The Rock (3 page)
Authors: Robert Daws
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.’
‘I’ll need time to draft something. Tell them they’ll have it by lunchtime and get that report from the crash site as soon as possible, will you, Aldarino?’
‘Well it’s a bit early for...’
‘Just get me the basics, all right? And please, God, let it be as Bryant and Ferra said it was. The last thing we need is this incident spiralling into a public relations nightmare.’
‘Yes ma’am. Oh, and ma’am?’
‘Yes, Sergeant?’
‘DS Sullivan is here.’
‘Who?’
‘The new Met officer on secondment. Arrived from London last night.’
‘Ah.’
Alderino could see that she was still none the wiser.
‘I briefed you last week, ma’am. You said to-’
‘Yes, yes, all right, Aldarino. I have had a lot on my mind.’
Aldarino nodded and left the room, leaving Massetti a few minutes in which to stew before once more tapping upon the door with another list of urgent matters and dates for her itinerary. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Aldarino thanked his lucky stars that he had chosen to remain a sergeant.
*
The old lady bent to pick up the basket of damp washing on the floor of the kitchen. She would now carry out the familiar job of drying and ironing the clothes that were in it. It was a task she found increasingly difficult to perform - her mobility recently becoming so much more limited with the pain from her arthritic hip joints . If only Maria had been able to stay. For twenty five years her housekeeper had effortlessly taken the weight of household chores away from her mistress. But the old lady had had to let her go. She would not have understood the changed priorities within the household and the very particular demands of the person who now occupied the upstairs bedroom of the house with its view of the upper garden and The Rock. Maria would have wanted to help. To care and ease her mistress’s burden. But the old lady could not allow that. What possessed the house now could only be exorcized by herself and herself alone. It was her duty. A guilt that had to be assuaged.
The old lady moved slowly across the kitchen - the basket of washed clothes in her hands. She had to get them dried and ironed to perfection. The punishment for not doing so would be too much to bear.
*
‘So, you’re with us for three months then, Sullivan.’ Massetti peered over her desk at the female officer in front of her.
‘Yes, ma’am. I’m very much looking forward to it.’
Masetti knew this to be a lie and made a mental note to make sure that it wouldn’t be the first of many.
‘The last one that came over here from the Met was supposed to have “enhanced relationship and liaison mechanisms” between our two forces. At least that’s what the blurb said. By the time he left, I can’t say I’d spotted much enhancement – though there had been a couple of
liasons.
Perhaps your reason for being here is a little less ambitious...?’
‘I’m just here to observe, assist and advise, ma’am.’
‘Ye-es. There’s a lot of observing and advising going on these days. Not much of it seems to be of assistance, though.’
‘Well, I hope I may prove to be of some use to you, ma’am.’
‘Indeed. From what I’ve read of your record, Detective Sergeant, we may be the ones proving useful to you.’ Massetti hadn’t wanted to set this tone, but it had been a rough morning and she wasn’t in the mood for niceties.
‘I very much hope there’ll be some mutual benefit gained during my stay here, ma’am.’
‘I’ll insist upon it, Sullivan. If you think you’re just going to be mooching around like a United Nations observer you’ll be sadly mistaken. I’ve decided that the best way you can observe is to serve. You’re a police officer and therefore you should be doing police work. You can conclude what the hell you like after you’ve finished here. As it happens we’re temporarily short of a Detective Sergeant in CID, so as far as I’m concerned you’re the man. If you have any complaints you can bleat back to your bosses in the Met. Understood?’
‘Perfectly, ma’am.’
‘You’ll be joining Chief Inspector Broderick’s team. He should make your stay on The Rock quite an interesting one.’
Before Sullivan could enquire further about her new mentor, a tap at the door interrupted proceedings. Sergeant Aldarino poked his head around the doorframe.
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ he offered. ‘You’re needed.’
‘Very well.’ Massetti replied. ‘ Get someone to escort DS Sullivan here to the third floor will you?’
Both women stood. Massetti felt a sudden twinge of guilt at her welcoming brief.
‘ Er.. settled into your digs alright, have you?’
‘Actually ma’am, I won’t get into my apartment till the weekend. I’m staying at the Alameda ‘til then.’
‘How very pleasant for you.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘ Look, we’re a tight, loyal and highly professional force here on The Rock. A very different scale of operation to the one you’ve been used to. But if you keep your head down and do the work, you could find you’ve gone a long way to digging yourself out of the hole you’ve made for yourself. Understood?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Good luck then.’
‘Will I need it, ma’am?’
‘I’d say that’s for you to find out and me to observe, Sullivan. That’ll be all.’
5
Sergeant Aldarino had decided against calling another officer to guide their latest visitor to CID. At a fast pace, he led the way himself.
‘It’s a bit of a maze, but you’ll soon get used to it. Old buildings have their charms, but order and convenience tend not to be among them.’
Sullivan had immediately taken a liking to the tall, grey haired Gibraltarian. He was the only policeman who’d bothered to smile at her for as long as she could remember. They continued up a small flight of stairs, then along a narrow corridor and up a further staircase. At the top of this they passed down a long corridor which occupied several offices partitioned off by walls of frosted glass. Eventually Aldarino stopped outside an anonymous door, second from the end.
‘Here’s where you live. By the way, don’t be put off by the Chief Super’s manner. She’s having a bad morning. She’s the best of them here. I’ve been with her a decade now and I wouldn’t want to work for anyone else. She’ll play fair by you, if you play fair by her.’
A pager attached to the sergeant’s tunic began to bleep.
‘Talking of the devil.’ He nodded towards the door. ’You can make your own introductions. They’ll be expecting you .’
Turning his pager off, the sergeant headed briskly back down the corridor. Sullivan turned, gave the door a cursory tap and entered. The small office was cramped. Too cramped for the four desks and many filing cabinets that met her eye. A single large window looked out across the dry docks and the sea opposite. There was only one inhabitant. A single officer sat with his back to the door - his focus firmly on the computer screen in front of him.
‘Sir?’ Sullivan said . The man did not bother to respond. ‘Sir? DS Sullivan. Just arrived from London. Chief Superintendent Massetti tells me I’ll be working with you.’
‘Nope,’ the man replied, still refusing to be distracted from his work.
‘Oh. There must be some mistake...’
‘And you just made it, Sarge,’ said the man, as he finally spun round to face her. His youthful looks suggested to Sullivan that this was not her boss.
‘Whoa!’ the man involuntarily let slip at the sight of his new and attractive colleague.
‘I beg your pardon?’ replied Sullivan coldly.
‘I meant... hello Sarge. I’m DC Calbot’
Sullivan raised an eyebrow, by way of suggesting to the detective constable that he might consider standing in the presence of a senior officer. The expression was quickly interpreted and Calbot jumped to his feet.
‘Completely forgot you were turning up today.’
‘So it would appear,’ Sullivan responded. ‘And Chief Inspector Broderick?’
‘Ah, yeah, sorry. Guv’s not here.’
‘I see. When will he be back?’
‘Tomorrow. Dentist,’ Calbot replied, in his trademark staccato manner.
‘Tomorrow?’ Sullivan questioned incredulously.
‘Abscess. Right at the back.’
‘Sounds painful.’
‘Let’s hope so, eh?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Sullivan responded, once more uneasy with Calbot’s disrepectful tone.
‘Joke.’ Calbot grinned.‘ Just a joke, Sarge.’
Sullivan’s blank expression told the DC that she had no intention of sharing it.
*
The acrid smoke swirled around Martin Tavares’ nostrils as the ash grew longer at the tip of his half spent cigarette. His free hand gripped the armchair as if it were a long-lost friend.
The home he had shared with Jennie all their married life was now full of well meaning, but interfering relatives and friends -all hoping to be helpful. Martin barely registered their presence. He didn’t want help: he wanted Jennifer back. The hushed whispers of the assembled body faded as his concentration was drawn towards the monotonous ticking of the clock on the far wall, its hands showing a quarter to three. For a fleeting moment, he found solace in its stability; its rhythmic continuity. Time would never fade. It could never die or be extinguished. It would always be there, moving forward, expanding. Time didn’t come to an end - only life did. He knew Jennie would not have agreed. She had her faith. Her belief in the continuation of the spirit and soul. But soon she would be nothing more than burnt ashes and a ghost in a thousand grief-filled, haunted dreams. Two people died that night, Martin thought. If there was a God, he hoped that Jennie had found her heaven , because one thing was certain - he had found hell.
*