A Dog's Life (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 4) (3 page)

He perched on the next table, something he hadn’t been able to do comfortably for a while. ‘Our new super has called a meeting of all CID personnel. Don’t go anywhere. She’ll be up soon.’

‘What for, gov?’ said Grimes.

‘No idea. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up she’s handing out merit badges or homemade cookies. Did you use the bathroom scales this morning?’

‘Might have.’

‘Well you’ve broken them. They don’t go back to zero. And you left a plate in there.’

‘Sorry, gov. I was in a rush once I saw what the time was.’

‘And what did we agree about using the toilet? If you want to take a dump use the WC by the laundry room. I keep my toothbrush in the bathroom. You could at least have opened a window.’

‘Right, gov. Sorry. Won’t happen again. I was caught short just as I was getting in the shower.’

Romney made a face, checked his watch, stood and went into his office.

‘What did he mean: he keeps his toothbrush in the bathroom? Where else would you keep it?’ said Marsh.

Grimes let a small belch escape him behind his hand. ‘It’s not that. It’s his Particle Theory.’

‘You mean the kinetic theory of matter?’

‘Eh? How do you know about that?’

‘I’m interested in physics.’

‘Really?’ said Grimes, sounding quite unimpressed. ‘No, it’s not quite as complex as that. Governor has this theory about poo particles. That’s why he doesn’t want me crapping in his bathroom.’

‘Poo particles?’

Grimes reclined and the chair protested. He folded his hands across his impressive waistline. ‘When I moved in, he gave me this big lecture about dos and don’ts. Part of that was his poo particle theory. He reckons that because shit stinks that proves there must be tiny poo particles circulating in the air after someone’s
pinched a loaf. Think pollen. If there weren’t, we wouldn’t be able to smell it. Right?’

‘Makes sense.’

‘So, these poo particles are obviously invisible to the naked eye, like dust particles. But reason suggests that they must be heavier than the normal air particles because of their extra ingredient. Right?’ Marsh was nodding. ‘When they eventually stop flying around in the air they must succumb to gravity and fall to rest on whatever surfaces are around. He says that because a bathroom stinks after a dump the air must be full of particles of poo, which suggests some will inevitably settle on anything and everything in there, including toothbrushes. He says he doesn’t want to be brushing his teeth with my shit. His words not mine. He gave me a good demonstration to back up his theory. It certainly makes you think.’

‘Hang on. Demonstration?’

‘Tipped some talc into the palm of his hand and just blew on it. It went everywhere.’

‘He’s really thought about it, hasn’t he?’

‘It’s also why he’s imposed a moratorium on farting anywhere in shared spaces. He doesn’t want something that’s come out of my arse, through the gusset of my underpants, to end up in his nasal passages. Again, his words not mine.’

Marsh looked like she might be sick and nodded. ‘I can completely understand his sentiments even if some of his science might be a bit shaky. Other than that, how’s it working out?’

‘Fine. My room’s bigger than mine and Maureen’s back home. Bed’s a bit small though and soft for my liking. He’s got a great big widescreen plasma TV and satellite. Don’t think much of his bread though. Full of seeds. I’m still picking bits of toast out of my teeth.’

Marsh worried that Grimes was taking a rather egocentric view of being a guest in someone else’s home, particularly as it was the home of a senior officer they shared, a man with a reputation for irritability. ‘How long before they finish putting your place back together?’

‘Could be months. Builder reckons structural damage might be worse than they first thought.’

Marsh didn’t like the sound of that or the way Grimes said it. She had been working out of Dover CID for only a year, but one case as Romney’s sergeant was long enough to have learned what a misery guts her DI could be if he had things or people in his orbit to annoy him on a regular basis. And if he was made miserable he wasn’t the type to keep it locked inside – everyone around him bore the brunt of it. She didn’t like to think what the atmosphere in CID could degenerate to if Grimes imposed o
n his hospitality for months.

Grimes had been living with the DI for a less than a fortnight. Already she sensed that Romney’s uncharacteristically generous offer to put the big man up while the builders were in was probably something that he was bitterly regretting, especially if Grimes wasn’t making an effort to be a considerate guest.

She had been forced to wonder what Romney had been thinking of to even consider such a thing, let alone actually offer it. Even at work it would be clear to a blind man that Romney found Grimes’ personal habits disgusting. He made no secret of, or attempt to hide, his disdain for the man’s general manner. Maybe all that was just an act. They seemed to get on well enough on the occasions they went out for drinks after work.

It had been good of him. No doubt about it. A truly charitable act. (Romney had vetoed the term Christian). When Grimes had shuffled into work looking like something out of the latest Hollywood zombie movie, claiming that he hadn’t slept a minute of the previous night because of his changed circumstances, Romney had taken pity on him. And in truth, he had looked both pitiable and pitiful.

In the small hours of a weekday morning in sustained and furious gales, a large tree from a neighbouring garden had been toppled to crash through the roof of the Grimes’ residence. The damage was substantial.

Grimes’ sister-in-law had offered to put up husband, wife and two teenage children but their place was so small that Grimes was sleeping on a two-seater sofa with the dog. It was not an ideal arrangement for a member of CID or someone of Grimes’ size.

When Grimes had told his sorry story over morning coffee an awkward silence had fallen on those gathered. Of the four other members of CID present one still lived with his mum, one was married with a baby, one was Marsh – a single woman with a one-bed flat – and the other was DI Romney, who was not only a Godparent to one of the Grimes’ offspring but also lived alone in a large four-bedroom country house.

‘Isn’t there somewhere else you can stay?’ said Marsh.

‘Not for free. And we couldn’t afford to pay for it. Besides, I quite like the governor’s place. It’s big and quiet. I don’t mind a break from the kids for a few weeks. I miss Maureen though. I wonder how he’d feel about her coming to stay if the kids stayed at my sisters. Maybe just on weekends?’

Marsh hoped he was joking. ‘Don’t even think about asking him. Look, I hope you don’t mind me shoving my oar in here but I do have to work with him, too. Number one, you’ve got to tell him how long you might be there for. That’s only fair. Two, if you go on breaking his rules and ticking him off for the next how-ever-long you’re there he’s going to become insufferable. And that won’t be fair on the rest of us. You saw what he was like after Julie dumped him. Make myself clear?’

Grimes looked a little affronted. ‘Not really. Anyway, I think there was more to his mood then than just being jilted.’

‘Whatever. All I’m saying is: do us all a favour, will you, and toe the line while you’re there. Stay off his scales, stop leaving plates in the bathroom – what were you doing with food in the bathroom anyway? – and stop shitting on his toothbrush.’

It was quite a speech and Marsh was proud of herself. But it was also an illustration of how her relationship with Grimes – the man who had literally saved her life – had evolved. It wasn’t that she had recovered from that horrible and terrifying brush with the Grim Reaper in the form of ex-DS Wilkie feeling the need to constantly display her indebtedness to Grimes. As a police officer and his sergeant in a small CID, that would never have done. She had said at the time that he shouldn’t presume she was going to be bringing him homemade cakes into work every day. It was more that she had reassessed her opinion of him as a person. She would be eternally grateful for his intervention and bravery when former and disgraced DS Wilkie was trying to throw her into the River Dour after dislocating her shoulder. More than that, his care and concern at the scene and his downplaying of his heroics during and since the whole episode – when he could have been expected to milk it – had made her see Grimes in a different light. They had got on well enough as colleagues before that incident, but with his actions and subsequent behaviour Grimes’ had found a place in Marsh’s affections. And that, she felt, entitled her to speak her mind to him, like adult siblings, without fear of any serious harm or long-term damage being done to their relationship. Besides, everyone knew that as well as the appetite and bearing of an Ice Age mammoth, Grimes had the hide to match.

So, like a well-meaning sibling imparting good advice to a fool-to-himself brother, Marsh was a little peeved to see that Grimes’ attention had wandered. He stood up. She looked around to find Superintendent Vine standing behind her clutching folders to her ample bosom, and made a mental note to remember that the new station chief had the ability to make a silent approach.

‘Who is shitting on whose toothbrush?’ said Superintendent Vine.

Marsh got hurriedly to her feet. ‘Just a figure of speech, ma’am.’

‘I’m not a big fan of bad language, Joy. It demonstrates a sad lack of vocabulary and laziness on the part of the speaker. That’s something else I need to talk to CID about. Where is the meeting room? And where is Detective Inspector Romney?’

As the station’s new matriarch turned to the sound of Romney exiting his office, Marsh looked at Grimes, who mouthed her first name at her and made a face
.

*

Superintendent Vine declined Romney’s offer to have refreshments organised.

‘We won’t be here long,’ she said. ‘And besides, if Dover CID is no different from every other CID I’ve been in – and judging by the bins at the desks I see that it isn’t – then I strongly suspect that too much of the working day is spent eating and drinking.’ That set the tone.

After introductions had been made, they settled themselves around the central table. When all were sitting comfortably, she began. ‘Uniform is short-staffed. Acting Detective Constable Fower, you are to be reassigned back there for the time being. This is no reflection on your performance here. As far as I can see you haven’t been here long enough to be a part of this.’ That sounded ominous. ‘For that you should count yourself lucky.’ That sounded worse. ‘When things have settled down, been sorted out and uniform are back up to strength, we’ll look again at the situation. But from what I’ve seen, four CID officers is quite sufficient for dealing with the workload. You may leave. You can answer the phones outside until we are finished here and then go and report to Inspector Blanchett.’

Fower slid back his chair and left without uttering a sound. A step up to CID had been his dream, something that as a uniformed constable he had worked long and hard for, and the ginger-ninja had wielded her axe and shattered it.

When the door had been closed she took her time to eye the four remaining officers. ‘I’m going to be straight with you all. Dover CID is cause for concern at Area. It is my intention to change that feeling. For that to happen each and every one of you is going to need to take a long hard look at your place and performance here. There will be a time limit for this. If I cannot soon see a noticeable improvement in the figures, the individual performances, the effort being made by members of this department, then changes will have to be considered. Do I make myself clear?’

There was a murmur of earnest agreement.

‘Procedure is one of my chief concerns. I’ve been reading through some of the reports for recent cases. If I’m honest, I have my issues with aspects of all of them.’ She opened a folder and slipped on her glasses. ‘Carl Park. Conveniently allowed to escape custody to gambol off over the cliffs to where he had secreted a firearm. Apprehended after the firearm failed to work. That whole situation makes me suspicious.’ She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t have to. She opened another. ‘The Emerson murder investigation. Five deaths and not a single charge brought, never mind a conviction. And one of those a poor and unfortunate young woman suffering with Down’s syndrome terrified to her death by the thoughtless actions of CID.’ She closed that folder and opened another. ‘Two deaths of members of the public caused in separate incidents by serving officers of Dover CID. One of them a very old, frail and disturbed woman.’ She closed that file and looked around their faces. ‘Evidence collection and preservation found wanting. CID computer terminals being used to access inappropriate websites. Complaints from members of the public ranging from rudeness and poor public relations to suggestions of intimidation and outright hostility.’ She shoved the little pile of buff folders away from her as she said, ‘And as for some of the English in these reports - well to someone like me with a classical education those are different crimes.’ She flicked open a file with a colourful sticky-notelet marking a page and read. ‘Could of, would of, should of. It’s could
have
, would
have
, should
have
. Style is something one has, not something one should be climbing over in a field. That is a stile - s.t.i.l.e. Piece p.i.e.c.e. is a part of something. Peace p.e.a.c.e. relates to a state of concord. A draw
er
is something that slides in and out of furniture. Making a picture is d.r.a.w.’ To general relief, she closed that file and turned her attention to another. The general relief soon evaporated. ‘Sick days. Dover CID has had more absences in the last year than both Maidstone and Ashford – both of which are at least twice the size of here. That trend must be reversed immediately.’