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

She removed her glasses and set them on the table in front of her. ‘I could go on, but I hope to have made my point. These,’ she prodded the files, ‘paint a picture of sloppiness and suggest practices not in accord with current thinking. It is clear to me that CID is sloppy. And I won’t tolerate it. The working of this office seems more like something out of
Life on Mars
without the charm, wit or education than twenty-first century Kent police.’ Her gaze came to settle on Grimes. ‘What do you weigh?’

Grimes hesitated and it was clear to all that he thought about lying. Instead, he said, ‘Not sure ma’am. Scales are broken.’

‘If you were the last one on them, I’m not surprised. From where I’m sitting, you need to lose at least twenty kilos – and quickly, or you could find yourself the subject of an official recommendation. All serving police officers are expected to possess and maintain a minimum level of fitness.’

Grimes went ashen but said nothing.

‘Any questions?’ No one moved or spoke. ‘Right. That’s all I have to say for now. It’s going to be shape up or ship out. And that is my friendly warning. Your only one.’ She meant all of them. ‘I intend to be a far more frequent visitor to CID than I imagine my predecessor was. You would be well advised to bear that in mind. You could start by having a tidy up. It’s a tip. Dismiss. Inspector Romney, you will stay behind, please.’

They filed out with the dispirited air of a cell of captured spies rather than the police of a free country. The last one out closed the door. Romney waited. Under the table, his knee had begun to bounce.

Superintendent Vine pulled another buff file out from her pile and laid it open.

‘Jimmy Savage. Currently serving a lengthy custodial sentence for the manslaughter of one John Stafford.’

That was a change of direction that had Romney surprised. Savage was old news. At least three years. Why would Boudicca want to talk about that?

Savage had been convicted of beating a man to death outside The Prince Albert on Biggin Street on a Christmas day. There had only been one witness. He had identified Savage as lurking about in the shadows outside as he had walked past once with his dog and then on his way back past he had seen Savage running away from the scene where a man was found with his skull smashed in from a single blow delivered by something rounded and solid. There had been no doubts in the witness’s mind at all. He had needed no coaxing to make his statement. The police had gone quickly from the scene of the crime to Savage’s home in Tower Hamlets. They hadn’t needed directions. No murder weapon had been found, but traces of the dead man’s blood had been found on clothes that Savage was still stupidly and arrogantly wearing. His wife had sworn that he had been home with her and their son all evening.

‘We have received word that Mr Savage is preparing to lodge an appeal against his conviction, which would have serious implications for Dover CID.’

‘Such as?’ said Romney – and there was something of the simmering resentment about him.

‘Inspector Romney, I do not want to believe that anyone serving in my police station, or any police station in the country for that matter, could be involved in the fabrication of evidence and the coercion of witnesses in order to get a conviction.’ Romney sat up and opened his mouth to speak. Vine gave him a look at the palm of her hand. ‘Wait. I haven’t finished. Those are the claims being made by Mr Savage’s legal representation. Those are the claims that we will have to refute when the IPCC become involved if and when the Professional Standards Department deem it necessary. Are we able to refute them?’

‘You are aware that Savage pleaded guilty? Is he saying we
coerced
him too? The Abominable Showman – that was the name he fought under. No one ever coerced Jimmy Savage into anything.’

‘We all know that people will plead guilty when there is a weight of
evidence
against them in the hope of getting a reduced sentence.’

‘He is as guilty today as he was then. He was positively identified by a member of the public who was not coerced to speak up. On top of that, he’d been involved in an separate altercation with the dead man earlier that evening in a different part of town.’

‘He is claiming that he was “fitted up” by CID. The report mentions you by name.’

Romney’s jaw tightened. ‘I was the arresting officer.’

‘There is a suggestion that evidence was fabricated because of personal grudges.’ When Romney didn’t speak, she said, ‘Anything you want to say?’

‘How far along is this appeal?’

‘It’s coming. There is nothing official in the system, yet.’

‘He’s a liar. The only grudge we had against him was a professional one. He was a house-breaking, car-stealing, wife-beating scrote. A career criminal. The Savages are one of those families who have felt the need to live down to their name, although much of their behaviour, I’m sure, could also be attributed to their gene pool – think unfiltered urinal runoff. In case you’re in any doubt, the Savages of Tower Hamlets are a stubborn stain in the gusset of the underpants of society.’

Boudicca was unmoved. ‘The witness you mention is, apparently, preparing to retract his statement.’ She snatched up her spectacles to read, ‘Bernard Stark is now wondering whether he may have been mistaken in his identification of Savage as the man involved in the altercation that left Stafford dead. There is a strong suggestion from Mr Savage’s legal counsel that this man Stark had been...’ she held up her glasses and peered at the page in front of her, ‘
“...coerced by the police to identify Mr Savage as the guilty party.”
It seems that his conscience has finally caught up with him.’ She fixed Romney with her cold grey eyes again. ‘Anything you wish to say on that score?’

‘Is Bernie saying that
I
coerced him? Me, personally?’

‘I cannot go into details for obvious reasons but I should warn you that you should begin trawling your memory. When this matter becomes official, officers of Kent PSD, in the first instance, will want to speak to each and every one of you who was serving here at the time. In the meantime, I am instructing you not to discuss it amongst yourselves.’

‘You sound like you believe it, ma’am.’

‘It doesn’t matter what I believe, Inspector.’

‘Stark’s taken his time for an attack of conscience, don’t you think? Why now? That case is three years old.’

She stared at Romney across the four feet of table that separated them. And waited. When Romney added nothing further, she said, ‘It’s not for me to make a judgement, Inspector. I leave that to the appropriate investigating bodies.’ Seemingly satisfied with her smart remark, she said, ‘I suggest you start giving some serious thought to your position. You can expect to have visitors who are going to have some tough questions. For now you can count yourself fortunate you have not been suspended subject to further enquiries. When the appeal is lodged officially that might still happen, of course. Right. That will be all for now, Inspector.’

‘With respect, ma’am, no it won’t,’ said Romney and he had her full and not pleasantly surprised attention.

‘I beg your pardon.’ She looked like that didn’t happen very often.

‘I said, no it won’t be all, ma’am. You’ve had your say and now I’d like mine.’

‘I’m not sure I like your tone, Inspector.’

‘I’m not sure I like the way you’ve come into my department bullying, criticising and suggesting that we’re fitting people up for crimes they didn’t commit, ma’am.’

‘Inspector Romney, be careful. What is it you wish say?’

‘CID is my department. I am responsible for everything that goes on here. If you, or anyone else has a problem with the way we work, what we achieve or don’t, then you come and speak to me first, not barge in here belittling me in front of my team. How is that going to help? If that is Area’s idea of modern professional policing, I don’t think much of it. Some people should get out from behind their comfortable desks and come and see what
modern
policing is really like at the sharp end or, as we like to say in Dover, the chalk face. When we’re not being tied-up with another clever, usually pointless Area initiative, swamped with unnecessary bureaucracy or hamstrung by clever lawyers playing on scrotes’ ideas of their human rights, we have to police Dover. There’s a lot more behind those statistics that you and Area seem to be so fond of. There are people and crimes and problems and reasons, not excuses. People eat at their desks here because we are too busy for them to have proper lunch breaks. No one here complains about it. CID is untidy because we are under-staffed, overworked and pushed for space. That is what I wish to say, ma’am.’

When Superintendent Vine walked out through CID those who dared to look up saw that she was a couple of shades redder in the face than when she had been admonishing them collectively. As the fire door swung shut behind her they relaxed, exchanged glances and exhaled collectively, only to rear up in their seats again as Romney put his head around the meeting room door and barked at them to get back inside.

‘Not you, Fower.’ The newcomer breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back in his seat.

As they headed towards another likely bollocking, Marsh said to Grimes, ‘Don’t tell him today.’

‘Don’t worry, Sarge. That two-seater sofa at Maureen’s sisters is looking better every minute. Don’t s’pose...’

He didn’t even finish it before Marsh said, ‘Forget it. You only saved my life, not the world.’

Marsh, Grimes and Harmer sat one side of the desk. Romney had taken Superintendent Vine’s place at the other. An ignorant observer might have thought they were interviewing him.

To their great surprise, their leader smiled widely at them. ‘Fuck Area. Fuck statistics. And fuck Boudicca. I can say that, you lot can only think it. Right, now that I’ve got that off my chest, I’ll say my piece that’s p.i.e.c.e. We are a good team. You are all good officers and I am proud to be working with each and every one of you.’ With an iron will, Marsh resisted her desperate urge to look at Grimes and Harmer’s faces.

‘We got Carl Park the only way he could be got. And that was after we’d considered and explored every available legal avenue to get our man. I still don’t think we did anything wrong. Justice was served.

‘The fact that we were unable to bring any charges against anyone involved in the Emerson crime-wave was and is nothing for us to reproach ourselves over. It wasn’t our fault that everyone who we could have charged with a crime ended up dead.

‘I’m not going to demean this department by even discussing the two civilian deaths. Likewise sick days. Maybe Area expects us to get wheeled in on hospital beds. We work bloody hard and we do our best.’

He took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘But none of that matters to Superintendent Vine or to Area. She’s on her promotional warpath and she has her sights set a lot higher than policing a brackish backwater by the sea. Area is just Area; I never expect better from those stuffed shirts. Why am I telling you all this? Because like the leader of the Iceni our new governor is out to make a name for herself and an impression on her CV. And I have a strong feeling that, again like the scourge of the Romans, she doesn’t care who she sacrifices on the way. One thing you could say for Bob Falkner, he was one of us. He understood the way things are. Now we’re on our own. Let’s not go giving her or them ammunition.

‘All that other crap aside, we need to work smarter, we need to be more careful, we need to give more attention to detail and we need to start proofreading our reports. Better still proofread each other’s – if you’re making mistakes first time around, chances are you won’t see them second time around. It’s like that. Also, it won’t hurt us to have a tidy up and if you must eat at your desks, dispose of your rubbish quickly and somewhere else. Any questions?’

Unsurprisingly, there were none. Those gathered were too astonished by Romney’s impromptu and uncharacteristic little rousing speech and vote of confidence. Aspects of his address bordered on a declaration of, if not war then something hostile and divisive. Marsh for one didn’t know if she liked it. She only knew that she shouldn’t, although she couldn’t articulate exactly what it was that bothered her. Still, at least he hadn’t torn into them and made it worse. Marsh had to give him credit for that. He was supportive and motivational, something that couldn’t be said for the new incumbent upstairs. Boudicca – that was really quite good.

‘Something amusing that you want to share, Sergeant Marsh,’ said Romney, catching her smiling. ‘I’m sure we could all do with cheering up.’ They looked at her expectantly.

‘No, sir. Just glad to be here, that’s all,’ she lied.

‘Good. Glad to hear it. For the second time then, dismissed.’ As they pushed back their chairs, Romney said, ‘Not you, Peter.’

All noted the unusual use of Grimes’ first name and could only guess at its significance. Marsh caught Grimes’ eye as she was leaving and gave a slow and serious shake of her head.

When the last had left and shut the door, Grimes said, ‘If it’s about the bathroom, gov, none of it will happen again.’

‘What? What bathroom?’

‘Our bathroom.’

‘My bathroom.’

‘Yeah, your bathroom.’

‘It’s not. You heard her; you’re going to have to do something about your weight and quickly. Better make it look like you’re taking some notice of her or there’s no telling what official action she’ll feel moved to take. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. Starting tonight you’re on a diet and when you go to visit Maureen after work make sure you pick up some sports gear and trainers. From tomorrow morning you’re out running with me.’ Romney kept his ulterior motive for that to himself, but it gave him great pleasure nonetheless.