Salmons felt like he
was standing outside the head’s door; though at the sprawling site of Exmouth
Comprehensive he had rarely seen the head, but standing outside the Chief’s
door at Middlemoor was he guessed what it would have felt like. If Salmons had
paid more attention in the R.E. lessons at his former school and perhaps less
attention to currying the favour of Gary Beasley by flicking pellets at Daniel
Press, he might have realised a more apt comparison would have been with Judas
or Brutus.
Although having never studied the
end of the Roman Republic, it would be perhaps unfair to expect Salmons to know
about the treacherous Brutus; that type of general knowledge was only for the
geeks like Press. Although if Salmons had made more of the educational
opportunities on offer at Exmouth Comprehensive, then he too might now have
been enjoying regular holidays in Rio like Press, rather than in his
girlfriend’s leaky, family caravan in Weymouth.
Squeezed into his dress uniform,
Salmons awkwardly positioned himself in the chair facing Assistant Chief Constable
Dent. The Key Market carrier back he placed noisily to the side of the elegant,
wooden chair was completely out of keeping with Dent’s immaculately decorated
office: the mahogany desk, silver framed certificates and black leather chair
all managed to intimidate the constable – the very effect Dent had hoped to
achieve.
Dent offered the constable tea or
coffee, another tactic used to unsettle Salmons, who failed to make a swift and
decisive reply, before being forced to endure his superior’s small talk as they
waited for their tea. Salmon’s discomfiture was amplified by the appearance of
two, delicate bone china cups of milky white tea. A heavy mug or polystyrene
cup was more suited to his grip.
Having thoroughly disconcerted
Salmons, Dent got to the point –
‘You have something to tell me
about Detective Inspector Sobers, constable?’
The sense of scorn with which he
conveyed Sobers’ rank, was balanced by the sense of lowliness he attached to
Salmon’s.
‘It’s just, well I found these…’
Salmons slid the carrier bag
across the smooth, polished wood of the desk.
Whether Dent’s look of distaste
was more for the vulgarity of the receptacle, or the content was hard to say.
‘Where did you find them?’
There was no getting away from
the truth.
’In his desk...’
Dent looked closely at the
thickset, squirming young man in front of him.
‘How old are you?’
’24, sir.’
‘Wife or girlfriend?’
‘Girlfriend, sir. We’re hoping to
marry when our prospects pick up…’
‘I expect you find this type of
stuff pretty reprehensible, don’t you?’
‘It’s disgusting, Sir.’
‘I think he gave you these,
constable.’
‘Sir?’
‘Bright boy like you, who should
be making sergeant very soon, I don’t think you found them at all.’
The penny dropped.
‘No, Sir.’
‘I think he made a suggestion to
you, constable, which quite rightly you found disturbing. I think he gave these
to you in the locker room and suggested you might enjoy them.’
By this point Salmons had reached
for his notebook and was making a note of what had actually happened, now that
the ACC had given it his official sanction.
‘No need to make notes,
constable. If I need you to back this up, I’ve only got to ask haven’t I?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘We need more forward thinkers
like you in the force, constable.’
Salmons was aware the interview
had been terminated. He was tempted to attempt drinking the tea, but the brief
bonhomie had been replaced by the froideur which had greeted his arrival.
Further inquiries about his thirty shillings would have to be put on hold.
Still, at least that bent nigger had it coming to him. That would wipe the
smile from Sandy’s face and teach her who her friends were. Lionel Richie?
Sobers was singing from a different hymn sheet altogether…
****
With the case seemingly grinding
to a halt, Jane
was standing outside the head’s door; though at the sprawling site of Exmouth
Comprehensive he had rarely seen the head, but standing outside the Chief’s
door at Middlemoor was he guessed what it would have felt like. If Salmons had
paid more attention in the R.E. lessons at his former school and perhaps less
attention to currying the favour of Gary Beasley by flicking pellets at Daniel
Press, he might have realised a more apt comparison would have been with Judas
or Brutus.
Although having never studied the
end of the Roman Republic, it would be perhaps unfair to expect Salmons to know
about the treacherous Brutus; that type of general knowledge was only for the
geeks like Press. Although if Salmons had made more of the educational
opportunities on offer at Exmouth Comprehensive, then he too might now have
been enjoying regular holidays in Rio like Press, rather than in his
girlfriend’s leaky, family caravan in Weymouth.
Squeezed into his dress uniform,
Salmons awkwardly positioned himself in the chair facing Assistant Chief Constable
Dent. The Key Market carrier back he placed noisily to the side of the elegant,
wooden chair was completely out of keeping with Dent’s immaculately decorated
office: the mahogany desk, silver framed certificates and black leather chair
all managed to intimidate the constable – the very effect Dent had hoped to
achieve.
Dent offered the constable tea or
coffee, another tactic used to unsettle Salmons, who failed to make a swift and
decisive reply, before being forced to endure his superior’s small talk as they
waited for their tea. Salmon’s discomfiture was amplified by the appearance of
two, delicate bone china cups of milky white tea. A heavy mug or polystyrene
cup was more suited to his grip.
Having thoroughly disconcerted
Salmons, Dent got to the point –
‘You have something to tell me
about Detective Inspector Sobers, constable?’
The sense of scorn with which he
conveyed Sobers’ rank, was balanced by the sense of lowliness he attached to
Salmon’s.
‘It’s just, well I found these…’
Salmons slid the carrier bag
across the smooth, polished wood of the desk.
Whether Dent’s look of distaste
was more for the vulgarity of the receptacle, or the content was hard to say.
‘Where did you find them?’
There was no getting away from
the truth.
’In his desk...’
Dent looked closely at the
thickset, squirming young man in front of him.
‘How old are you?’
’24, sir.’
‘Wife or girlfriend?’
‘Girlfriend, sir. We’re hoping to
marry when our prospects pick up…’
‘I expect you find this type of
stuff pretty reprehensible, don’t you?’
‘It’s disgusting, Sir.’
‘I think he gave you these,
constable.’
‘Sir?’
‘Bright boy like you, who should
be making sergeant very soon, I don’t think you found them at all.’
The penny dropped.
‘No, Sir.’
‘I think he made a suggestion to
you, constable, which quite rightly you found disturbing. I think he gave these
to you in the locker room and suggested you might enjoy them.’
By this point Salmons had reached
for his notebook and was making a note of what had actually happened, now that
the ACC had given it his official sanction.
‘No need to make notes,
constable. If I need you to back this up, I’ve only got to ask haven’t I?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘We need more forward thinkers
like you in the force, constable.’
Salmons was aware the interview
had been terminated. He was tempted to attempt drinking the tea, but the brief
bonhomie had been replaced by the froideur which had greeted his arrival.
Further inquiries about his thirty shillings would have to be put on hold.
Still, at least that bent nigger had it coming to him. That would wipe the
smile from Sandy’s face and teach her who her friends were. Lionel Richie?
Sobers was singing from a different hymn sheet altogether…
****
With the case seemingly grinding
to a halt, Jane
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