The smile again. Twice in one meeting from someone who normally rationed them, thought Phil. Not a good sign. ‘That depends. Clearly we’re going to have to work together. But as the senior officer, I have to tell you there are going to be some changes round here.’
Phil felt a prickle of anger at Glass’s words. ‘Are you unhappy with my performance in some way?’
‘No. Not at all. You’ve got virtually a hundred per cent arrest rate.’
Phil said nothing. It was true.
Glass leaned forward. ‘But then this is MIS.’
Phil’s anger was definitely rising now. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Glass sat back. ‘Clue’s in the name. Major incidents. They’re always the easy ones to clear up, aren’t they?’ He continued before Phil could reply. ‘For instance, murder. You find a body, you ask who killed them. The person with most to gain. You question them. They confess. Case closed. Not so difficult, is it?’
‘So what are you getting at?’ Phil said.
‘Just that. Cases like that don’t seem very major to me. Your team have a lot of resources. Others may get jealous.’
‘What are you talking about? We have the resources we need to get the job done. Have you seen the cases we’ve dealt with over the past few years? Have you seen the ones we’re dealing with now?’
Glass put his hands up in what was supposed to represent mock-surrender, but it wasn’t in his physical repertoire. ‘All I’m saying is that you’re very well-funded. In such straitened times as these, that funding could be eyed jealously by others as a luxury.’
‘So… you’re reallocating the MIS budget, is that it? Where?’
‘Phil,’ Glass said, leaning forward, hands together in a gesture that looked to be learned from management classes, ‘let’s not be hasty.’ He gestured to the file in front of him. ‘I’ve made a study of you and your team. Your results speak for themselves, of course, but… let’s be straight. You run your team as though it’s your own private fiefdom.’
Phil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘What?’
‘In the briefing just now. You questioned me. In front of the whole team.’
‘So? You’d let someone go – a witness, or even a suspect – and not informed me.’
‘Some would say that’s what the briefing was for. For everyone to catch up on developments.’
‘Something like that I should have known about. I should have been consulted. It wasn’t proper procedure.’
Glass stared at him. ‘As I said. There will be some changes in procedure from now on.’
‘Including not keeping me informed of what’s going on? Taking decisions above my head about my investigations and not informing me?’
Glass’s voice dropped. ‘Detective Inspector, you may have had a certain amount of latitude and leeway from your former DCI, but you won’t be getting that with me. We do things by the book. My book. There’ll be no room for mavericks in my department. You or your team.’
Phil’s voice was rising. ‘There are no mavericks on my team.’
‘That’s open to debate.’
‘No it isn’t.’ Phil leaned forward too. ‘What problems have you got with my team?’
Glass looked at the file. ‘Their attitude borders on insubordination. I-’
Phil jumped in over the top of him. ‘No it doesn’t. I encourage creativity and free thinking. And the results bear that out. More crimes are solved by taking a lateral approach.’
Glass’s eyes hardened. ‘I can see where they get it from. You have a pernicious hold on them. Miss Jean Brodie syndrome.’ A quick glance down, then back up again. ‘They’re in thrall to you.’
‘Thrall?’ Phil nearly laughed out loud. ‘Are we in a nineteenth-century novel suddenly?’
Glass’s voice became cold. ‘You’re dressed in a manner more like a student than a police officer. You’re insubordinate. You’re rude to your superiors. And from what I’ve seen, your procedures sail dangerously close to the wind.’
‘I get results. Virtually one hundred per cent. You said it yourself.’
Glass sat back, his voice dangerously low. ‘Once I’ve spoken to the Super, I’ll be putting my stamp on this place. You can still get results. But we’ll get them my way.’
‘And if I don’t want to get them your way?’
‘No one’s irreplaceable.’
Phil stared at him. Wanted to hit him. Instead, he spoke. ‘By the way,’ he said, suppressing any anger that could make his voice waver, ‘Mickey spoke to me earlier. Said you’ve brought Rose Martin back on board.’
Glass looked momentarily wrong-footed, lost for words. He quickly recovered his composure. ‘What of it?’
‘Why?’
‘She’s not on your team. That’s no business of yours.’
‘Yes it is. She was a DS on my team at one point and she’s been on long-term sick. There’s no way she’s ready to come back. No way she’s competent.’
‘I made the decision in consultation with her psychologist.’
Knowing Marina, Phil doubted that. ‘Stevie bloody Wonder could see she’s not ready to return yet.’
Glass looked like he wanted to hit him. ‘Thank you for your opinion. Noted.’
Phil bit back his initial reply. ‘And you’ve promoted her to DI as well?’
Glass’s face turned red. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Is it supposed to be a secret?’
‘What happens with other officers is none of your business.’
‘You’re making a big mistake.’
The ghost of a smile. ‘Again, thank you for your opinion.’
There was so much more Phil wanted to say, felt he needed to say. But he knew there would be no point. He would be going round in circles. He looked at his watch.
‘Am I keeping you from something important?’
‘Yeah,’ said Phil, rising. ‘I’ve got one of those murders to solve. But don’t worry. They’re really simple. I’ll be done by lunchtime.’
He turned, left the office before Glass could say anything else.
And now he was staring at the hotel.
Swallowing down the fluttering in his chest, he got out of the car. Tried to put his conversation with Glass out of his mind. Concentrate on his job. Took a couple of deep breaths, ducked under the tape, walked towards the main entrance, ID held aloft.
Here we go, he thought.
No one barred his way.
51
Completely different, thought Phil. Different shape, size, age, everything. Completely different to the house at the bottom of East Hill. The cage. Completely.
But he still couldn’t shake the feeling.
Giving himself a mental talking-to for being so stupid, he walked towards the hotel.
It was a beautiful building, he admitted that much. He stepped through the front door, found himself in a wood-panelled reception area, stone-flagged floor. The wood was aged but well-preserved, the stone floor worn by centuries of feet. Clearly authentic, he decided. He flashed his card.
‘DI Brennan,’ he said to the girl behind the desk. ‘Is Jane Gosling here?’
The girl was very attractive, dressed in a smart dark uniform suit, white blouse beneath, cut to emphasise her cleavage. Dark hair pulled back, large earrings. Well made up. She creased her brow. Even her frown was pretty.
‘Is she… a guest… here?’ Voice heavily inflected.
East European, thought Phil, but he couldn’t place her more specifically than that.
