Lynda La Plante - A Face in the Crowd

“She had the most beautiful skull I’ve ever seen,” the young man said.

“Really?”

“Yes. See this…” He used a stainless steel scalpel as a pointer. “The orbicularis oris. The muscle originates on the maxilla and mandible, near the midline, on the eminences due to the incisor and canine teeth. Its fibers surround the oral aperture. Function-closing of the mouth and pursing of lips. You see, I’m a scientist,” he added, giving her his shy, dreamy smile. “Otherwise I’d have said it’s the muscle that allows you to kiss someone.”

“When will she be ready?”

“By the end of the week.”

As office manager, Haskons was doing a bit of reorganizing-much to Ken Lillie’s displeasure, because he was the one being reorganized.

“But why?” Lillie asked, his arms piled up with document files.

“I’m moving you.”

“Why me?”

“Bob needs a desk.”

“No, no, that’s not an answer… why me?”

Haskons plunked a cardboard box of miscellaneous stuff on top of the pile, so that Lillie had to raise his head to peer over it.

“Because you’re only ever at your desk to drink coffee.”

“Yeah,” Lillie agreed vehemently. “Normally I’m out there making sure the streets are safe to walk.”

Hoots of derision from all corners of the room. Catcalls and shouts of “SuperLillie Strikes Again,” and “Batman and Lillie.”

Oswalde was studying the photographs of Nadine on the big bulletin board, keeping well out of it. He was edgy enough as it was, nervously watching the door for Tennison’s arrival. Kernan had arranged his transfer without consulting her, which put Oswalde in a spot he knew he shouldn’t be in. Especially after what had occurred at the conference. Had he been paranoid, Oswalde reflected, he might have suspected that Kernan had deliberately thrown the two of them together, part of a gleeful, devious plot so he could sit back and watch the pair of them squirm.

No, Kernan would never stoop to that. Would he?

Oswalde had other eyes on him. Burkin was slumped in his chair, long legs splayed out, chewing a matchstick. He muttered to Rosper at the next desk, “It’s bad enough having to police the buggers, let alone work with them.”

“You’re only saying that ’cos he’s taller than you,” Rosper quipped, always the easygoing one.

Burkin was stung. “No he ain’t.”

The door swung open and Tennison breezed in, raincoat flapping around her. Halfway to her desk she caught sight of Oswalde and stopped dead in her tracks. Oswalde was attempting the impossible, hoping not to draw attention to them both by not looking at her, at the same time trying to convey to her by some mysterious telepathic process that he was as blameless as she was, just another innocent pawn in the game.

“Tony. Can I have a word, please?”

Tennison turned about-face and went out.

Muddyman left his desk and went into the corridor, where he found her pacing up and down, hands deep in her raincoat pockets.

“Guv?”

“What’s Bob Oswalde doing here?”

“You know him?”

“Answer the question, Tony.”

“He’s part of the team. Kernan brought him in.”

“Thank you.”

With that she marched off to Kernan’s office, leaving Muddyman standing there, wondering what the fuck this was all about.

Kernan was dictating letters to a clerk when Tennison walked in. He seemed very pleased with himself about something, leaning back with a smug grin on his pouchy, pockmarked face. Tennison’s mind was racing ten to the dozen. It was all a jumble; she wasn’t sure which emotion came first, nor which one to trust. She knew she had to be careful how she handled this.

“Jane?” Kernan said, which showed he was in a good mood, because normally he would have said with a sigh, Well, what is it?

“I want a word with you, Guv. Now.”

“Thank you, Sharon.”

Immediately after the WPC had gone and the door had closed, Tennison said, “Why did you co-opt someone onto my team without telling me?” She was holding herself in check, her voice reasonably calm, her temper under control-for the moment.

Kernan lit a cigarette. “It seemed to me that a black officer would be a-how can I put it?-a useful addition.”

“Why didn’t you consult with me?”

“Actually, I consulted the Community Liaison Officer, who thought it was an excellent idea.” Kernan gestured with the cigarette. “A black face prominent in this inquiry. An antidote to the Burkins of this world. You’re saying you can’t use an extra man?”

“No.”

“Well, what are you saying?”

“You’ve called in this officer as backup,” Tennison said questioningly, making sure she understood, “because he’s black?”

Now Kernan did sigh, and rolled his eyes a little. “Jane, I’m not looking for a political argument…”

“It would have been different if he’d been part of the team from the beginning, but now every time I ask him to do something, it’s open to misinterpretation.”

Kernan gazed blankly up at her. “I don’t understand.”

Tennison came nearer the desk, her hands clutching the air. “It smacks of tokenism. It’s political maneuvering.”

Kernan didn’t want to listen to this claptrap, and didn’t see why he should. But Tennison had pumped herself up and wasn’t about to stop. She said heatedly, “You should have asked me first. Pulling rank just undermines me.”

It was Kernan’s turn to get annoyed. “I wasn’t pulling rank. I was trying to help you out…”

“Oh, bollocks,” Tennison said. Then added, “Sir.”

What could he do with the bloody woman? Against all the odds she’d made it to Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan Force, in charge of a murder squad-which was what she’d always wanted-and still she wasn’t happy. He never had this problem with his male colleagues. If only she wasn’t so good at her job, he’d have dumped her double-quick. On yer bike, sunshine.

Kernan rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips, feeling the ulcer start to nag. “You can’t work with the man?” he asked finally, doing his level best to get to the root of her objection.

“Yes, I can work with him.”

“Because all my sources reckon he’s a good officer.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Kernan spread his hands, appealing to her. “Then what have you got against him?”

“Nothing,” Tennison said, tight-lipped. “Well…” She gave a halfshrug. “We didn’t hit it off particularly well on the course, but…”

“I don’t want you to marry the man, for Chrissake!” Kernan practically shouted, squashing his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray.

Tennison’s tangle of emotions nearly got the better of her. She almost blurted out the real reason why she objected to Bob Oswalde joining the squad-how could she possibly work with a man she was strongly attracted to, who had been her lover? It would set up all kinds of impossible conflicts, make normal, everyday working relations a knife-edge balancing act. And what if it came out? She’d become a laughingstock. Her credibility would pop like a toy balloon, her reputation plummet to zilch, lower than a snake’s belly.

But in the end, sanity prevailed. She didn’t make a fool of herself, and she didn’t blurt anything out. She simply stated, as forcefully as she could, that she didn’t want him on the team.

Kernan’s patience had been worn to a fine point, and finally it snapped. “He’s on the team already. I’ve made my decision and I’m not going back on it. Get the man briefed and put him to work. We’ll review the situation at the end of the week. I’ll be watching the progress of this case very carefully from now on.”