try and keep it together, constable. We’ll sort this.’
Bryant lay back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. It was a tragic accident. It wasn’t his fault. He knew that he had to stay strong. A single tear slid down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away and turned to bury his face in his pillow..
Accompanied by two constables , C S Massetti headed for the main hospital exit. She seemed tiny next to her companions. Her dark, short cropped hair revealed a delicate, finely featured bone structure that her distant Genoese ancestors would have recognized as their own. Yet any serving officer of the RGP would quickly confirm that Massetti’s outward feminine charms hid a ruthless and powerful professional will of steel. These characteristics were about to be challenged. She and her constables had barely reached reception when they were halted in their tracks by a group of local press reporters, all eager for a story.
‘Chief Superintendent Massetti? This is the second accident involving police vehicles from your force in the last twelve months. Would you say your drivers are reckless?’
Massetti kept a calm exterior, despite the anger that was building inside her. ‘Our drivers are highly trained professionals. This is a tragic accident brought about by the reckless driving of mindless criminals. My officer, PC Bryant, is being treated here for minor injuries and shock. I wish to send my sincere condolences to Mr Tavares and his family at this difficult time. I will make a full statement regarding this incident later today. Thank you.’
Sensing her unease, the constables stepped to Massetti’s side and escorted her to the waiting car. Although the reporters had begun to follow, they were soon distracted by the sight of Martin Tavares and his brother-in-law leaving the main building.
Both were visibly pale and shaken. David took a written statement from Martin’s hand and began to read, his voice cracking under the strain of grief.
‘Words cannot express the deep despair that my brother-in-law Martin, myself and the rest of my sister’s family feel today. Her death should not have happened, but-’
‘The police are supposed to be here to protect us, not take our lives!’ Martin exploded, the spittle flying from his lips. ‘Someone has to pay for this! I will not rest until they are forced to pay!’
The slamming of car doors drew attention to the police vehicle parked just a few metres away. Looking over, Martin locked eyes with Massetti seated in the back of the car. Pushing his way through the reporters, Martin moved towards her.
‘You! You killed her! You killed my wife!’
Before he could reach the visibly shaken Chief Superintendent, the police vehicle was driven away. Massetti sat back in her seat - her head throbbing. This was not the manner in which she wished to see this incident progressing.
4
Sullivan moved swiftly through the reception area of the hotel. She was not due to report to Police HQ until ten, so had decided to spend an hour strolling through the centre of Gibraltar Town. Being unaccustomed to hotel living, she had decided to make the most of her week’s stay in the pleasant three star, centrally-located Hotel Alameda. Since she had expected only budget type accommodation – things were momentarily looking up. Treating herself to a brandy night cap in the hotel bar the night before, she had successfully fended off the inebriated advances of a travelling salesman and for the first time in months, slept like a baby in her deluxe double room. She had even treated herself to a continental breakfast , which had been delivered to her room on the dot of 7:30a.m. and eaten with relish as she viewed the morning’s news headlines on Sky.
Picking up a basic tourist map from the concierge desk, Sullivan exited the main doors and hit the street. Moving from the gentle chill of the hotel’s air-conditioned lobby, the heat outside almost knocked her off her feet. It wasn’t even nine o’clock. She could only imagine what the temperature would achieve by midday and then onwards through a baking afternoon. She had a sun hat in her bag to protect her pale skin, but chose not to put it on - she didn’t want to arrive with ‘Bed Head” on her first day with Royal Gibraltar Police Force. Better instead to keep to the shade and trust in her SF 30 sun protection lotion.
Turning right into the alarmingly named Bomb House Lane, she passed the Gibraltar Museum on her right. Deciding that the ancient Moorish baths within could wait for another day, she headed on towards Main St. She could sense that the heart of Gibraltar was beginning to beat. Down the network of myriad little lanes, shops were opening for the day. The general bustle of local people hurrying to work and the smell of fresh coffee and exotic breads from the many little cafes along the way excited Sullivan. It felt in many ways as though it was the first day of a holiday, and even as she turned onto Main Street to be confronted by the familiar visage of a British Home Stores, she knew she could be nowhere other than the Mediterranean.
Her alloted hour was passing swiftly as she browsed the smaller shops and byways, until a tiny pavement cafe enticed her in for her first cafe con leche of the day and a moment of contemplation. She was aware that she was far more relaxed than she should be on a first day of a new job. The contrast of place and atmosphere were playing their part. Months spent under investigation by her own kind had left her scarred and emotionally battered. She had survived, but only just. Being cleared but not exonerated of the charge of professional misconduct meant that she had no choice but to disappear from the Met and begin again. All her plans, hopes and ambitions had come to nothing. But here, drinking strong coffee in a foreign but familiar land, she felt a strange feeling of freedom.
As the first cruise ship tourists began to populate the lanes around her, Sullivan paid the waiter and hailed a cab to to take her downtown to begin her new life.
The sign on the front of the Royal Gibraltar Police Headquarters glistened in the mid-morning sun as Sullivan’s taxi pulled up at the front of the building. Instead of heading for the main door, she looked for a side entrance that she guessed would be for police personnel only. A passing motorcyclist wolf whistled as he passed her. She was used to this - even at work. Sullivan had long been admired by her colleagues for her hard work and tenacity but her curvaceous figure and long, , dark, Irish hair had also found admirers over the years. At five foot nine and a half inches tall, she often found herself standing eye to eye with her male colleagues. Much to their annoyance, she was able to outrun and outpunch a good many of them too. Being single, she tended not to mention these last attributes on a first date. Her former Chief Inspector had nicknamed her the “Coleen”. At the time it had been meant affectionately. It was an affection that had worn impossibly thin during her last few months with the Met. The nickname, however, had stuck.
‘You all right, Miss?’ one of two passing constables asked.
‘Sorry?’
‘If you’re looking for a policeman, you’ve found him,’ the constable replied.
‘I’m just looking for a way into the building, thank you very much.’
‘No access through here, I’m afraid. Police personel only. I can... uh... take you round the front, if you like?’
Whether or not the innuendo had been intended was not entirely clear
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Sullivan replied as she pushed her hand inside her jacket, extracting a warrant card. ‘I can sort myself out, thank you constable.’
‘Ah. Er, yes Sarge. Just straight on round,’ the young man replied with a weak smile.
Sullivan moved on to the station’s side entrance, stopped for a moment to compose herself and then strode purposefully into the building .Holiday over.
The door clicked open and Massetti entered her office.
‘It’s a damned bloody mess, Aldarino. That’s what it is.’
Sergeant Aldarino decided not to confirm his boss’s negative appraisal of the situation. After nearly ten years at Masetti’s side, he knew this was by far the best approach. Especially when he had negative news of his own to impart.
‘The Commissioner’s telephoned, ma’am. He’s returning from his holiday straight away.’
‘Yeah, I bet he is.’ Massetti replied curtly.
She sat at her desk, the pile of pending paperwork upon it only darkening her mood. Alderino continued.
‘And, uh, television and radio have been on. They want a statement from someone.’
