Please still fit, please…
It did. The key turned. The door opened.
He had had the key cut when he was still on the force. The records room was always difficult to get anything out of. Chits had to be completed, requests made, and, like the slowest library in the world, eventually someone would turn up with the correct box. Or more often than not, the incorrect one. So he and a few of his colleagues had got their own keys cut. Not strictly legal, or even following procedure, but when they were working a case, it could often mean the difference between catching a criminal and letting them go. And it could all be covered up afterwards. So no harm done. Not really.
Criminal records were now on the Police National Computer and just a click away. As were police personnel records. But previous case files, especially ones that went back over thirty years, were kept here. And that was what he wanted.
Don slipped inside the room, closed the door behind him. Found the light switch. And once the overhead strips had come to life, looked around.
Rows and rows of metal shelves piled with boxes and boxes of files. Supposedly in order, but Don could tell from the way some boxes were sticking out at angles or had their lids missing or had just been left in haphazard piles in the aisles, their paper cascading all around them, that it wasn’t necessarily so.
Still, he had to believe that what he was looking for was accessible. Otherwise he was in for a long day. And probably night.
He could have told them in the office that he was coming here. That he wanted to cross-reference something with the cases they were working on. But he hadn’t. He didn’t know who on Phil’s team he could trust. He knew who he couldn’t. That was a given. But until things became clearer, he was on his own.
He put on his reading glasses, walked up to the nearest shelf. Scrutinised the date that had been written there. Began walking.
He resisted the temptation to look in any of the other boxes apart from the one he was searching for. There was a sizeable part of his life in this room. Memories of a career held in paper and cardboard. Maybe he would take a look. But that was for another day. For now he had something specific to do.
It took some searching, but eventually he found it. A small shiver of triumph ran through his body as he did so. He took the box down, placed it on the floor. Squatted down beside it. Opened it. Took out the file on top, started to read.
Felt that surge of adrenalin course through him again.
Yes. This was it. This was the right box. Oh yes.
He read on. Closed the folder, took out another one.
And felt the adrenalin surge even faster.
Smiled.
‘Gotcha,’ he said out loud.
He was about to take out another folder, go through that, when the door swung open.
57
Marina walked into the main MIS office. It didn’t feel right somehow.
Usually when the team were working on big cases, they based themselves in the bar, extra bodies were drafted and briefed, overtime allocated. The whole thing upgraded. But not this time. It seemed to Marina that Glass was actively working against that. Trying to keep two investigations going in as small a way as possible. It went beyond budget balancing and penny-pinching, she thought. It was as if Phil’s team were being punished for something.
The team were still working hard – possibly even harder, if the activity in the office was anything to go by – but there seemed to be something missing. And Marina reckoned she knew what that was.
Phil. Or his leadership, at least.
He was absent from the office in more ways than one. She still didn’t know what was wrong with him. She had thought at first it must be their relationship. Some problem with that. With her, even. But seeing him at work showed it went deeper than that. He was distracted, mumbling when he should be giving clear orders. Absent when he should be present.
And she couldn’t work like this any longer.
She took out her phone. Hit speed-dial. Waited.
He picked up.
‘Hey,’ she said, ‘where are you?’
‘Home,’ he replied.
‘What? What are you doing there?’
‘I, uh… ’ His voice trailed away.
‘You what?’
‘I got wet. Needed to change my clothes.’
She asked the obvious question next.
‘Chasing a suspect. Up at the hotel. Well, I thought he was a suspect. But he… yeah… ’
Marina sighed. ‘Phil. We need to talk.’
Silence.
‘We do.’ She turned away from the rest of the office, cupped her hand over the mouthpiece so no one could overhear. ‘Whatever’s going on, you need to talk to me about it.’
More silence.
Her voice dropped further. ‘I thought it was about us. Just about us. But I’ve seen how you are at work. And Phil, it’s not right. You need to talk to me. Whatever’s going on, you need to talk to me.’ Her voice even lower. ‘We’re in this together. Remember?’
A sigh. She waited.
‘Yeah,’ he said, eventually. ‘You’re right, I… ’ Another sigh. ‘I don’t know… I just… don’t know… ’
‘Well at least we’re communicating,’ she said.
She heard him laugh. ‘Yeah.’ Then another sigh. ‘Oh God… ’
‘Look. We don’t have to talk about it now. Let’s do it later. OK?’
‘Marina, you don’t understand. It’s… I don’t know.’
‘OK. We’ll talk it through. Get it sorted.’
There was another silence on the line.
‘Glass was on at me earlier,’ he said.
‘Joy,’ she said. ‘What did he want?’
‘Well, amongst other things, I’m not smart enough. I need to dress more like a copper.’
‘How horrible.’
‘That’s what I thought. So I’m having a look through the wardrobe now. Trying to find something… ’ He tailed off again.
‘Phil? You there? Phil?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Oh, that’s just perfect.’
‘What is?’
He gave a little laugh. ‘Glass should be careful what he wishes for. He might just get it. Or my version of it, anyway.’
Marina smiled. This was more like the old Phil back again.
‘Can’t wait to see it.’
Another silence. Then, at last: ‘I think I’m… ’ his voice shrinking with each word, ‘I’m… cracking up… ’
Marina felt her heart break. ‘Oh, Phil… ’
‘I just… I’m… I’m losing it… ’
She started to talk again, but he cut her off.
‘I’ve got to get ready. Get back to work. I’m going to the hospital to check on the kid. See Anni. Anything to avoid Glass. I’ll… I’ll see you later.’
