Sorry for the delay! Got sidetracked by another story!
"Nothing on any of the three arson victims," John said, coming to stand in front of her desk. "No records, not even a whiff of any dealings with the police."
"What, nothing at all?"
"Nope," he shook his head. "Clean as a whistle, apparently."
She sat back and sighed, "So no connections that might have led to any of them coming under attack?"
"No. So where does that take us?"
"It must be personal then. The first and third victims are cousins, so let's go to St Hughes and speak to Mr Aziz, see if he can tell us anything useful." Lifting her bag, the two of them made their way down the corridor towards the stairs.
"Was the DI giving you a hard time about your husband's interview?" John asked suddenly.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, I could tell by the look on your face when you came out his office that you weren't pleased."
"And that has to be because he was asking about my husband rather than him just being a complete arsehole in general?"
John laughed, "Suit yourself."
She shook her head, "Yeah, he mentioned it. Like most people, he seems to like sticking the boot in every now and again."
"Well, like I said before, your husband's got a reputation in the job, a good one," he clarified. "So, if they're basing it on merit alone…"
"Yeah, but you and I both know that not what it's about," she said, as they stepped out into the car park. "Frank knows that too. I suppose it's more about how he handles it at the end of the day."
"I'm sure he'll handle it fine."
"Yeah, I'm sure he will." She tried not to think about it as John drove them to the hospital, but it was almost impossible. She wanted to be a fly on the wall, to hear what they were saying and what they were asking him, to defend him, if needs be, not that her voice would count for much. The little wife. Everything could change on a dime depending on whether or not he got the promotion. Their lives could be very different in a short space of time if the board just went the right way and yet, she couldn't help but feel that the odds were stacked against them.
Interviewing Mr Aziz helped to push the thoughts from her mind. He wasn't badly injured, a few minor burns and some smoke inhalation, but adamant that the same people who had targeted him had targeted his cousin.
"Why would someone want to set fire to both your premises?" John asked.
"I don't know, but it was definitely them."
"But who's them?"
"I don't know, do I?"
"You must have some idea."
"I don't!"
"Mr Aziz…" she stepped forwards. "There isn't a marauding gang of arsonists going around this ground trying to burn down random shops. If your cousin was targeted and you were targeted then you must have some idea why. Have you had any threats recently?" He said nothing. "All right, what about Mr Patel?"
"What about him?"
"Well, his place got done over after your cousin's place."
"So?"
"My colleague, WDC Fraser said that, when she talked to you earlier, you seemed quite pleased about it. So, is there something going on here that you'd like to tell us about? Should we be warning any of Mr Patel's family that own premises that they could be next?" He looked away. "Come on, you lost your cat, didn't you? What if that had been one of your kids? What if, next time, it is someone's kid?"
"All right…" Mr Aziz sighed, "I'll tell you."
XXXX
Frank glanced at his watch. They'd been going for almost half an hour and, so far, there didn't seem to be any natural conclusion in sight. He wasn't one for getting stressed under pressure, but he couldn't definitely feel a rivulet of sweat running down his back as they continued to question him.
"Some senior figures in the legal system have been talking about an officer corps in the police. Graduate entry for inspectors and those above," McCann asked. "What's your view on that, Mr Burnside?"
"Well, if it came, I'd have to live with it, but I don't like the idea. It would make your average constable feel like a second-class citizen and he or she would have no great prospects of advancement in the job. And after all, they're the ones who have the real responsibility for what happens on the street." Getting in a compliment about uniform would surely have to go his favour, prove he wasn't 'out of touch' in CID.
"You're not impressed by graduate coppers then?" Wisney asked.
"I'm not prejudiced on the subject, but I don't think an academic qualification can tell you if someone's got the right stuff or not."
Gable looked at him. "Be better placed to make that judgement if you had a degree yourself, wouldn't you?"
"Well, unfortunately sir with my particular career pattern, there's never been a point where I could conveniently take the time off."
"Same here Mr Burnside," Wisney agreed. "But I didn't take the time off. I beavered away with the Open University. Sacrificed some leisure, but I found it well worthwhile in the end."
"Well, I find that totally admirable sir," he replied, well aware that once again, he had failed to impress them. "I'm just not the scholarly type."
"Does anyone have anything else?" McCann asked, glancing at his fellow interviewers.
"No," Wisney and Gable both responded.
"Thank you for talking to us Mr Burnside," McCann said, and he knew he had been dismissed.
"Sir." Rising from his chair, he headed towards the door.
"As this is the last day of the board, you'll be put out of your misery before too long," McCann reassured him.
"Thank you, sir." Opening the door, he stepped out into the corridor and closed it behind him again before letting out a long breath. Fortunately, the male bathroom was right across the way and he pushed the door open and hurried inside, loosening his tie and top button as he did so. To his relief, it was empty and he ran the cold water tap viciously before dousing his face and then staring at himself in the mirror. It could have been worse, but then it could also have been so much better. For the little they had asked about Christina, there had been plenty there to trip him up, particularly that nugget at the end about graduate coppers. Maybe he should have spun them a line, or at least make his own views on the subject sound more forward thinking. But then, he wouldn't have been being true to himself and he wasn't there just to pander to them.
Finally composed, he made his way back to the reception area and handed back his visitor's badge before heading outside in the cool air. The day wasn't yet over and he still had to show face back at the station. Hopefully it wouldn't take long for him to find out which way it had swung.
XXXX
"Sex? It's about sex?"
"Apparently, Morag, it is."
"But who sets fire to a shop because of who someone's shagging?"
"These people apparently," she said, leaning back against her desk. "Mr Mahmood's daughter has apparently been seeing Mr Patel's son, something which is a bit of a no-no as the family's don't get on and haven't done for years."
"Romeo and Juliet," John piped up.
"Apparently, Mr Mahmood spoke to Mr Patel about it because he wanted to try and sort it out amicably, but Mr Patel didn't take too kindly to this and a few nights later, the first attack took place on Mr Mahmood's shop."
"By people connected to Mr Patel?" Morag asked.
"Yes, but Mr Aziz couldn't give us any names. All he knows is that the person, or persons, involved are known to Mr Patel. When the attack happened, Mr Mahmood was understandably furious and arranged for reprisals."
"Again, Mr Aziz wouldn't give us any names," John said. "He's scared, and he's got every right to be. He had nothing to do with any of it and then he gets targeted himself."
"So, what's next?" Peter asked. "They just keep burning down buildings until someone gets killed?"
"There don't appear to be any more shops in the immediate family, Guv," she said, "but that could of course mean that things start to get more personal, with attacks on family members, for example."
"What do they want us to do about it? It's not like we can give twenty-four hour protection to a bunch of Asians, nor would we want to."
She blanched slightly at his casual racism but chose to plough on. "We need to bring in Mr Patel for questioning. For all intents and purposes, he started this by arranging the first attack. But I reckon we'll need to be subtle about it."
"Subtle?" Peter looked at her disparagingly. "In what sense?"
"By not doing it today. Leave it overnight, and then pick him up tomorrow."
"And what does that achieve, exactly, except potentially leave us wide open for their being some other attack tonight?"
"I don't know, call it instinct," she said. "I reckon if we got at him today, he'll clam up. Give him time to think about it. After all, if it's true to pattern, someone he cares about would be in line to be targeted next."
"And what's to say they won't be?"
"Mr Aziz was quite clear that he would make it known in the family that we were aware of what was going on, and that we recognised that his family were the victims."
"They were only the victims until such time as they organised a counter attack," Peter said. "They're all as bad as each other."
"I think Chris is right, Guv," John said. "Leave it tonight and let us speak to Mr Patel in the morning."
She held her boss's gaze as it only grew more contemptuous. "Fine. If WDS Lewis thinks she's so right about this, let her run with it. But if this goes pear shaped, it'll be your tits in the fire, understood?"
"Yes Guv," she replied coolly. "Understood."
XXXX
"Yep, thanks," Jack put the phone down. "They'll get back to us as soon as they've got the results."
"Thanks boss. I appreciate this." He watched as Jack pulled out a bottle of whisky and filled two glasses, sliding one over to him. He stared down into the honey-coloured liquid, reliving all that had happened that afternoon. He had relayed most of it to Jack, almost eager for some reason to get the other man's opinion, even though he knew they were at odds on certain matters. He had listened impassively, giving nothing away as to what he might really think. "All that stuff they slung at me about women…do you reckon Kim Reid put the spoke in? They mentioned her."
"Well, who knows what they scribble down on our personal files. Doesn't mean they'll blow you out…necessarily."
"Trouble is, once you get a bit of a reputation in this job, people are all too willing to think the worst. I mean, would you believe it, there are stories going round that I shoved a prisoner's head down the Kazie."
"Gossip, it's the curse of our business."
"They got it all wrong anyway. He wasn't a prisoner." He paused again. "I thought they might have made more of what happened between me and Chris, particularly when they asked me about supervision."
"Perhaps they didn't think it would be professional. A formal interview not's really the place to start raking mud, is it?"
"No, I suppose you're right." The phone on Jack's desk suddenly starting ringing and he felt his insides freeze and start to churn together as he watched the other man answer it.
"DCI Meadows…yup…right." Jack replaced the receiver and then met his gaze. "Better luck next time."
Disappointment flooded him, as well as anger and irritation, but he knew he couldn't let his boss see that. He was probably hoping for some sort of breakdown. "Oh well, win some lose some."
"Maybe they just thought you weren't quite ready."
"Yeah…well by my reckoning, I'm a bit overdue." Draining his glass, he set it back down on the desk. "Goodnight Jack."
"Goodnight Frank."
He left Jack's office without a backward glance and headed straight for the stairs. It would be all over the station within hours that he had failed, that he had been turned down, cast aside, told he wasn't quite good enough or not quite ready, as Jack had alluded to. Not ready? Of course he was ready. He'd been a DI for the best part of five years. He had proved himself time and time again, was good at his job, commanded respect…how could they have thought he wasn't ready? The reality was it had to be because of Christina. The board were clearly making some sort of statement about his judgment, and they had obviously only accepted his application in order to get him there to eyeball him and make him feel uncomfortable. Jack was right; it wouldn't have been the forum for mud raking, but they had certainly made it clear that they were aware of what he had done, and their view of it.
Opening the car door, he put the key in the ignition, turned on the engine and then waited. She would be at home, waiting for him, wanting to know how it had gone and what had been said. He knew he should go straight there, confide in her, put on a brave face and act as though he really didn't care, when deep down he felt destroyed. But he didn't want to face her, didn't want to see her pity or hear her platitudes.
So, he headed for the pub instead.
XXXX
By eleven o'clock, she had started to grow worried. His appointment had been just after two and it couldn't have lasted more than an hour. Even taking into account waiting to hear the decision, he should have been home hours earlier. In her heart, she wanted to believe that he had been successful and that he and some of the others had gone out to celebrate. But in her head, she knew that, had that been the case, he would have told her, so the radio silence only led towards her thinking the worst.
Lifting the phone, she dialled his office number only for it to ring out at the other end. She tried Viv's number, just on the off chance that someone might be there, but there was no reply. On a whim, she tried Jack's number, but almost to her relief there was no reply there either. He might have found it odd that she had felt the need to get her information from him as opposed to her own husband.
Turning off the television, she moved into the bedroom and got into her nightclothes, scrubbing her face and cleaning her teeth before sliding into bed. Laying back against the pillows, she felt her eyes grow heavy, the fatigue of the day catching up with her. Just as she thought she might drift off, however, she heard the sound of the front door opening and then closing and she hurried out of the bed and through into the hallway, where she could see light coming from the kitchen.
"Frank?" He was standing at the sink and paused before turning to look at her. Although he was steady on his feet, she could immediately tell that he had been drinking. "Where have you been?" she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral rather than accusatory. "I thought you were going to ring me."
"I didn't get the chance."
"It's after eleven." He said nothing. "So, what happened?"
"What do you think happened?"
"Well, by your tone, I'm guessing that you weren't successful."
"You're a great detective," he replied sarcastically. "No wonder you made sergeant."
Hurt pricked at her, but as he turned away from her again, she felt anger overtake it. In the past, when Stewart had spoken to her like that, she had taken it. She had turned away and tried not to let him know how his words had made her feel. This time…this marriage…she wasn't going to let that happen. "Don't speak to me like that." He turned back to look at her, the surprise evident on his face. "I'm not just the 'little woman' in the kitchen that you don't feel you need to explain yourself to. You don't just come waltzing in here at almost midnight without having the courtesy to speak civilly to me and explain where you've been."
He leaned back against the worktop. "I didn't get it and I didn't feel like coming home straight away to analyse it all, ok? So, I went for a few drinks."
"On your own?"
"No, I rang Fiona, asked her to go with me and then I bent her over the bar and had my wicked way with her."
"You don't have to…"
"Of course I was on my own." He shook his head. "Jack said maybe the board didn't think I was ready…Christ…." She said nothing, waiting for him to continue. "They never came right out and said it, but I could probably cite at least two main reasons for me not getting it."
"Which are?"
"Kim Reid…and you."
Ignoring the obvious bait, she chose instead to focus on the other woman. "Why Reid?"
"Oh, come on, why do you think? She didn't like me, didn't like my methods and when she got the chance, she stuck the knife in. They asked me about her, about our working relationship…" he shook his head again. "I bet she'll be having a right good laugh at my expense tonight. Not to mention the fact I reckon the board only wanted to see me so they could ask about you."
"What did they say?"
"They knew about you being promoted and shipped to Barton Street. Alluded to the fact that you'd done well 'in spite' of me, then said it must be an advantage for you to be married to a DI."
"Because you're going to be instrumental in my promotion chances over the next few years?"
"I'm just telling you what they said."
She paused, "I'm sorry."
"Yeah well, I'll live. How was your day anyway?"
"It was fine as far as it goes. We've got a spate of arsons at the moment so…" she trailed off as he moved past her back into the living room, pulling off his tie and undoing his top button before flopping down on the couch. Clearly his question had really not been one for which he'd been looking for a response and asked merely to give the impression that he was interested. "I'd just gone to bed when you came in," she changed tact. "Might do you good to turn in too."
"Yeah," he replied, his gaze on the ceiling. "I'll be there in a bit."
She knew she could be more forceful, but there seemed little point, so she headed back to the bedroom and climbed back into bed, leaving the light on for a good ten minutes in case he should come in, then admitting defeat and switching it off. Sleep must have come upon her quickly, for the next thing she knew she was jerking awake, the room dark and the bed next to her empty. Once orientated, she slipped out of bed again and back through to the living room, finding him almost in the same position as before, except fast asleep with a half-drunk bottle of whisky on the table.
She toyed with waking him then decided against it. Lifting a blanket from the back of the couch, she placed it over him and then went back to bed. This time, she couldn't sleep, a feeling of déjà vu playing over and over in her mind. If this was going to be how he intended to react to bad news, perhaps the crimson stain on the toilet paper hadn't been the worst outcome of that month after all.
21 October
He woke the next morning feeling like death warmed up.
Once she had gone to bed, he had found a bottle of whisky in the cupboard and proceeded to drink most of it until he had fallen into the sleep of the oblivious. Wakening in an unnatural position on the couch, fully dressed, didn't exactly bode well for an energetic start to the morning. His head was thumping, his mouth was as dry as a badger's arse, none of which was helped by the noise coming from the kitchen.
"Christ, what are you doing in here, renovating?" he asked, as he made his way to the doorway. She looked up at him from her position crouched down in front of one the cupboards. "Do you possess any aspirin along with your sledgehammer?"
"In the cupboard above the sink," she replied, pulling out two bowls. "Do you want cereal?"
"No. Any coffee?"
"In the pot. Toast?"
"No," his stomach turned over at the very thought of food. "I don't want anything." Rooting in the cupboard, he found the box of pills and filled a glass with water. Though she was busy behind him, sorting out her own breakfast, he could feel waves of tension radiating from her that only served to irk him.
"Look, I know you're upset about what happened yesterday…"
"Jesus, if I'm about to get a lecture, can we save it until later?"
"All I was going to say was, I've lived with one drunk husband and I'm not about to start living with another."
"Oh, give it a rest," he threw the pills into his mouth and drained the water glass. "It was one night for Christ's sake."
"Yeah, and that's what he said at the beginning."
"Don't compare me to him."
"Don't act like him then. I mean it, Frank. I'm not going to take from you what I took from him."
"So, I'm never allowed to have a drink then?"
"That's not what I'm saying…"
"You do realise that some men, most men in fact, are capable of drinking alcohol without trying to rape or murder their wives, don't you?"
"That's a ridiculous thing to say and you know it!"
"Is it!" he turned to look at her. "No more ridiculous than you suggesting that me having a drink one night to get over some bad news is proof I'm heading for alcoholism!" She glared at him before moving around the kitchen banging cupboard doors and slamming cups down onto the counter in a manner that could only be described as provoking. "What's the matter with you anyway? You on your period?"
She froze momentarily as she reached for the coffee pot before pouring the hot liquid into a waiting cup. "Yeah, that's it. The only reason I'm allowed to be upset about anything is because it's my time of the month."
"I'm the one who's supposed to be upset! Funny how you've managed to turn this around to make me out to be the bad guy and you the victim."
"All right, fine." She slammed the pot back down and let out a long breath before turning back to look at him. "I'm sorry you didn't get it, really, I am. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think they would give you a bit of a hard time, but I genuinely thought that, despite you and me, you would have been a shoo in for it. And…I don't mean to give you a hard time about last night, I just…I don't expect you to understand what it used to be like every night wondering what state he was going to be in and every morning seeing the hangovers. Sometimes it feels like a million years ago and other times, as if it was yesterday. But you're not like him, I know you're not so…I'm sorry I suggested you were."
Reading her expression, he could tell that there was something more to it, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but her admission was enough to quell his anger. "Yeah well, I'm sorry too. I should have come home when I said I would but having a few jars and passing out on the couch once in a blue moon doesn't make me a Stewart Church wannabe."
"I know."
"All right then, truce?"
She nodded, "Truce."
"Good," he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. "We've only got each other, you know. We need to stick together." She nodded, but said nothing, and when he pulled back, he saw that her eyes were red. "Come on, don't cry. It's only a setback. There's bound to be other opportunities, other promotion boards." It was difficult to say the words, and he knew it would take time to bounce back from the disappointment, but he also knew that, to carry on, he had to believe in what he was saying. She nodded mutely, but he wasn't convinced. "Is something else bothering you?"
"No," she replied, moving away from him and wiping her eyes. "Just time of the month, like you said."
It suddenly struck him, the realisation of the purpose for why he had been granted unfettered and unprotected access to her over the last three months, and the fact that her ultimate desire was clearly unfulfilled. He wasn't sure exactly what to say feeling, as he did, that kids would be nice but weren't a necessity for his future happiness the way they clearly seemed to be for hers. "You're not pregnant then." The words came out more clumsily than he had intended, and he felt himself wince at the sound of them.
"Pregnant?" she repeated, as though the thought had never crossed her mind. "Oh…no, I wasn't expecting to be." Lifting the cereal box from the counter, she stared at it and then set it back down. "On second thoughts, I think I'll just get something from the canteen. This stuff tastes like cardboard." She turned back and flashed him a smile. "So, how do you think the others will react."
"I'm sure they'll be thrilled to know they aren't getting rid of me. I suppose some of them might talk behind my back but, well, nothing new about that."
"No, I suppose not."
He paused, "You sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, totally fine. Disappointed for you, obviously, but otherwise fine." She nodded rather more emphatically than she needed to, and he elected to back away from further conversation on the matter. "Well, I'd better be going. I'll see you tonight?"
"Yeah, I'll be home for dinner."
"Good," she kissed him quickly. "I'll see you then."
XXXX
"Well?"
"Well what?" she asked, as Morag fell into step beside her as they climbed the stairs towards the CID office.
"How did Frank get on?"
"Oh…that," she paused, trying to think of a way of telling the truth without, in fact, telling the truth. "He didn't get it," she eventually replied.
"Oh…sorry to hear that."
"Yeah, well you know what it's like. He obviously just drew a difficult board."
"Oh, definitely. Another board, another day…"
"Yeah, exactly. It's not as if he's not qualified for the role."
"No, of course not." Morag paused as they reached their desks. "Next time then."
"Yes," she nodded, meeting the other woman's gaze in the knowledge that they understood each other. "Next time."
