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Knock-knock
Brownlow looks up from his paperwork and towards his office door. “Come in.”
The door opens, and Conway pokes his head around it. “You wanted a word sir?”
“Yes Derek, do come in.”
Conway enters the office and closes the door behind him. He stands at ease in front of Brownlow’s desk.
Brownlow clears his throat. “I’ve got a matter of some…potential concern I’d like to raise with you. It’s a matter involving two senior officers. And since one of these officers is under your direct command, I have asked you in to see me. Given the delicate nature of the situation, I’m… not quite sure of the best way to broach it, so I’ll start by saying-”
“Is this about Jack Meadows and Andrew Monroe shagging each other?”
Brownlow chokes on his own spit.
Conway smiles the smile of a person who’s received the exact reaction they’ve set out to get. While Brownlow coughs and recovers, Conway folds his arms across his chest. “Everyone knows about them. It’s the worst kept secret this nick has.”
“Yes, well,” Brownlow smiles weakly, as he massages his throat, “that wasn’t quite how I’d put it, but- yes. I would like to discuss the fact that they are…seeing each other in such a capacity.”
“What about it?” Conway asks, already bored.
Brownlow adjusts his position in his chair. “It’s not unheard of for colleagues to enter into a non-platonic relationship with each other of course, but…”
“But what?”
Brownlow leans forward and steeples his fingers. “I have concerns, Derek.”
Conway exhales heavily. “Such as, sir?”
“Such as the imbalance between their ranks. Again, it’s not unheard of for-”
“The difference between their ranks isn’t exactly like a fresh faced Probationer being led astray by a Deputy Commissioner with a wandering eye.”
Brownlow laughs emptily.
“Andrew is uniform and Jack is CID,” Conway says, spelling it out. “Andrew doesn’t report directly to Jack. He reports to me. And then to you. Jack is not in his direct chain of command. There’s no obvious conflict of interest here.”
“I hear what you’re saying,” Brownlow says, “but the fact of the matter is that it’s two senior officers involved with one another.”
Conway’s voice hardens. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at sir. If you’re worried that Andrew is going to throw manpower and station resources at CID whenever Jack flutters his eyelashes at him, you’re wrong. Andrew goes to bed with a copy of PACE under his pillow. He’d never abuse his position and responsibilities like that.”
Brownlow smiles a bland smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of smile he saves for the members of the press he hates the most. “I’m not questioning the integrity of one of your officers Derek.”
“Then what exactly are you questioning sir? What are you concerned about?”
Brownlow clears his throat. “If – when – they go public with each other, it won’t be long before the wider public is made aware of it. And I don’t want there to be any whiff of a scandal in the station.”
“Scandal sir?”
“We all know Jack is separated from his wife, but Andrew is still married. He’s married with three children. And Jack has two of his own.”
Conway shakes his head. “Who cares how many brats they have between them. That’s irrelevant. And besides, they’re both divorced.”
“Divorced?” This is news to Brownlow.
“Jack’s separation was made official last week. And Andrew’s been divorced for four months now.”
“Four months?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Conway’s eyes darken. “Because it wasn’t my place to. Andrew didn’t want the change in his marital status to become common knowledge around the station, and I respected that. And it never once interfered with his duties, I can guarantee you that."
Brownlow sits back in his chair. His eyes lose focus as he imagines all the other secrets and affairs and changes in official status that are going on underneath his nose.
“Everyone is allowed a private life sir.”
Brownlow nods absently. “It’s inevitable that the press will find out about this. And the public. And the rest of the force. I’ll have to make a statement.”
“Back in the day,” Conway says, “you’d have been celebrated for bringing to light such perversions in the force and for rooting them out. But now you’ll be crucified by everyone if you’re not one hundred per cent supportive of them.”
Brownlow’s gaze snaps back to Conway.
“And rightly so,” Conway continues.
Conway braces his arms on Brownlow’s desk. He leans down and in. He locks eye contact with his boss. “I haven’t seen Andrew this happy for as long as I’ve known him. He’s oozing joy and happiness. It puts me off my lunch. He’s smiling those smiles where you can see his teeth.”
Brownlow clears his throat again. “Yes, well, I don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s unhappiness here. But I have to think of the bigger picture Derek, and-”
“‘Senior Male Police Officers Bravely Declare Love In Public Only To Be Fired By Homophobic Boss Who Can’t Get Promoted.’ That’s the angle the press will be itching to go for. Even the rags that support the force will throw us under the bus if you’re not careful.”
Brownlow has to take a moment to process what Conway is telling him. And to neutralise the sting of what Conway has said about his failed promotion attempts. And to get his head around the fact that Conway is the most media savvy person in the room right now.
Conway takes advantage of Brownlow’s surprise to get another shot in. “And besides, the pitchfork wielding twitter mob will hunt you down before the printed press can draw breath. They’re even more trigger happy than the tabloids are when it comes to crapping on the police.”
“Twitter mob?” Brownlow doesn’t like the sound of that. Whatever that is.
Conway stands up straight. And before Conway can explain social media to him as if he’s a thousand years old and thinks science is witchcraft, Brownlow says sharply, “I was never going to fire them. And I am not homophobic.”
Conway nods. “I know you’re not. But again, if you say even one mildly questionable thing about them in public, that’s how you’ll look. And besides, this may not even be a story when it comes out. Two blokes shaking up with one another is hardly groundbreaking news these days.”
Brownlow taps his pen on the desk, considering. “It will be news,” he says decisively. “Unfortunately we’re not yet at a time when such a revelation is ignored for its mundanity.”
Conway nods in reluctant agreement. It’s a gesture he’s had decades of experience making.
Brownlow sighs. He throws his pen down onto the desk. “I’m just…trying to make sure everyone comes out of this looking good.”
“Then get ahead of the curve and write the narrative yourself,” Conway says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
Brownlow squints at him. Conway hasn’t attended any official media training courses recently, he’d have remembered. And he’d have signed off on the expenses. Maybe he’s taking courses in his own time. Or teaching himself about media relations. But however he’s come up with this advice, it’s good advice. And Brownlow didn’t get to his current position without taking advantage of knowledge and opportunities when they crossed his path.
“All right then Derek, tell me what to write. How should I mould this narrative?”
Conway shrugs. “Make a big song and dance out of it. But don’t name names. Proudly proclaim that Sun Hill is a bastion of equal opportunities where everyone is not only free to be themselves, but is encouraged to be themselves.”
“Yes, yes,” Brownlow mutters to himself, as he scabbles for his pen and a clean piece of paper. “That’s good. Let me get this down. Keep going.”
Conway blinks. “That’s it.”
Brownlow is scribbling. “That’s fine Derek, thank you.” It will be easy for Brownlow to expand on this theme. He won’t need anyone’s consent to write a generic piece about equal opportunities and diversity and inclusion in today’s modern police force. And then if – when - Meadows and Monroe go public with their relationship, Brownlow can point to the fact that they were only comfortable doing so because of the supportive atmosphere Brownlow himself had created in the station. This is quite excellent. This is what promotions are made of. Meadows and Monroe are actually doing him a favour here.
Conway can practically see the gears turning in Brownlow’s head. He’s got a wry smile on his face now. “Will that be all sir?”
Brownlow finishes off a sentence before he forgets it. He looks up at Conway. He’s got a genuine smile on his face now. “Yes Derek, thank you.”
Conway hesitates. And then he gives his boss another gift. “I’ve heard whispers that Mannion is going to publish an article about love and equality and blah blah blah in the force’s quarterly newsletter next month. But if you submit a release directly to the press now, you’ll get your words in print and online before he does.”
Brownlow’s genuine smile widens.
“And,” Conway says, before he can stop himself, “I’ve got a friend who can condense the article into twitter sized pieces that are palatable enough for today’s youth to digest without choking from the boredom of reading entire paragraphs. She can update your account for you, and say the right words to get that hell site’s algorithms on your side.”
Brownlow’s smile is now so wide that his teeth are showing.
“And don’t worry about Mannion retweeting your posts and saying something unsavoury about you – he doesn’t even have a twitter account. The man’s living in Victorian times.”
Brownlow laughs out loud with delight.
Conway looks like he can’t decide if Brownlow’s laugh is the best or worst thing he’s ever heard.
“Thank you Derek,” Brownlow says warmly. “Thank you very much.”
Conway nods his head. He’s in danger of smiling himself now. “Any time sir.”