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“Enough,” Charlie said. “I need to talk to you, and I’m trusting you to keep what I say confidential. You have to trust that I’m telling the truth.”
“What happens if we aren’t trustworthy?” Patsy asked.
“We all lose our jobs,” Charlie said, “and the people who covered up the assaults on young women get away with it.”
“And if we are trustworthy?” Patsy sat forward in her chair, chin on her hands, looking at Charlie for an answer. But it was Eddy who replied.
“Probably the same.” He held his hand up to prevent another question from Patsy. “But if we don’t at least try, the bad guys are bound to win.”
“Do, or don’t do,” Patsy said with a grin. She and Eddy chorused: “there is no try.”
Mags gave an audible sigh. “There’s a notice on the door saying we’ll be re-opening in an hour.”
Charlie smiled. It was ridiculous, but the squabbling felt like the beginnings of teamwork, in an odd kind of way.
“Mags is right,” he said. “We haven’t got long. So here it is.”
He told them what Mal Kent had told him, about how they were on their own, about Jared Brody, and about the phone call from Nigel Harrington-Bowen. Then he took a deep breath.
“I’m only a DS, but I’m the ranking police officer so I used Harrington-Bowen’s office. The place is a mess. I sorted out the files he’d left. Most of them are about fairly minor crimes. There are two cases alleging sexual misconduct by his sergeant: Jared Brody. I also found some disturbing evidence that either Harrison-Bowen has been set up, or that he was abusing his position … and if he was, it was probably to get sexual favours.”
Mags dropped her mug. It didn’t break, but cold coffee splashed onto her trousers and dribbled onto the floor.
“Shit. Sorry.” She produced a tissue from her pocket and began dabbing at the liquid. Her face had gone white.
“Mags?” Charlie said.
Mags carried in trying to clean up.
Eddy leaned over and picked up the mug. He reached for the roll of kitchen paper and handed it to Mags.
“I caught him,” Mags said, “in his office with a woman. You know … having sex. I think he was in the middle of a divorce, and not his first. I thought he was a total creep, but some women liked him.”
“Creep, IMO.” Patsy said. “He tried it on with me once and I threatened to kick him in the balls. He said I’d never make it out of probation. I said I’d report him for harassment. He’d been reported before.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Eddy asked.
Patsy shrugged. “He’s a stupid man. Left the letter with the disciplinary hearing date in the photocopier. I took a copy for myself, then I gave him the original back. He knew I’d read it.”
“Jesus,” Eddy said, “remind me not to get on the wrong side of you.”
“Don’t be a creep, and you won’t,” Patsy said. “Though to be completely fair, Brody was a bigger creep. He used to send pop-up dick pics to women officers’ computers.”
“There was a data stick in the desk drawer” Charlie said, wresting control of the meeting back, making a mental note to come back to Jared Brody. “It has a pornographic video. I thought it must have been planted. Maybe I’m wrong. If I am, we’ve got some leverage. But regardless of that, we need to find out who set fire to the cars in the yard, why someone, probably Brody, sent that bogus email from Superintendent Kent, and what happened to the two students. So, reports please. Eddy?”
“White van man, aka Molotov cocktail man,” Eddy said. “Two people saw him well enough to give me a description. Young man, skinny, grey trackies, black trainers, black bomber jacket, black gloves, and a faded black baseball cap with some kind of white logo, pulled low to cover his face. Not pulled low enough to hide a pathetic ginger beard. Pathetic in that it’s a pathetic amount of hair, not that it’s ginger. One of the witnesses is from the hairdresser across the road, the other is an old gent from the house next door to here. Neither of them saw the van arrive, but they heard the crash and went to look. Both of them saw him run off towards the playing fields. From there he can basically disappear into the woods, or back into town.”
“What’s really interesting,” Eddy went on, “is that the owner of the white van used it for his gardening business.”
“Petrol, for all that gardening equipment,” Mags interrupted,
“Petrol,” Eddy confirmed. “Petrol and an apprentice. A young lad called Gwilym. I can’t help wondering what Gwilym looks like.”
“Find out,” Charlie said. Eddy nodded. Then he looked sadly into the cookie bag, shook the last crumbs out onto his hand and licked them up.
“Gross,” Mags said.
“Don’t start,” Charlie said. “Mags. What about Vitruvious?”
