Rest Assured (2 page)

Armstrong had rather hoped that he wouldn't have to do this. He had expected that by now Lambert would be either retired or on the verge of retirement. In that case it wouldn't have been necessary to meet him one to one. He could have presided over the man's retirement, presented him with gifts, and offered the sort of eulogy on an illustrious career in which he was practised and fluent. But Lambert had been so successful that the Home Office had taken the initiative in offering him a three-year extension to his normal service. That meant that this ageing luminary was now very definitely a member of staff for some time to come.

Armstrong had arranged for coffee to be brought in with the man's arrival, served in the best china cups and saucers, which were usually reserved for civic dignitaries. He dismissed the minion and poured the coffee himself. He could not tell from the impassive, lined face of the very tall man sitting before him whether he recognized the honour that was thus being bestowed upon him by his Chief Constable.

He offered the biscuits, eschewed them himself after Lambert's refusal, and came and sat down in the armchair opposite the one in which he had installed the Chief Superintendent. ‘I thought it would be useful if we had a little chat, John. I like to feel I know my senior staff.' He crossed his legs and relaxed his shoulders. It was always best to give people the impression you had allotted plenty of time to them, even when you knew that your next appointment was only twenty minutes away.

‘It's good of you to take the time, sir.' Lambert could play these games with the best of them, though not for long: patience wasn't his strongest suit, in situations like this. He was a problem-solver, not a diplomat. The modern world and the police service within it needed people like Gordon Armstrong, he was sure, but John Lambert would never be one of them. That wasn't prissiness: he knew he simply didn't have the skills or the patience to be a modern mandarin.

Armstrong said, ‘I wanted your overview of CID in the area. There is no one better qualified to offer a confidential opinion to me.'

‘I'm afraid I shall be a disappointment. I try to ensure that there is minimal corruption and maximum efficiency in the CID section for which I am responsible. I don't really have an overview beyond that. I took a decision many years ago now that I was happiest and most efficient when working directly on particular crimes and that I didn't want further promotion and more general responsibilities.'

They were phrases he'd trotted out many times over the years, but not recently. Armstrong recognized them for what they were and said with a smile, ‘You're saying that you might well have been sitting in my chair at this moment, had you not chosen to stay in your present post.'

‘I don't think I would ever have made that chair. I would have become impatient and thus inefficient long before I became a Chief Constable.'

‘You are too modest, John. You could have done it, if you'd put your mind to it. But you chose not to do that. You despise some of the skills you would have needed to exercise to reach this office.'

‘No, sir. I don't despise them. I recognize them as very necessary in today's world, where you have constantly to be the public face of the police service. Forty years ago, some chief constables could blunder through the diplomatic aspects of their jobs, if they were efficient thief-takers. That isn't so today. And I don't despise the skills involved: I simply don't possess them.'

‘You've got the skills, John. You've chosen not to use them, that's all.'

‘Let's agree to differ. I'm happy where I am, and I'm even more happy that people like you are able to handle the things I wouldn't have been much good at.'

‘You can be as modern as any of us, when it's necessary.'

Lambert took a sip of his coffee and evaluated that word ‘modern'. It carried such a multitude of meanings that you needed a context for it, before you decided whether it was a compliment or an insult. Or, as he suspected it was in the mouth of this man, a studiously neutral word. ‘I'm often told I'm something of a dinosaur. Not least by DI Rushton, who handles the internet for me and co-ordinates the information on major investigations. I don't reject the description.'

‘You don't sit behind a desk and direct others, as most chief supers do.'

The new man had done his homework on this veteran, whom he was now treating with a kind of cautious reverence. Lambert hadn't met much reverence and he wasn't at ease with it. ‘I maintain that what I do is efficient. If it ain't broken, you don't need to fix it.'

‘And you produce results. As long as you do, I'm happy to go along with your methods, even if some would consider them out of date.'

The first hint of a threat. But the man had to assert his authority. Don't be so sensitive, Lambert. He can't hurt you. If the worst came to the worst, you could walk away. But there's no need to be so negative: the new CC is merely doing what you'd expect him to do. And look at the coffee and the best china: he's treating you with kid gloves.

Lambert forced a smile. ‘Contrary to popular police and tabloid press opinion, I do sit behind my desk and direct others for a large proportion of my time, sir. But when there is a major investigation, I like to be what most people now call hands-on. I find I get a clear idea of the issues and the possibilities if I get out and about and speak to major suspects myself. I'm immodest enough to think that I've acquired a certain expertise over the years, and that it is better to use it directly than to expect others to produce what I'm looking for.'

‘My predecessor said you're the shrewdest copper he's ever met. He said you let people talk themselves into trouble and he still doesn't know quite how you do it.'

Good old Douglas Gibson. We had our differences, but he always did his best for me, when it mattered. As it did when he was speaking to his replacement as CC. Hope he's enjoying his retirement and his painting in oils; Gibson never enjoyed his garden and his roses, as retired coppers are supposed to do. Lambert lifted his head and smiled. ‘That sounds a little too kind, even a little sentimental, though I'm grateful for Mr Gibson's thoughts. I operate in the way which seems most efficient for my unit. I also enjoy myself much more operating that way, though one can't speak publicly of enjoyment when the investigation of serious crimes is one's concern.'

‘You enjoy what you're good at, like most of us. In your case, that's the direct business of investigation at the crime face.'

‘Fair description, sir. But I'm part of a team. I don't neglect the coordination of an investigation and the efficient filing and cross-referencing of the huge amount of information that accrues round any major crime. Inspector Rushton is far more efficient in those things than I could ever be.'

‘And the doughty DS Hook is an efficient bagman for you, as you put yourself about among those involved in major crimes.'

This man really has done his homework. Treat him with due respect, Lambert. ‘DS Hook is a remarkable man, sir. He has twice refused to put himself forward for Detective Inspector rank because he enjoys his present work. That is unique in my experience: a man who recognizes that he is happy and efficient in his daily work and does not wish to jeopardize that for the sake of promotion. Hook completed an Open University degree last year, after five years of part-time study – one of the very few policemen who have done that. I like to think he complements whatever skills I have in dealing with the vast cross-section of humanity we encounter.' He grinned. ‘Bert Hook is far shrewder than he looks, and that in itself is an advantage.'

‘Plainly, loyalty to your staff is one of your great virtues, John.'

He's determined to use my first name whenever he can. Why on earth should I be so grudging and suspicious, when it's probably well meant? But Lambert heard himself sounding priggish as he said, ‘I speak as I find, sir. And I confess I've been selfish, over the last few years. I've hand-picked staff who suit my way of working and set up my own team. If I tell you that they're efficient in their roles, it's no more than the truth.'

‘And I'm assuring you that I don't propose to interfere with your methods. That's one of the reasons for this morning's meeting.'

‘As long as they continue to produce results, sir.'

Gordon Armstrong was not at all discomfited by this prickly reminder of what he'd said earlier. ‘That would apply to any system, surely, John? If it wasn't producing results, we'd want to examine it and see what improvements we could introduce. I suppose that would be “hands-on” for a chief constable, wouldn't it?'

Lambert grinned again and felt a little easier. The man had a sense of humour. Why had he assumed that a GSOH was surgically removed once you reached the higher echelons of the police service? ‘It would indeed, sir. I like to think I'd be studying my team even more intensively than you, if it came to that.'

‘I'm sure you would. What would you say is the greatest problem facing the modern police service, John? Or the CID section of it, if you prefer to confine yourself to that.'

A sudden switch, this. John Lambert had come here prepared to defend his methods and to receive bland assurances that they were acceptable. Now he was being asked for more general opinions. Was he being tested, or was his opinion genuinely sought? He said abruptly, ‘Corruption, sir.'

There were a couple of seconds of silence before Armstrong nodded and said quietly, ‘What sort of corruption, John?'

‘It's not a new problem, sir. The service generally is much more honest and less corrupt than it was thirty years ago, when I was a young copper. The Met was a disgrace in those days. Things have been cleaned up. Some very good chief constables have had much to do with that.' He smiled again; he was long past his blushing days, but offering compliments didn't come easily to him. ‘But individual corruption still exists. Coppers under pressure still try to fabricate evidence, or at least shape what evidence exists to their own ends. And the press connive at what is now the easiest and most widespread of corruptions for a modern copper. Too many men and women are passing on information for money to the press and other media. The temptations are there all the time, because the rewards are good and the prospects of being detected seem smaller than they used to be.'

‘I agree with you on that. I want my senior staff to pass on the message that there will be zero tolerance of anyone releasing information for payment.'

‘I'll certainly do that in the CID section, sir. Every copper who's corrupt is damaging the rest of us. That's one of the reasons why police officers are afraid to admit their occupation when they're socializing nowadays. That's much more pronounced than it was in my youth.'

‘I take note of what you say and endorse it. Zero tolerance: tell anyone who will listen. No, tell even those who don't want to listen!'

Armstrong had the good sense to close their meeting when they were agreed on something they both felt strongly about. The old bugger had been neither as prickly nor as out of date as he'd feared. He watched the cups and biscuits being cleared away and prepared for his next meeting with a feeling of satisfaction which he hadn't anticipated.

It had been good to talk to a senior man who was driven by a passionate aversion to crime and all its manifestations.

Sixty miles away from the Chief Constable and the most famous member of his staff, a woman of thirty-five was struggling with quite different problems.

Elfrida was a stupid name. She'd always thought that, even when she'd been a child and little semi-circles of adults had assured her that it wasn't. ‘You're so lucky to have a name that's different!' they'd cooed at her. But when you were a child, you didn't want to be different. You wanted to be just like the rest. That way, they'd accept you and you wouldn't be noticed. You could watch the rest and think whatever you liked about them, so long as you weren't being noticed.

She'd tried making the best of it during her first year at university, when it had seemed fashionable to be different. She'd tried to spread the myth that Elfrida was unusual and thus interesting, that it gave her a start on others when it came to being noticed. But her heart had never been in that. She hadn't been sure how much she wanted to be noticed, even in the ever-changing cavalcade of student life. Then, towards the end of that first year, she'd heard three of her contemporaries mocking both her pretensions and her name, whilst she was closeted in the washroom. She'd promptly abandoned forever the pretence of liking her name.

She'd tried ‘Fred' for a while. It had worked fine with the people who knew her. They'd accepted it and used it, after a week or two. But it led to tiresome explanations every time you met new people, and you couldn't use it on job applications when you came to the end of your degree and your teacher training. And some of the men apparently thought she was a lesbian, because she called herself Fred. She couldn't have that, so Fred had to go.

She was sitting in the staff room at the comprehensive school, worrying about her name when she should have been marking books. She'd come here for one term as a supply teacher, but they'd made her permanent, when the woman who had been on maternity leave had finally confirmed that she didn't wish to return. The new mum had said all along that she wasn't coming back, but the crazy system didn't allow the powers that be to accept that. She had the right to change her mind until the last minute, whilst her former pupils suffered at the hands of a succession of supply teachers.

Except that in this case they hadn't suffered. They'd had Elfrida Potts, and after the normal classroom trials of strength at the beginning of term, she'd asserted her control of her classes and achieved progress. More progress than they'd been making under pregnant Mrs Grieves, as far as Elfrida was able to divine from their exercise books and the few comments they volunteered. In her view, history could be either a lively experience or ‘dead boring', the description most of her classes had volunteered to her during her first week at St Wilfred's.