses, were a logoed mug (Chirgwin’s Gift Shop) holding pens and markers, and a filigree-framed photograph (his new “girlfriend”?) facing away from Gideon. Two metal visitor chairs that matched one another but not the desk were wedged into the narrow space between desk and wall. There was a single waist-high metal bookcase with a few thick manuals in it, and on the top shelf the bag in which Gideon had brought the tibial fragment, apparently still containing the bone.
“Now, then,” Clapper said when they’d sat down—Gideon and Robb having had to angle their chairs to make
