As he turned back, he heard an alarm going off in the corridor, the sound of doors opening, people running.
The boy stood there blocking the doorway as other care assistants came up behind him.
Gayther breathed heavily, “I’m a police officer, doing my job. I’m looking for Aland, the gardener. I just need to have a word,” he added wearily.
The boy did not seem to know what to say. He looked at Gayther, down at the floor, and then at the care assistants gathering around him before he finally spoke. “You shouldn’t be here. These are our residents’ rooms. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I know,” Gayther replied slowly. “Yes, I know.” He edged towards the boy and the care assistants, realising that he needed to get by them to search the other rooms. The boy shifted slightly to fill the doorway. The alarm kept ringing and Gayther wished someone would switch it off. “But I need to speak to Aland. Have you seen him … any of you?”
He looked at the group of care assistants, waiting for one of them, some of them, any of them to say something. An older woman with a ‘Tracey’ name badge put her hand up, was about to say something. But then the doors at the end of the corridor opened and they all turned in unison to look towards them. They stepped back from the door and Gayther took the opportunity to step forward and through.
“Detective Gayther?” Mrs Coombes walked briskly towards him, with Carrie a step or two behind. “What is going on here?”
He noticed the look of suppressed laughter on Carrie’s face. Really, it was too much.
She treated him as if he were simple.
“I wanted to speak to the gardener, Aland. He ran away from me. Climbed through the window where he was weeding into this corridor. He’s hiding in one of these rooms.”
She looked at him with something close to open-mouthed disbelief.
Gayther realised suddenly how foolish this must appear, feeling somehow that he needed to explain himself further in some way but without revealing too much.
He ignored the expression on Carrie’s face as he spoke.
“We’re looking for a man who matches Aland’s description very closely … for crimes … serious crimes … going back a while.”
Mrs Coombes laughed in his face, an embarrassing, scornful noise. “He’s only been in the country for four months. For goodness sake. He’s on a VPRS … vulnerable persons resettlement scheme – displaced by the Syrian conflict.”
“Ah,” said Gayther, nodding, as if fully understanding what Mrs Coombes was saying to him.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss his case with you … but he’s here perfectly legally and he has all his papers. He’s a refugee, not an asylum seeker. I had them in the office for you … we were taking copies if you remember … your colleague left them there when we heard the alarm.”
“Yes,” Gayther replied, “Carrie will pick them up on the way out … now that we’re leaving.” He started to move away towards the doors, hoping Mrs Coombes and Carrie would follow. They did and Mrs Coombes continued talking.
“You’re clearly from the police … your whole manner. The way you dress. I imagine Aland saw you coming towards him … assumed you were the secret police … an immigration officer … or some such. He took fright and ran. And who could blame him? Look at yourself,” she added witheringly.
He looked instead at Carrie.
She looked him up and down.
Clearly thinking this was hilarious.
As they got to the door and Mrs Coombes reached for the key card in her pocket, Gayther saw her turn and look back along the corridor. He followed her gaze, past the care assistants going back into different rooms and saw Aland, standing at the far end, by the final door.
“I need to speak to Aland … reassure him … if you’ll pick up the copies from the office and then see yourself out …?” said Mrs Coombes, turning off the alarm before opening the door for them and showing Gayther and Carrie through. “Oh, and one more thing, if I see you here again, I shall complain to your Chief Constable, for harassment.”
Gayther nodded as she moved away, back down the corridor.
He turned to Carrie, “Don’t say anything, Georgina, just don’t. I’m really … not in the mood.”
They walked in silence side by side, across the reception area towards the office.
“By the way, guv. It’s not.”
“Not what?
“Not Georgina.”
Carrie led the way into the office, smiling at the assistant sitting in the corner, and picking up a sheaf of photocopied papers.
“Georgie?”
“Friends and family, guv.”
“George, then? I’ve heard you called that.”
Carrie shook her head as they headed for the way out.
He looked at her with a long-suffering expression on his face. “Georgina … Georgie … George … I’ve called you all of those on and off for the past eighteen months. And you’re none of them? So, what are you then …?”
She laughed. “You’re the detective, guvnor, see if you can find out …”
* * *
“So, how would you rate that then, guv … on a scale … from a result to a complete balls-up?” said Carrie as DI Gayther drove the car around in the car park and headed for the exit.
He ignored her, pointing to the glove compartment by her knees. “Pass me the bag of mints in there please, Carrie … or at least one of them anyway.”
“Sugar-free?” she said, taking them out. “On a diet, are we?”
He took a mint from the bag and gestured for her to take one too. “Diabetes, Carrie. It’s caught up with me. My GP says I’m in the shallow waters, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I thought you either were or you weren’t. The cigarettes have gone. The alcohol too … I lived off those for years. And now I have to get rid of all
