Happy Christmas all!
Sorry to say but despite it being Christmas Day, this is a singularly unexciting chapter.
I'm hoping to get a lot more written over the next week because I'll be sunning myself on Lanzarote without a worry in the world. And as I was up at 3:30am and I've had a few drinks tonight, can you please overlook the fact that I haven't edited very well.
As I'm typing this, I've just read that George Michael has died., scant hours after Rick Parfitt. And what with my all-time musical hero Leonard Cohen dying 10th November after a whole host of other legends this year, 2016 has been pretty lousy all in all. Roll on 2017 because it certainly couldn't get any worse!
Chapter 25
"Some old coot walkin' his mut and a pimple-faced eleven year kid deliverin' newspapers?! Seriously? Reliable witnesses?"
They were in Spikings' office and Dempsey was still refusing to sit. His eyes flitted restlessly over the tapestry of mismatched frames holding a mix of certificates, photographs and official documentation hung on the back wall behind his boss.
"The W.P.C who took the statements made a point of mentioning that the pensioner was as sharp as a tack and the child seemed mature for his years."
Dempsey just shook his head disparagingly. "Yeay, okay, let's hear it for the little lady cop with a PhD in psychology."
Spikings knew there was something Dempsey wasn't saying; something he needed to get off his chest and he had a pretty shrewd idea what that something was.
"She wasn't answering her telephone this morning," he said evenly, "nor was she at home when the boys in blue went knocking."
There was a brief silence whilst Dempsey decided whether to play dumb or not.
"So what? She got a life don't she?"
"Might I have been able to contact her had I tried your number instead?"
He slid open the top drawer of his desk as he talked and took out a slim black address book.
Dempsey was slow to reply, patting down the pockets of his leather jacket in search of cigars.
"Like I said, she's got a life."
"Sit down would you, Dempsey? You're making me nervous." He tweaked one side of his moustache and as though realising that the action did indeed reveal a certain discomfiture, sat back expansively in his chair.
"Lemme tell ya, you ain't alone. My partner's just been handed an attempted homicide rap an' I'm standin' here shootin' the breeze. You mind?" he asked, clearly not bothered whether Spikings minded or not as he pounced on the cigarettes and lighter sitting on the desk.
Spikings didn't comment but after Dempsey threw the packet back down, he lit one for himself.
"Okay, so how's this goin' down? How high do you have to go to get somebody with more than three braincells to realise they're way off beam here?"
"I'm on it. Don't you worry about that."
He began dialling a number, Dempsey finally sitting in one of the two chairs set before the desk.
"Yes, good morning. This is Chief Superintendent Gordon Spikings, SI-10. Sir Geoffrey, if you please." Dempsey inhaled a lungful of smoke, "Yes, I'll hold." … and exhaled with blusterous frustration.
Holding a hand over the mouthpiece, Spikings said, "I take it she spent the night at your residence, Lieutenant."
"So what if she did?" he asked, eyes narrowed against a thin veil of smoke.
"Come on, man! You know I'm only asking what you're going to be grilled about later. Your private life is about to become very public and believe you me, no stone will be left unturned once they get you in that interview room."
Dempsey hauled himself to his feet again and began to pace the suddenly claustrophobic office, sucking on his cigarette like he hadn't given up five years before.
"Okay, so we started somethin'. Figured we should keep quiet about it seeing as the Met ain't crazy about sex before marriage," he said sarcastically. "They should issue the female cops with chastity belts instead of handcuffs. Though maybe they kinda shot themselves in the foot there; gives us flaky, flawed, bestial dimwits even less self-control when we're mixing business with pleasure, ya know"
Spikings sighed heavily, depicting boredom with Dempsey's belligerent attitude.
"Yes, alright. You're only human – I get it. I didn't write the rule book… Sir Geoffrey? Thank you so very much for taking my call, Sir." He had slipped into 'brown nosing' mode or at least as near as he ever got to such blandishments.
Having explained the situation to the Assistant Commissioner and after getting his word that he would register his interest with those involved in the hit and run case, Spikings immediately began dialling another number.
"Whoever that big cheese was, I hope he's big enough to make a stink where it matters," Dempsey said darkly.
"Sir Geoffrey Mulholland is the Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Directorate for Territorial Policing. The boys at the yard will be treading with extreme care once they get wind of his concern in the matter."
Dempsey took a drag of the cigarette and leaned into the desk to deposit the ash in the brown smoked glass ashtray at Spikings' elbow.
"The assistant commissioner?" he griped.
He sat down, legs splayed and forearms resting on his thighs, picking furiously at the skin around the thumbnail of his left hand as smoke plumed up between the fingers of his right.
The second recipient of Spikings' attentions was a trickier mark. Once directed by the switchboard, he was forced to negotiate a receptionist and then a P.A. who, as he grumbled rancorously whilst waiting to be transferred, wanted to know 'the ins and outs of Meg's arse and the way to it'.
"Might this be young Master Teddy on the line?" Spikings shuffled into a more upright position, his cigarette momentarily hanging from his mouth whilst he made himself comfortable. He laughed heartily at the response. "Very well, old son. Very well. But then, I'm not a ten year old Fresian with a dicky ticker am I?" More laughter followed by more obscure banter.
Dempsey threw himself out of his chair and began pacing and smoking once more, frustrated that these old-school tie pleasantries were eating up valuable minutes. And then at last…
"Look, Ted, I don't think it'll have reached your desk yet but one of my officers, one of my very best officers is on her way to you as we speak – under escort. Detective Sergeant Harry Makepeace. Arrested just a few minutes ago. Arresting officers were D.C.I. Arnby, D.I. Pelliere. They suggested attempted murder after speaking to witnesses although the initial charge sheet states hit and run."
Spikings listened, nodding. "Yes, yes she's one of mine. Fine officer – she'll go far."
After answering a few preliminary questions, he frowned and said with dark gravity, "No. Absolutely not. In fact, I would stake my career on it; D.S Makepeace is a good, honest copper. Straight down the line but more than that, she's in my opinion, a woman of sound moral character and integrity."
He leaned forward, shoulders hunched with the 'phone pressed against his ear. "Therefore, I'm asking you, as a great personal favour, to watch over this one, at least as far as your workload will allow."
The serious expression softened just fractionally at the reply.
"Thank you, Ted. That would be very much appreciated. I mean, I daresay the whole thing will be cleared up in no time but just in case, you know, it's good to know you're happy to keep an eye on the situation, old boy."
"Can we leave now?" Dempsey agitated before the receiver had even hit the cradle. "I'll drive."
He stubbed out his cigarette butt with eyebrows raised.
"Dempsey," Spikings said ponderously. "Just sit down a moment would you?"
"Whatever you got to say, can you say it in the car?"
"No. I can't. Now just you listen to me because this is exactly the sort of hot headed attitude that will make things all the worse for Harry. You've got to rein it in, son, think it through for her sake."
Dempsey scrubbed a hand through his soft dark hair and turned away whilst he tried to calm his frustration. "Okay, okay. I read ya, boss."
Spikings wasn't always right in Dempsey's opinion. He was more than happy to challenge him if he considered it a bad call, even at the risk of being chewed out for it. But the chief wasn't a stupid guy; he didn't dismiss an idea or suggestion out of hand even if nine times out of ten he'd run with his own plans. And that was fine, that was how he'd got to be where he was today, by getting the job done right in the way he saw fit. The trouble was, Dempsey didn't want him to be right this time; his heart told him to kick against it though his head was telling him to listen to Spikings on this one.
He sat down in the chair, trying his damnedest to keep cool. He cleared his throat and asked, "Okay, so what gives?"
"Makepeace has a couple of the top brass taking an interest so she should be alright. I say 'should' because that view is based solely on my knowledge of her good character and clean reputation. But I think it might be a good idea for us to have a little chat about how serious this blossoming romance of yours is exactly. How involved in her life are you – outside the nine to five? Has she told you anything about this Jonathan Makepeace? Have you met the man?"
'A little chat' implied to Dempsey that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and he scowled, knowing there was really no way out of this.
"Yeah, I've met the guy."
"And?" Spikings pressed. "What can you tell me about him, about his relationship with Harry?"
"He's a nice guy," Dempsey acknowledged. "He fell on hard times recently and Harry was helping him out."
Spikings was immediately rapt. "How hard?"
"On the streets, hard. He'd lost his business, his wife, the whole nine yards."
"And he came to Harry for help?"
"Not exactly… not at first. She came across him hangin' around the Covent Garden tube station, pan handling I guess. She gave him money and her card an' he washed up a couple o' nights later at her place. She put him up for the night Saturday and he blew early the next morning. Left her a note sayin' he was grateful but didn't wanna put her out any longer."
"And as far as you're aware, nothing untoward happened during his stay? He didn't mistake her kindness for anything more? No mention of any light-fingeredness possibly?"
"I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character," said Dempsey. "Anything like that, I'd of been aware of it."
"You were there that night? And you stayed over too?"
This was bothering Spikings more and more.
That his two best detectives were embroiled in a secret love affair on top of the fact that one of them had been fingered for the attempted murder of the ex-brother-in-law they'd been associating with only two days previously, it just didn't look good for them.
"Is that a crime?" Dempsey asked sarcastically, picking up on the rasp of worriment in his voice. "I've crashed at her pad a hundred times and to the best of my knowledge, nobody else has nearly lost their life over it. I'm tellin' ya… no connection. We need to be lookin' further afield."
"I don't believe 'we' will be given the opportunity. SI-10 won't be allowed any involvement in this case, certainly not officially and I think you'll find you're very much in the thick of it on a personal level." Spikings looked him directly in the eye. "So. I think we should run through the facts. Give me everything you have on Jonathan Makepeace, Harry's relationship with him and all events over the last few days leading up to the incident in Wimbledon."
When Dempsey started to object, wanting only to be at Harry's side in as short a time as possible, Spikings silenced him with his quotidian ill temper. "Have some bloody sense will you. The girl could be in a whole world of trouble if this doesn't get resolved quickly. From what you've told me so far, you're her only alibi and given that you've been indulging in this little backstairs liaison, I don't think it's going to hold much water do you?"
With effort, Dempsey staunched the fierce frustration and anger that was threatening to erupt like a mini Vesuvius and instead drew on all his years of experience as a cop to deliver a succinct verbal report to the chief. They were on the same side and he knew in the long run they'd get faster results by working together.
"Now…" Spikings placed his hands down firmly in front of him on his desk and looked Dempsey square in the face, "you and the fair Lady Harriet."
The American threw himself back in his chair.
"C'mmon, boss! What, you want the details? I don't kiss an' tell so you're gonna have to use your imagination."
"You'd better not be messing her around, Dempsey. From what I've heard, you have quite a track record with the ladies," Spikings accused.
"Not for messing them around I don't," Dempsey fired back. "Besides, I'm serious 'bout Harry; this ain't just some casual fling."
Spikings put his head in his hands. "Oh God! Why do you always have to make my life so bloody difficult? I knew something was going on with you two when the temper tantrums stopped. You've been far too agreeable of late, the pair of you."
"So everyone's a winner."
"If only that were true. You realise that this… relationship you're having will reflect badly, don't you? Attractive female copper on an attempted murder charge found to be romantically involved with her partner. Secrets make a situation like this ten times worse; suspicions are raised. You know that. And I daresay I'll be hauled over the coals too for not being more aware. Plus, if I admit that I suspected anything, I'll still get it in the neck for not acting on my suspicions."
"Sorry to drop you in the shit, boss but with respect, we didn't see this attempted homicide thing comin', ya know. Yeah, hindsight is a wonderful thing but we'd figured what you didn't know about wasn't gonna hurt anybody. The idea of bein' seconded to a different unit kinda stamped all over the happy news thing, ya know." He reached for another cigarette, this time without even asking. "Are we done? Can we go now?"
"Secondment wasn't the only option," Spikings told him with exasperation. "Surely you could've seen that between you."
"What, we'd get assigned new partners? That what you mean? Been there, done that, it don't work. Me and her – we work. Finito."
Spikings put away his black address book. "You haven't thought it through, Dempsey." He stroked his moustache briefly. "First flush I daresay," he muttered before continuing. "How long do you think it's going to last, living in each other's pockets twenty-four-seven? I may not be Marg Proops but I do know couples need time apart… God knows that holds true for myself and the good lady wife," he added with relatively little humour.
Spikings at last stood up to go.
"I just know I need her to do my job," Dempsey said. "And you have my word that whatever else I need her for won't interfere with that."
"We'll see won't we."
Dempsey nodded once solemnly in acknowledgement of his boss' acceptance.
"Right then, Lieutenant, let's go and extricate your girlfriend…" he managed to make it sound like Dempsey was in short pants and Harry wore her hair in pigtails, "from this particular fix she seems to have got herself into."