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“You know what this interview is about, constable?”
“The chief super said to think of it as more like a briefing, sir. Informal chat.”
James levels his best pleasantly menacing smile at the bloke. “Oh, I do think it’s best to use the proper terms for things, don’t you?” Hargreave just gazes straight back at him. James drops the smile. “And why do you want this assignment, then? Why have you applied?”
“Well, no-one wants it really, do they? Except Gray did, last time, before he got his permanent assignment. But this week, chief super told us a successful spell with your inspector would be looked upon favourably when it comes to applying for sergeant positions at this station. And then rumour has it you might be leaving...”
“Well, rumour obviously has it wrong.”
***
A month, that’s all James is taking. Two weeks unpaid leave on top of the leave he’s accrued.
Because, last Friday evening, Robbie had lowered his pint glass, fixed his gaze on a coxless four making their way past on the river and casually said that he’d decided another year before he retired could do no harm. Could always get up to Manchester more often, even while still he was in the job, couldn’t he? And he’d flicked a sudden, very appraising, glance at James.
“Yes, sir,” James had said slowly, after the longest of pauses, feeling something shift and settle within him; agreeing to more than the Manchester comment.
Which Robbie had understood. He’d delivered the smallest of nods in the direction of the river, imperceptible to anyone but James. All right, then, that nod had said. And: “Robbie,” Robbie had said aloud, delivering the reminder with an unusual emphasis.
“Robbie,” repeated James. Of course. Because this wasn’t an order from his governor that he, as his sergeant, was obeying. It was an offer from Robbie that James was accepting. An offer that was making the low-key anxiety, a recent undercurrent to his days, begin to dissipate. Back on solid ground. But if he was to do this, he needed to be capable of doing his job the way he felt it should be done. So he could live with himself while doing it. “Might take a bit of time first, myself,” he had found himself saying, half-apologetically. The river, he was thinking inconsequentially, deliberate? symmetrical.
“You’ll take whatever you need,” Robbie had said, unruffled. “And you’ll let me know if you need anything squared with Herself.” And both had let their focus drift back to the coxless four, absorbing.
So James is staying on for now; but he finds himself grateful for the leave. Get his head straight. Or he would be, if it wasn’t for this thorny matter of his temporary replacement. There’s a job to be done here.
Although, obviously, it’s not the job Innocent actually intended him to do when she entrusted him with this task.
***
“You’ll need a fair bit of background knowledge on some fairly esoteric topics, constable. Just to give you an idea of what’s come in handy for cases: ancient languages, a good grounding in literature, Shakespeare, of course, the romantic poets, the Ring Cycle—”
“Oh, I can google with the best of them.”
Google? That’s a bit—insulting. James drops back slightly in his seat and fixes his best disbelieving stare on this bloke. It’s the one he employs to very good effect in the interrogation room. It makes suspects seem almost compelled to blurt out something after a moment. And, this past week, interviewees.
But Hargreave just smiles back. Oh. Interesting. James leans forward again, confidingly. “D’you know, working with Inspector Lewis, it tends to be eventful. In my time with him, so far, I’ve been shot, poisoned with arsenic, sedated and almost burnt alive, stabbed with a hypodermic needle and taken a swim in a cesspool of raw sewage with massive lethal revolving knife blades.”
“And that was all his fault?” asks Hargreave in polite disbelief.
“No,” says James evenly. “Most of it was in the course of duty. He just employs a very active method of investigation.” And how come you’re not thrown by the bit about the sewage?
“Sounds a lot more exciting than the week I’ve just put in,” muses Hargreave.
But James is suddenly distracted by a slight movement of Hargreave’s hand. “I see you’re married, constable. Any kids?”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me personal questions in an interview setting, sir.”
Not really an interview, though, is it? Just making small talk, putting you at ease.”
“I thought you said it was best to call things by their proper names, sir?”
"Trying to help you out here, Hargreave. Lots of late nights involved. Once he gets involved in an active case—well, I eat, sleep and live it really. There’s always one more lead to follow up. Don’t think I can remember the last time I got out of here at a reasonable hour.” Yesterday. It was yesterday.
“That won’t be a problem. Keen to get on. Late nights are part of the territory.”
Okay. Then—Oh God, this bit. No wonder I keep leaving it to the end. “Look, I’ll just let you know that my boss—he’s rather—cantankerous, for want of a better word. Taciturn. Quite unrelenting and reductionist in his approach.”
“I’m sure I could cope with that. Prefer a bit of grumpiness to the overhearty pleasant types. Can’t be doing with that.”
Has he been working with Peterson? James gives him a nod, and then thinks the better of it, as Hargreave rises to go. Best observe the formalities. “Have you any questions, constable? Anything you’d like to add?”
Hargreave pauses at the door. “We off the record here?”
James raises an enquiring eyebrow.
“The other DCs, they seem to be a bit intimidated by you, sir. That’s why no-one except Gray wanted this, first time you went on leave. No-one wants to step on anyone’s toes. And these interviews, they’ve just confirmed that for them. They think you’re trying to protect your job now, think you’re making sure no-one replaces you.”
“And what do you think?”
“I don’t know what on earth you’re at. But it’s been entertaining, I’ll give you that. Livened up the day a bit.”
You like to spar. James gives him another nod. Could be slight approval, could be just dismissal. Always best to leave them guessing.
***
Robbie is at his desk when James gets back to the office. “Been interviewing yet another one, have you, sergeant?”
“Mmm.” James settles at his own desk. He could really get one or two last-minute tasks done, he supposes. Not essential but just to clear his desk completely for his time off. He’s somewhat lacking in concentration though. He’s strangely tired these days.
“Any better luck this time?”
“Yes, actually.”
“At the eleventh hour, eh? Well, I can see why you’ve been having problems. They’re a bit strange, all right, this bunch, aren’t they?”
James nods, with his best regretful expression. Robbie frowns at his computer screen. “I seem to have acquired a bit of a reputation amongst them as cantankerous, would you believe?”
Oh. “Well, the office door was open on Wednesday morning when your computer crashed, sir. You were a bit too—distracted—to notice that. I’m sure they’ll understand some day, when they’re faced with the prospect of redoing their own monthly stats.”
“There’s words like taciturn and reductionist floating around. ‘S’funny, ‘cause I’d’ve thought most folk around here’d just use the word grumpy.”
“Some of them probably got word of the day calendars for Christmas. You can even get an app for that now, sir.”
You’ll need someone who can see through the grumpy façade. Who’s not intimidated by you. Someone to banter with, someone to make you smile. You don’t like it if you snap at someone and they seem a bit cowed. Because, really, you’re too bloody nice and it makes you feel guilty if you think you’ve intimidated them. Then you get gruff and they get more cowed. Vicious circle. Can’t have that.
Robbie is still talking to his screen, frowning now. “Innocent seems to have got wind of their views—took it upon herself to mention I might want to make a bit more of an effort with them.”
Well, all right, that wasn’t meant to happen. Might have overplayed that one. But you don’t mind that much, really, do you, sir?
“Morse’d be well tickled I’ve taken over his mantle as station curmudgeon,” says Robbie to himself, amused. “He found me too bloody cheery by half a lot of the time.”
God, I’d love to have known you back then. I know how you’re still an optimist about people underneath it all. I know you. But the things your old colleagues say about you being that cheery and going undercover as a cricketer and wearing ridiculous costumes at charity fetes and using the Jag as a roadblock. I’d love to have seen you like that.
Robbie’s tone shifts slightly, to something more puzzled. “And then I overheard two of ‘em in the canteen going on about how you need to have gone to bloody Oxbridge these days to take part in a murder investigation, the range of knowledge you have to have.”
“I’ve always said we should expand the graduate entry program. It’s proved to attract a higher calibre of applicants, hasn’t it?” says James gravely.
I couldn’t give a toss if they went to university, but you’ll need someone bright that you’re willing to bounce ideas off, because they give you something back. I’m not having you get so frustrated, working with one of them, that you assume most of the weight of an investigation on your own shoulders. Not having you wear yourself out.
The multiple clicks of Robbie’s mouse start to inform James that he’s shutting down documents, prelude to finishing up. “Best start shutting up shop for the weekend, sergeant, some people round here seem to think I’ve been overworking you.”
“They do?”
“Yeah. Laura had a bit of a go last night, after she heard something from somebody about the long hours you’ve been putting in.”
“Oh, that’s a shame, sir.”
“‘S’funny, actually, ‘cause I could’ve sworn you left the office when I did, every evening this week.”
“I did, yes,” says James nodding. “Seem to be an awful lot of baseless rumours floating around at the moment, though. I mean—calling you cantankerous? Slanderous assault on your character, that, sir.”
I have to put in that bit about the hours to see if they’ll stick with you every bit of an investigation. Not having you let some DC go home to young kids while you go off following up one more hunch on your own, and get into some situation without backup. No bloody way. I know your soft spots. Two of them are called Lyn and Mark. Guilty memories of not getting home often enough before your own kids were asleep.
“So is this Hargreave also going to rethink his interest?” Robbie asks, shuffling through papers in his in-tray now. “Withdraw his application?”
“Is he?” asks James, dismayed.
“I’m asking you.”
“Oh. No. I think he’ll be—acceptable.” I’ve already told Innocent he’s the best choice for you.
“Right. As you say,” says Robbie, neutrally. Then he pauses, looking over at James. “Don’t think I’ve managed to get rid of you for a whole month before, in the last seven years.”
“No, sir,” agrees James.
“Bound to be a bit strange, whoever the bloke is.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Should probably mark the occasion,” Robbie decides.
“Pint, sir?”
“Probably owe you at least one at this stage, all right. You’ve had a busy week, haven’t you?” Robbie asks, conversationally, leaning his elbows on his desk.
“Yeah,” James agrees, stretching luxuriously.
“Finishing up all the loose ends on this case. Completing all those end of month stats. Seeing off all those pretenders to your crown.”
James stops mid-stretch.
“If the wind changes, you’ll freeze like that, sergeant.”
Oh. Fuck. James silently lowers his arms.
“So,” enquires Robbie. “Leaving me in safe hands while you’re gone, are you, now?
James says nothing at all.
“Want to know what me first lead was?” Robbie continues, still in that same conversational tone.
I have the right to remain silent.
“It was when I figured out that the source of those very untrue rumours about me grouchy temperament obviously had a vocabulary bigger than the Oxford English Dictionary.”
Grouchy. That’s what I should’ve said. Grouchy and grumpy. Kept it simple.
“But then, sergeant, it turned out that this lot knew all the details of your heroic exploits over the years. No way you’d be volunteering that information—not unless you were checking something out. Testing someone’s mettle. While putting off all your less favoured candidates.
Damn, damn, damn.
Robbie gets up and makes his way over to James’s desk. “Jacket,” he prompts. James rises slowly and starts to draw on his jacket. He keeps his eyes on Robbie. Robbie is leaning over, shutting down James’s computer. “You got everything?” he asks. James pats his pockets, obligingly, still gazing at him. “Don’t want you having an excuse to turn up here on Monday morning when you’re meant to be taking your time off,” Robbie mutters.
Then he straightens up and considers James. “See, I don’t think there’s one bloke in the whole of Thames Valley CID that I’d trust,” he muses. “Not to keep you out of trouble for a month.”
James exhales properly at last. He gets it. Christ, he always bloody gets it. “Sir?”
“None of them would have a hope in hell. Means I’m stuck here, you know. Can’t go on leave for a whole month meself if I take the notion into me head, can I now? And leave you without proper supervision. God only knows what you’d get up to,” says Robbie in highly disgruntled tones. “‘S’like having flaming Machiavelli for me sergeant.”
“Could be back just in time to doctor next month’s stats,” James risks.
“See that you are.” Robbie glances around their office and nods, satisfied. “Come on then, we’re on a schedule here—under strict instructions to bring you home for dinner. Might just be takeaway, by the way. But pint first. And I’ll take whoever's finally made it through your rigorous selection process. “Although—" Robbie grimaces “—you’re definitely spending dinner convincing Laura I’m not overworking you.”
“Sir,” says James obediently.
“Need to get you out of here at a reasonable hour, apparently. Restore your work-life balance. She can’t believe I’d go piling on last-minute work just before you’re about to go on leave. I don’t think I’ve convinced her otherwise. When I said you’d re-done my stats, I think that was the final straw. She—well.” Robbie rubs the back of his neck, helplessly, “Doctors, you know. Well, when she heard you really were taking that long off. She worries.”
She’s—I’ll bring her wine. She likes a good red. I can pretend it’s just in return for dinner.
Robbie grimaces now, obviously recalling something further. “An’ it’s also been strongly suggested that I remind you, using actual words, that you needn’t think you can lay low and disappear during your leave either, whatever you decide to do with it.” He sniffs. “Told her you didn’t need telling. Tracked you down in Kosovo last time, didn’t I?”
Ah. Yes. Yes, you certainly did. “Wouldn’t even dream of attempting that again, sir.”
Robbie takes gentle hold of his arm, drawing him out into the corridor, so he can close the office door behind them. “And I personally think, sergeant, you should lay off watching The Apprentice.”
“Yes, sir. Reality TV addict here. That’s it, of course. You know me so well.”
“I bloody do, though,” mutters Robbie, leading the way, shaking his head, “I so bloody do.”