To Die Alone by John Dean Page A

ask what you would like me to say at the press conference?’
    ‘You?’ There was an edge in the inspector’s voice.
    ‘Yes. I rather assumed that with everything that has been happening, you would be too busy to talk—’
    ‘And you wouldn’t be?’ asked the inspector, nodding at the in-tray. ‘Surely, there are bits of paper need signing?’
    Curtis looked for a moment as if was about to remonstrate, but instead he gave the thinnest of smiles.
    ‘Yes, I am sure there are,’ he said. ‘You do the press conference if you want to.’
    ‘No,’ replied Harris, satisfied that his point had been made but also acutely aware that the superintendent was right: there was a lot of work to do, ‘no, you do it.’
    ‘So what do I tell them? Are we assuming that the murder is linked to the attack on these farmers last night?’
    ‘Not sure it is,’ said Harris. ‘I would have expected Meredith’s killer to be long gone, so whoever these guys were is anyone’s guess. It is possible that they were one of the gangs coming in to steal farm equipment.’
    ‘But guns, Jack? Surely that’s OTT for them?’
    ‘I’ll grant you that.’
    ‘Which brings us back to the question that we are bound to be asked. What on earth were the farmers doing there in the first place?’ said Curtis, with a shake of the head. ‘One or two journalists are already asking. I thought you made it clear to the farmers that they should only go out when we can provide back-up. And last night simply was not the time to do it. Did you sanction it?’
    The question was hard edged.
    ‘I suggested it originally.’
    The answer was evasive.
    ‘But surely you knew the pressure we were under last night?’ protested the superintendent.
    Harris hesitated. Even though he had known the superintendent would hone in on what had happened, he had still not resolved how to play it without landing Matty Gallagher in trouble, something the inspector did not want to do. Gallagher was unsettled enough without something like this persuading him to apply for a transfer: Harris knew that the sergeant had already been keeping an eye on opportunities in more urban areas. He had even mentioned to colleagues that he would not object to a transfer to another force. Such knowledge meant that Harris knew he had to watch his words carefully: irritating though Gallagher was sometimes, he was a damned good sergeant and Harris could not afford to lose such an officer. It was difficult enough to get hold of them in the first place: the inspector knew that Levton Bridge was regarded by many officers as a graveyard posting. Even Curtis, he guessed, did not plan on being in the division any longer than necessary.
    Harris noticed that Curtis was still eying him intently. The inspector thought quickly: if he was honest with himself, this was not just about protecting Matty Gallagher. Harris needed to find a way of making sure that Curtis did not use the situation to target his detective chief inspector as well. Jack Harris had heard all the stories about Philip Curtis: knew that he had engineered the demise of officers for less.
    For his part, Curtis said nothing and let the tension build: conciliation or not, the superintendent was not one to throw up the chance to make the inspector squirm.
    ‘Is there something you want to tell me, Jack?’ he asked eventually.
    ‘It was a communications breakdown.’
    ‘Would you care to elaborate on what went wrong?’
    ‘Not really.’
    ‘Well whoever was responsible for it, they need to know that they almost had those lads killed.’ Curtis looked hard at the inspector. ‘I take it you will convey that point to the person in question, assuming, of course, that we are not talking about yourself?’
    Harris said nothing.
    ‘Well, whatever went wrong, make sure it does not happen again,’ said Curtis. ‘And make sure you get your story straight. We don’t want your people telling different versions. There are bound to be questions asked