leg saying that yes, it was cold, but it would get colder before it got warmer. In other words, I was in charge. In other words, I had to stay in the office, if possible.
He started sending me to the meetings, but I misread the signals and then invented a few of my own. I think someone must have had a word with him, because he stopped sending me, which is what I'd intended all along. When all the troops were deployed I trudged up to his office to see what the postman had brought him.
I dealt with all of it except a request for a donation to the Chief Constable's retirement present. I decided he might like to handle that one personally. When I'd finished I pushed his chair back, put my feet on the desk and pondered on what might have been.
I'd fucked it up, from beginning to end, home and away, no doubt about it. The job wasn't the same. A few of us, old-timers, stuck together, bonded by ancient loyalties, but nobody would help you out of a jam any more. They couldn't one step out of line and you were down the road.
My offer of retirement was still open, but what would I do, at home all day, on my own? That was the crunch. On my own.
I'd taken the membership list and the Magic Plastic catalogue up with me, hoping that I'd have a chance to look at them. I reached for the catalogue and flicked through it, wondering where I'd find the mini-bin.
And that made me think about Janet Saunders. What would I do, I wondered, if Mrs. Henderson walked into the front office and said that I'd raped her? We'd been to the theatre, as arranged; she'd invited me in for a coffee, all good and proper; and I'd turned nasty and raped her at knife point How could I defend myself against the allegation?
I couldn't. But she wouldn't, would she? Truth was, I hadn't really wanted a date with her. I wasn't complaining, far from it, but Cicely and what she had to offer wasn't what I was looking for. The implication from that, of course, was that I was looking for something.
She'd be at work. I pulled the phone towards me and dialled the number for the White Rose Clinic. Magic Plastic, I noticed, did a device for catching spiders in the bath. Just what I've always wanted.
'Good morning, White Rose Clinic,' a precise voice said in my ear.
'Good morning,' I repeated, holding the phone with a hunched shoulder as I turned the page. 'My name is Detective Inspector Charlie Priest, of Heckley CID. I believe you have a Mrs. Cicely Henderson at the clinic'
There was a pause, before she said: 'This is Mrs. Henderson speaking.
How can I help you, Inspector.' I could feel the smile in her voice.
'Hello, Cicely,' I said. 'How are you?'
'I'm fine. And you?'
'Excellent. It's amazing what a good night's sleep can do. I just thought I'd thank you for coming to the theatre with me. It was a very enjoyable evening.'
'Yes, I thought so, too. Thank you for the invitation. Shakespeare has taken on a whole new meaning for me.'
'He's full of surprises, isn't he? I was thinking that maybe we could go out for a meal, say, Thursday or Friday. What kind of food do you like?'
'I thought you were busy.'
'I can get away, if I know in advance.'
'I'd rather not, if you don't mind, Charlie.'
'Oh. Some other time, then? Or just out for a drink, over the weekend?'
'Er, no, but thanks all the same.'
'You mean… you'd rather not see me again? Is that what you're saying?' I catch on fast, these days.
'No. It was very pleasant, Charlie, and I enjoyed myself, but I'd rather leave it at that, if you don't mind. I don't want any involvement.'
'Fair enough,' I said, 'but I might see you if I have to call in the clinic, sometime.'
'That's all right. We can still be friends. It's not you, Charlie, it's me. You were… well, you were… magnificent, believe me. I don't want you to think otherwise. It's just that… I'd wondered what I'd been missing, all these years. I decided that it was very nice, but not worth all the complications. Does that make sense?'
Bloody good sense, I told her; and damned sporting of her, too. We said polite goodbyes and rang off. Perfect, I thought, replacing the handset. I couldn't have managed it better if I'd written the script.
No tears, no regrets, no recriminations, no guilty consciences.
Except. Except… It would have been nice to have had a say in it.
The mini-bin was on page twenty-two and cost 6.99. Janet Saunders was right: you could buy a jar of coffee for that and use the jar. There was a nearly empty one on the table where Gilbert makes his brews. I jumped up and tipped the dregs into his new jar, which I had to open, and dropped the pile of drying tea bags into the now- empty jar. I stuck a label on it reading: 'used tea bags There's a penny on the community charge for me to make decisions like that.
I sat down again and resumed my perusing. The only thing they didn't make was a device for recycling useless devices, but it was only a matter of time. I turned the final page and read the ordering instructions on the back. I felt uneasy. There was a space for the agent to place his or her name and address. Mine had come straight from head office, so it was blank. I tossed it on to Gilbert's shiny desk top, drummed my fingers several times, and reached for the squash club membership list.
I'd started at the end and worked forward, but couldn't remember where I'd reached. The best thing, I decided, was to start again, at the beginning this time, and stop when I knew I'd gone far enough. Abbott, John, I read. Never heard of him. Next…
Five minutes later Gilbert's chair was neatly in place with my feet under the desk and firmly on the floor as I thumped numbers into the phone.
'Heckley Squash Club,' said a male voice.
'It's DI Charlie Priest,' I told him. 'I got the membership list.
Thank you. This girl that the doctor played the mixed doubles with I don't suppose you've remembered her name?'
'Oh, hello, Mr. Priest. No, sorry. I've tried to remember, but my mind's a blank.'
'Never mind. You also told me that they played the first round of the mixed doubles competition with one of your regular members and his wife. Have you asked them if they can remember her name?'
'No, sorry,' he replied. 'Paul and Tricia, we're talking about. They go away for Christmas, every year. Have a place in Spain. I'd forgotten. They're back now, I'm told, so I'll ask Paul when I see him. He'll be in tomorrow, probably.'
'Don't bother. Just tell me his second name and I'll ring him.'
'It's Duffy. Paul Duffy.'
I found him on the list and rang his number. I was rewarded with a long buzzing noise his phone had been cut off. I rang the control room on the internal and asked them to do a person check on Paul Duffy. He was on our files, with a conviction for receiving, dated 1987, and was currently banned from driving for being OPL. Tricia Duffy had been cautioned for perjury, again in 1987. The loving wife sticking up for her bent hubby. I decided that the personal approach was called for.
'You're in charge,' I told the sergeant at the front desk. 'Give me a ring if you need me.'
'Where are you going?'
'Door to door.'
'It's hissing down outside,' he replied.
'Oh. Can I borrow a coat, then?'
He found a waterproof jacket for me and handed it across the counter. I ran to the car with it over my head.
It was a smart house, built from local stone on a hillside. The drive was steep and the gates were closed, so I had to park on the road. I pulled the coat on and slogged up the drive, feet squelching. Mrs.
Duffy answered the door.
She was average height and comfortably plump. She wore a lilac jogging suit adorned with sequins, and several gold chains, worn on top to remind her of what she'd achieved every time she looked in a mirror.
Nouveau riche or market trader; I wasn't sure which. She had the best tan I'd seen in ages. I showed her my ID and she tilted her head back as she inspected it, looking through the bottoms of her spectacles, where the tint
