been expecting, but I’m glad about that. I’m not really one for just standing around and observing.’
Broderick raised an eyebrow. Sullivan continued.
‘As I’m sure you’ve already noted. I just want you to know that I’m a professional police officer and I intend to work with you and assist you to the very best of my ability.’
Broderick’s expression said nothing. After a moment he scribbled a note and handed it to her. Sullivan read it as her boss got into his car. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Finally, Broderick closed the car door, turned the ignition and drove off. Calbot appeared at his colleague’s shoulder.
‘Another note? What’s it say?’ Calbot asked.
Sullivan handed her junior the note and walked off towards their parked car, a smile on her lips. Calbot looked down at the one line scrawled on the cheap note paper. He too smiled as he read Broderick’s untidy scrawl...
8
Martin Tavares sat staring at the television, unblinking. The doctor had left him some tablets which he hadn’t wanted to take. David had insisted though. He needed to rest, to somehow switch off and out. He barely registered the local TV news item going on, yet again, about his wife’s death. His heart and mind felt overloaded with thoughts and feelings, none of which he could fully grasp or identify.
‘It would appear that this has been a tragic accident.’ The voice of Chief Superintendent Massetti flowed from the box in the corner of the room. Martin observed the clear, crisp and professionally compassionate delivery of the police officer. He thought she sounded a bit like Margaret Thatcher. ‘In attempting to avoid a collision, the police patrol bike hit Mrs Tavares, resulting in her death. At this stage I am entirely satisfied that the officers involved were not riding irresponsibly, but attempting to pursue the getaway motorcycle in very difficult circumstances.’
‘Lying bitch,’ David murmured under his breath, as he watched from the doorway.
‘We believe the thieves may be part of an Eastern European criminal gang based on the Costa del Sol that targets luxury yachts and marinas. Their abandoned motorcycle was found earlier today and we are currently working with Spanish Police to identify and apprehend the men in question. Once again, I wish to send our sincere condolences to Mr Tavares and his family at this very difficult time.’
Her interview over, Massetti crossed the yard at the rear of the police headquarters, Broderick’s car only narrowly missing her as it pulled into the parking area.
Having marched across the yard and burst into the building, he had narrowly missed being nabbed by Sargeant Aldarino. That would have meant at least half an hour with Massetti. He had nothing against his commanding officer, but he hadn’t got time to be a sounding board for her problems this morning. Not that Massetti would have been able to understand much of what he might have advised anyway. He felt she always dealt with him as though she was Dr Dolittle conversing with a talking baboon. It was not a pleasant sensation.
Moving swiftly upstairs he quickly found the the sanctuary of his office.He was particularly grateful to get back to it this morning as it meant he could get his hands on the high strength ‘prescription only’ painkillers he kept secreted in his drawer. He was so pleased, in fact, that he was even willing to forgive the inordinately bright and cheery dispositions of Calbot and Sullivan as they both beamed at him from their desks. Were they competing against one another for some kind of cuteness award?
‘Morning, sir,’ Sullivan announced airily.
‘What are you two looking so pleased about? Broderick half sneered. He was relieved. There was a limit to how much he could take of this after all.
‘Just sorting the paper work on the Bassano case, sir,’ she replied.
‘And I’m just getting the file on the Webster trial in order,’ Calbot added. ‘You’re in court later in the week, guv.’
‘Bugger.’
‘Feeling better, sir?’ Sullivan asked.
‘No, but at least the injections have worn off so I won’t be sounding like an inebriated Muppet all day.’ He turned to Calbot. ‘Get us a tea and a bacon sarnie, son.’
‘I’m afraid the sarnies are off the menu in the new canteen, guv. They do a very nice choritzo and avocado panini.’
Broderick simple stared at the DC.
‘They also do a nice low calorie tuna salad wrap.’
Before he’d had the chance to see it, the large file of papers had flown across the room and struck him hard on the side of his head.
‘Ouch!’ he whimpered.
‘Ouch, my backside,’ reponded Broderick. ‘Now get down there to Poncey Snacks Ltd and get your patient and forgiving guv’nor a sarnie and an industrial strength cup of cha.’
‘Guv.’
Calbot backed meekly out of the office, knowing that he now had to run the quarter of a mile to the greasy spoon mobile cafe near the docks. Broderick smiled to himself, fully aware of the mission that lay before his detective constable. And god forbid he should return with any part of the order cold. Life’s a bitch, he thought, and this morning I’m just giving it a helping hand. He turned swiftly to the slightly shocked detective sergeant.
‘Read your file, er...’
‘Sullivan, sir.’
‘I know your name.’ Broderick insisted . ‘Impressive. One of the youngest women to join the Met CID. High flyer. Very ambitious.’
‘Sir.’
‘Then you nearly wreck it all by thinking you can do the job all by yourself.’
‘It was a miscalculation, sir. I’ve learnt from it.’
‘Chief Superintendent Reid writes about you in far from glowing terms, Sullivan. I quote: “By confronting the gunman alone, without back-up or respect to chain of command, DS Sullivan endangered not only her own life, but also that of the hostages and her fellow officers in the field of operations”’
‘I paid for that mistake, sir,’ she responded bitterly.
‘Passed over for promotion and a soft temporary posting over here? I’d say you’ve been lucky, if you ask me. Officers who don’t pass the ball around really tend to – how can I put this – piss me off. Is that clear enough for you?’
‘Crystal, sir.’
‘Good. Then we should rub along famously, shouldn’t we?’
Sullivan returned her focus to her computer screen, wishing Broderick hadn’t made his last remark sound like the challenge it clearly was. A moment later her thoughts were elsewhere.
Five months earlier
The fierce rain was not helping things. It blurred the surroundings, making it hard to see more than a few metres ahead. Had it been daylight, things would have been easier. But here on an inlet of the River Roach, a fierce wind was blowing in off the North Sea and across the bleak and treacherous Essex coastline. The nearest hamlet was a few hundred yards back from the high banks of the river, too far to offer any glow of ambient light. The first officers on the scene had to navigate their way along the pitch black lane with hand torches. They quickly found the car they had been searching for. The silver XJ Jaguar had nearly made it to the river’s edge. The thick mud under its tyres had finally stopped it in its tracks, forcing the occupants to continue onwards on foot. The officers had information as to where they would be heading - information which was confirmed thirty metres on at the first sight of the Thames sailing barge, ‘The Ness’, moored to the river bank, its lights blazing from within.
By the time Sullivan arrived at the scene from London, the area had been cordoned off. Essex Police had immediately requested armed marksmen to the riverside. They had duly arrived minutes earlier and were taking up strategic positions around the barge. Sullivan had been woken two hours earlier with the news that Malcolm Bainbridge, a multi - millionaire property developer, had gone on a shooting spree earlier that evening. He had shot,
