coffees, a thimbleful of espresso for Kathy, caffè latte for Lowry.
‘Thanks darling,’ Lowry said, then to Kathy, ‘You haven’t met our SIO, have you?’
‘Forbes? No, never heard of him before. Harry Jackson didn’t seem impressed. You don’t like him?’
Lowry smiled grimly. ‘Orville M. Forbes. Old Mother Forbes. Doesn’t matter whether I like him, Kathy. The problem is, as everybody’s so well aware these days, there are just too many chiefs in this force and not enough fucking Indians. So the people who are paid to think about these things imagine they can recycle old papershufflers like Forbes into born-again coal-face detectives and leaders of major investigations.’ He shook his head grimly. ‘Snowball’s chance. He wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to begin. And he knows it. That’s why he’s persuaded them to bring in your guv’nor, to save his skin.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I’m certain of it. He’s scared shitless that he’ll screw up his first major crime investigation with the eyes of the world focused on him. He told me once he has a recurring nightmare. He’s a schoolboy again, playing cricket, standing in the outfield with a long easy catch coming straight at him, and he drops it and loses the match, and all his friends and teachers and family are there to see it.’
They watched a tall elderly man, bewhiskered, stiff-backed, marching by. He was wearing a heather-green Harris tweed jacket and matching cap, and swinging a gnarled walking stick, a laird taking a brisk constitutional through his glen. As he passed he doffed his hat to them.
‘Jesus . . .’ Lowry muttered. ‘This place is full of weirdos.’
‘Does it matter, about Forbes? As long as he keeps out of our way.’
‘But he won’t, he can’t. He’s petrified by failure and greedy for success. He’ll worry, and dabble, and interfere, and stuff us up. People like us have got to persuade people like Forbes, the grey crust through which we must eventually rise if we are ever to achieve seniority in this lifetime, that they should pack it in and bugger off to Bognor.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘By subjecting them to stress. They don’t like stress. Can’t take it any more. If you load them up with stress, they soon begin to dream of early retirement . . . or something else.’
‘Something else?’
Lowry stretched his arms out and ran the flat of his palm down the short hair of his nape. ‘My last boss passed away on the job, Kathy. His secretary came in with his coffee one morning, and there he was, stretched out across his desk, cold as yesterday’s toast. Stroke, probably down to stress, the doctor said.’ He paused, glanced at Kathy, then picked up the glass of creamy liquid that Sonia had placed in front of him. ‘I like to think that was my personal contribution to resolving the unbalanced staff profile of the Metropolitan Police.’
‘You killed him with stress?’ She stared at him, trying to decipher his expression.
Lowry licked his lips, then allowed them to form a little smile. ‘He didn’t realise it, of course. He thought I was trying to help.’
Kathy decided this was some kind of test of her sense of humour. ‘Well, well. So now you want to kill Forbes the same way?’
He nodded thoughtfully.
‘Brock knows, you know,’ Kathy said.
That made him sit up. ‘What?’
‘That you’ve been told to report directly to Forbes. Without telling Brock. Forbes did tell you to do that, didn’t he?’
Lowry stared at her for a long moment before the little smile reappeared. ‘What made you think of that?’
‘It occurred to me down below last night, when Jolly Harry asked you to bypass his boss in the same way.’
Lowry’s grin broadened. ‘You’ve got the advantage of being a woman, Kathy. You’ll have your own way to get through the grey crust. They’ll pull you up in the name of gender balance. But that doesn’t mean we can’t give each other a helping hand, does
‘Thanks darling,’ Lowry said, then to Kathy, ‘You haven’t met our SIO, have you?’
‘Forbes? No, never heard of him before. Harry Jackson didn’t seem impressed. You don’t like him?’
Lowry smiled grimly. ‘Orville M. Forbes. Old Mother Forbes. Doesn’t matter whether I like him, Kathy. The problem is, as everybody’s so well aware these days, there are just too many chiefs in this force and not enough fucking Indians. So the people who are paid to think about these things imagine they can recycle old papershufflers like Forbes into born-again coal-face detectives and leaders of major investigations.’ He shook his head grimly. ‘Snowball’s chance. He wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to begin. And he knows it. That’s why he’s persuaded them to bring in your guv’nor, to save his skin.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I’m certain of it. He’s scared shitless that he’ll screw up his first major crime investigation with the eyes of the world focused on him. He told me once he has a recurring nightmare. He’s a schoolboy again, playing cricket, standing in the outfield with a long easy catch coming straight at him, and he drops it and loses the match, and all his friends and teachers and family are there to see it.’
They watched a tall elderly man, bewhiskered, stiff-backed, marching by. He was wearing a heather-green Harris tweed jacket and matching cap, and swinging a gnarled walking stick, a laird taking a brisk constitutional through his glen. As he passed he doffed his hat to them.
‘Jesus . . .’ Lowry muttered. ‘This place is full of weirdos.’
‘Does it matter, about Forbes? As long as he keeps out of our way.’
‘But he won’t, he can’t. He’s petrified by failure and greedy for success. He’ll worry, and dabble, and interfere, and stuff us up. People like us have got to persuade people like Forbes, the grey crust through which we must eventually rise if we are ever to achieve seniority in this lifetime, that they should pack it in and bugger off to Bognor.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘By subjecting them to stress. They don’t like stress. Can’t take it any more. If you load them up with stress, they soon begin to dream of early retirement . . . or something else.’
‘Something else?’
Lowry stretched his arms out and ran the flat of his palm down the short hair of his nape. ‘My last boss passed away on the job, Kathy. His secretary came in with his coffee one morning, and there he was, stretched out across his desk, cold as yesterday’s toast. Stroke, probably down to stress, the doctor said.’ He paused, glanced at Kathy, then picked up the glass of creamy liquid that Sonia had placed in front of him. ‘I like to think that was my personal contribution to resolving the unbalanced staff profile of the Metropolitan Police.’
‘You killed him with stress?’ She stared at him, trying to decipher his expression.
Lowry licked his lips, then allowed them to form a little smile. ‘He didn’t realise it, of course. He thought I was trying to help.’
Kathy decided this was some kind of test of her sense of humour. ‘Well, well. So now you want to kill Forbes the same way?’
He nodded thoughtfully.
‘Brock knows, you know,’ Kathy said.
That made him sit up. ‘What?’
‘That you’ve been told to report directly to Forbes. Without telling Brock. Forbes did tell you to do that, didn’t he?’
Lowry stared at her for a long moment before the little smile reappeared. ‘What made you think of that?’
‘It occurred to me down below last night, when Jolly Harry asked you to bypass his boss in the same way.’
Lowry’s grin broadened. ‘You’ve got the advantage of being a woman, Kathy. You’ll have your own way to get through the grey crust. They’ll pull you up in the name of gender balance. But that doesn’t mean we can’t give each other a helping hand, does
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