CIB
Tensions were tight, lips were sealed and emotions were exquisitely painful. The interview had lasted for an hour and a half. Rob shifted his weight from one foot to the other as his back stiffened from standing for so long. Steve was itching to punch the man in the interview room. Brian rubbed his temple as his head physically ached from assimilating and accommodating what he'd been hearing. Gerry wanted to take the bastard by the collar, push him against a wall and ask him if he had any idea what he'd done or whether he was just saying the words.
Sandra and Carrie had sat patiently through a pretty little speech about drug dealing in the nineties; an opinionated tirade about alcoholic officers; and a damning insight into prehistoric views on mental illness. Then they'd gone in for the kill, very softly and very slowly. Letting out the knowledge that they knew he didn't know they knew until the man had enough rope to hang himself on tape without even noticing until it was too late.
Pride filled the observation room as the four men watched and listened to the two women work. Each prowling subtly around their prey, weaving the net that would catch him. Tempers completely in check in the serene atmosphere in the interview room, the only interruption of personal views had been from the man they were interviewing. All of his political calm had been exhausted and the power of his discriminate opinions had been exposed by the two tigresses deftly manipulating their victim with silk-gloves.
Placing one question neutrally into the conversation, Carrie mentally stepped back and gave Sandra the all-clear to take the bastard down. They had him precisely where they wanted him. He didn't know that they had all the cards. The pathologist, the DI, the honesty of humanity was going to be his downfall. It restored a little faith in human nature at least.
Sandra readied herself for the pounce as he unconsciously tied himself in the fishing line that Carrie had laid in front of him. She was going to have this sorry excuse for a copper. He'd deliberately set Brian up to fail; he'd made sure that Brian was left alone with Kaye. Then he'd waited. He'd set the trap and he'd waited for his moment. Now it was her turn, she felt every syllable the bastard spilled, picked her entry point and struck.
The blaze roared. Confessions of machination fled the man's lips unbidden as he tripped and fell over the stumbling stone aptly placed by his able adversaries. The Who: Anthony Kaye. The Why: he was the pawn of a dangerous player. The Who: Brian Lane. The Why: he wasn't going to be missed.
"…he was an alcoholic for Christ's sake! You've seen the quack's note! He was about ready to be sectioned anyway! I'm surprised he wasn't, from what I've heard about afterwards! You don't understand…"
"No," Sandra interrupted him before he could say anything else that would incite her to leap across the table and take him out. "I don't understand how you could destroy a man's career without a second thought or how you could take a young man's life because you wanted leverage over a drug dealer. I don't understand why you couldn't find another way. I fail to comprehend how you could think that was the right way to do the job."
He squirmed, reared, fumed, struggled and sagged. They had him and he knew it. He raised his eyes and shot a poisonous glare at Sandra Pullman as she looked him square in the eye and arrested him for the murder of Anthony Kaye in police custody. Two uniformed officers entered the room and stood behind him. This was the end of the line. Anthony Kaye had been murdered. Not by Brian. He'd been set up. They'd been ready to finish him. The Met had shielded the man responsible. For thirteen years Brian had been waiting for this result. To see who was mad and who wasn't. In order to expose one criminal, the man now under caution had murdered another. It wasn't the way it worked. As DI Carrie Grant arrested the man who Brian had trusted and never suspected on charges of corruption and he was led away, the breath that he'd been holding for thirteen years was released.
"She's CIB," Sandra fumed. "You brought in a CIB officer with a case file against the same man we were chasing. Why the hell didn't you tell us?"
Rob stood opposite her in her office, the blinds were open, the door was ajar. He faced down the full fury of the woman in front of him as she stood angrily rightfully accusing him of keeping her in the dark. She was livid.
"Would it have done any good?" he asked trying to keep his own temper in check. "You were always going to need an independent officer to come in on this case. You know that. And yes, as soon as I realised where the snake in this case lay I made the connection with the files DI Grant had brought to my attention."
"You used us," she raged. "You made us the go-betweens, the catalysts for catching out a man you were already after! And you couldn't even be honest about it!"
"You had enough to worry about!" he heatedly replied. "What good would it have done for your focus to be blurred by anything else the bastard had done? No-one ever said that this case was going to be an easy ride! Would you have preferred to find out that Brian really had been at fault? That it really hadn't been a set up?"
"Of course not," she gritted her teeth. She thought about Brian, he'd looked exhausted when they'd emerged finally from the interview and observation rooms. She'd sent the boys down the pub. There was no chance of them doing any work that afternoon. The last few days had taken enough out of them. Even thinking about imagining a different outcome was impossible yet.
"For you to achieve a true result on this case, you had to concentrate on what you were dealing with! Not be distracted by the thought that there might have been something more to it," he tried to level his tone with little avail. "I didn't tell you, because I was trying to protect you, all of you. It wouldn't have helped Brian to give him false hope knowing that that hopeless excuse for a police officer was suspected of being bent! I couldn't risk that. DI Grant was the right person to bring in. You know that, and I know you do. And I'm not going to apologise! I am your commanding officer Sandra. And I'm sorry if I can't always be completely honest with you, but that's just the way it has to be sometimes!"
The silence that fell following his outraged speech was as thick as treacle. She watched his chest rise and fall as he calmed, waiting for her reply. She knew he was right, really. She'd just been pissed off.
"I thought you weren't going to apologise," she said tight-lipped, as she prepared to admit defeat.
"Sandra…" he growled, readying himself for another round.
"I've missed this," she said quietly shrugging one shoulder and glancing away for a moment. The thought had caught her unawares but her subconscious quickly recognised its intentions and meanings and decided to run with it anywhere. It was easier than starting another argument at any rate.
He narrowed his eyes, temporarily thrown off-guard. "What do you mean?"
"This," she smiled. "Do you realise that we haven't had a massive row for like two months now? I've missed it."
Laughing, he stepped toward her and lifted a hand, stroking her cheek gently. "We have been rather tamed recently," he agreed.
"Can't imagine why," she flirted, running her hand over his shoulder and playing with the hairs at the base of his neck.
Smiling he lowered his lips to hers. Relaxing against each other, it took the chirruping of her desk phone to remind them where they were. Breaking apart reluctantly she lifted the receiver; "Pullman, UCOS?"
"Put him down, you're wine's getting warm," Gerry's teasing tones came down the line. "I assume that's who you're with anyway, but you can celebrate with him later. Meanwhile…"
She looked down at where Rob's finger was firmly pushed against the little button that cut off the call. She followed his eyes as they flicked toward the now closed door and lowered blinds. Feeling like a teenager, she replaced the receiver and moved the things from the centre of her desk to the edges. Her wine could get warm; later couldn't wait.