‘You’re not happy, Hannah,’ the ACC said gently.
Not a question, but a statement with a sub-text: the difficulty lay with Hannah and not with the job she’d been offered. Lauren Self liked to think of herself as adept at psychology. Her rapid rise to high office was proof, so far as the dinosaurs in the Cumbria Constabulary were concerned, that in the modern police force, people management skills mattered more than mere detective work — what mattered was whether you could talk a good game.
‘Not really, ma’am.’
The ACC topped up their tumblers of sparkling water. ‘Shall we chat about it?’
They were both sitting on the same low, semi-circular leather sofa. The faintest tang of citrus hung in the air. Abstract oil paintings, splashes of blue and gold, decorated the walls. It was so cosy not even the most sceptical diehard in the Police Federation could complain about a confrontational management style. The ACC simply didn’t do confrontation, it wasn’t in her vocabulary. She was a passionate believer in talking through problems, in seeking consensus. Faced with a complaint, she preferred to kill it with kindness. If the worst came to the worst, she might resort to mediation.
Hannah took a breath. ‘It just doesn’t seem right.’
‘Hannah, I do understand.’
The ACC spoke as though soothing a juvenile martyr to period pains. She had three children and their bright- eyed pictures stood on top of a bookcase crammed with tomes covering every aspect of staff relations and the measurement of key performance indicators in the modern police service. Raising children was, Hannah thought, ideal training for a woman who had to deal with rebellious or intransigent police officers. Hannah didn’t have any kids herself, although occasionally she wondered if she’d spent the last seven years sleeping with one.
She took a sip of water. ‘This is all about the collapse of the Patel trial, isn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t say that, Hannah.’
You might not say it, Hannah thought. But it’s true. When a murder prosecution falls apart in such spectacular fashion, someone has to take the blame. Where there’s a PR disaster, there must be a scapegoat. This time, it’s me.
‘I know you had reservations, ma’am.’ Somehow she managed to resist the urge to say: you sat on the fence, waiting to see if we’d drop lucky. ‘But the case was sound enough to take to court.’
‘Mmmmm.’ The ACC could pack a wealth of meaning into the simplest sound. A mere clearing of the throat could express a gamut of emotions and a reproving cough sufficed where others would rant and swear.
‘Sudhakar Rao was murdered ten years ago. It’s a long time. Sometimes it just isn’t possible to find corroboration.’
‘Well…’ The ACC looked disappointed that Hannah couldn’t come up with a better excuse.
‘Of course there was risk.’ Hannah hated herself for sounding defensive, but the ACC had that effect upon people; it was another of the qualities that had secured her high office. ‘There’s always risk when you rely on a criminal’s word. But Golac was adamant that Patel hired him. The cuckolded husband, wanting his wife’s lover dead. Golac’s story fitted the facts. We couldn’t find a single hole in his statement.’
‘Or a single piece of evidence to support it.’
‘Ivan Golac is an old man, his heart’s weak. He faces spending the rest of his life in prison. He’d kept his mouth shut for long enough. Like he said to me, now he has nothing to lose by telling the truth. And nothing to gain by lying.’
‘Fifteen minutes of fame,’ the ACC suggested. ‘He liked being the centre of attention, it gave him something to fill his days. Being seen as hard. He’s spent all his life as a second-rate villain. He’d be walking the streets now if the security guard he clubbed had a thicker skull. But — a hitman? That’s very different. Dangerous, someone that nobody in their right mind messes with. A Premier League killer.’
The ACC liked to throw the occasional soccer metaphor into her conversations, just to show that she was really one of the lads. It made no difference if she were speaking to a female subordinate like Hannah who didn’t have a clue what she meant.
Hannah said, ‘You think it was just a robbery gone wrong? That Golac simply panicked and Sudhakar Rao was in the wrong corner shop at the wrong time?’
The ACC frowned. ‘I really can’t say, Hannah. The judge may have been caustic, but I rather go along with his old-fashioned idea that before a man’s convicted of murder, it helps for the court to see his guilt proved beyond reasonable doubt.’
She had to be taking the piss — surely? Hannah counted to ten, then to fifteen just to be on the safe side, before saying, ‘You’ve seen Golac’s witness statement. It had the ring of truth.’
‘You heard the judge,’ the ACC said. ‘Once Golac refused to testify, the statement couldn’t be read in place of sworn evidence. Sandeep Patel walked away without a stain on his character. The way he’s talking to the Press, he’s another victim.’
Hannah leaned forward. ‘I still think he’s a murderer.’
The ACC pursed her lips, adopting the more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger expression that she’d perfected. ‘Well, anyway. No one’s ever going to prove it now. We need to look forward. And that’s why I wanted to share this new project with you.’
‘It’s a backwater. We both know that.’
‘Not at all.’ The ACC winced at such blasphemy. ‘The Cumbria Constabulary Cold Case Review Team will be a flagship unit, a sign of our commitment to making sure that no serious crime in the county goes unsolved.’
‘And the murder of Sudhakar Rao?’
‘Already detected,’ the ACC said, folding her arms to preclude argument. ‘Golac had a fair trial and was properly convicted. He’s served nine years and he’ll be dead before the year’s out. Most people would say that justice has been served.’
‘Not if they’d listened to Golac describing how Patel hired him, the conversations that they had, all the…’
‘I really think you should leave it, Hannah. The team will have enough on its plate to keep it occupied from the word go, I’m quite sure.’
Digging her teeth into her tongue, Hannah muttered, ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Now, let me give you an outline of what we have in mind. Tonight you can see what your husband says. I’ve absolutely no doubt that once you’ve thought it over and had a chat with Marc, you’ll be excited by the whole idea. This is a once in a lifetime chance for any ambitious police officer, Hannah. Trust me.’
‘She might just be telling you the truth,’ Marc said as they lounged on their living room sofa, after washing down a microwaved Bird’s Eye dinner with a bottle of supermarket Chardonnay whose high alcohol content compensated for any lack of subtlety. ‘It could be a great opportunity.’
Lauren Self had remembered Marc’s name correctly, that was one of her skills, but she had made one small mistake. Marc wasn’t Hannah’s husband. Marriage was, she’d understood from day one, a commitment too deep for him. He maintained that if a relationship was strong enough, who needed a piece of paper to document it? If the bond wasn’t strong enough without the official seal of approval, then there wasn’t much hope for it anyway.
‘The ACC’s a politician, and who trusts politicians?’
‘You always swore you wouldn’t let the job turn you into a cynic.’
‘Right now I feel more like I’m in a maze, and I’ve turned into a dead end. Word’s got out already. Albie Kelsen couldn’t wipe that smug smile off his face when he asked if the rumours were true, that I was stepping back from front-line detective work. God, I could have slapped him.’
Marc cast a glance at the television screen. An elderly contestant on a quiz show was agonising over the answer to a question that might win him a villa in the South of France. In the studio audience, his wife covered her face with a knobbly, age-spotted hand.
‘You worry too much.’
He spoke absently and she didn’t know whether he was offering a considered analysis of her reaction to the new job, or merely chanting a mantra that had become over-familiar. He reckoned that she cared too much about the job. She’d worked so hard to earn her stripes. It had paid off; she’d reached the rank of Chief Inspector at an absurdly young age, thanks to the accelerated promotion scheme. Not so long ago, gossips reckoned she was marked down for stardom. But then Ivan Golac had failed to show up in court to give the testimony that would have convicted Sandeep Patel.
‘Reviewing cold cases is a job for old men. Lauren is even going to dig some superannuated detective
