Lynda La Plante - A Face in the Crowd

Calder emerged, looking white and shaken, and walked straight past without acknowledging her. He was close to tears. Tennison went in. She was glad she’d put a dab of perfume on because the office reeked of whisky. Kernan’s tie was loose and his shirt collar was crumpled. He looked a bit of a mess, his eyes more heavily-lidded than usual, and his hands were none too steady as he lit a cigarette.

“Well, that’s my promotion down the toilet,” was how he greeted her, blowing out smoke in a disgruntled sigh.

Tennison was shocked. “A boy’s lying dead in the cells and you’re worried about your promotion?” she said, not bothering to hide her disapproval.

“Just don’t start, all right?” Kernan said, flapping his hand. He gave her a baleful look. “The Custody Sergeant told me Burkin was trying to call you, worried by what Oswalde was up to…”

The knives were out already, Tennison thought. But she wasn’t about to be dumped on from a great height. She said with venom, “Burkin’s supposed to be a Detective Inspector, not a limp dick. He should have straightened it out. Calder should have straightened it out.” And to think that two minutes ago she’d felt sorry for the man!

“But they bloody didn’t, did they?” Kernan said, a veiled accusation in his voice.

Tennison paced in front of the desk, clenching her fists. “Christ Almighty, do I have to do everything myself?”

Kernan said wearily, “All right, all right…”

“I mean, what’s Burkin being paid to do? For Christ’s sake-”

“All right! I hear you.”

Tennison ceased pacing but she was still fuming. If Kernan wanted a scapegoat, he could damn well look elsewhere. She glared at him and he shifted his eyes. He said, “How did it go with Harvey?”

“He confessed to murder.”

“Thank Christ for that,” Kernan said, relieved.

No point in hanging back; she was an experienced officer, paid to exercise her judgment. She said evenly, “But I’ve got my doubts about it…”

“What?” Kernan goggled at her. “We’re being handed it gift-wrapped and you have your doubts?”

“Yes, I do. And I have good reason.” Tennison appealed to him, “Look, Guv, right now I need to know what went on in that interview room. I mean-what made Tony kill himself, for chrissake…?”

Kernan stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “All hell’s gonna break loose when this gets out,” he said gloomily. “Riots, the lot.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Tennison said shortly.

Kernan slowly turned his head and gave her a hard stare. “You remember who you’re talking to.”

Now it was Tennison’s turn to look away. She lifted her chin and said stiffly, “I’ll listen to those interviews and report back as soon as I can. Sir.”

“You do that.”

The cigarette was still smoldering in the ashtray. What with that and the whisky fumes, the place smelled like a saloon bar. “By the way,” Tennison said, “you know Tony’s mum and dad are still in reception, don’t you?”

“Well, they can’t be told.” Kernan rubbed the side of his face and stifled a yawn. “Not until we’ve got things arranged.”

“ What? ” Tennison said, aghast.

“Send them home. Tell them tomorrow.” It was starting, he could feel it now, a beaut of a headache working its way up from the back of his neck to the base of his skull. Terrific. “For their own sakes it’ll be better to be told in the morning,” he said.

“We can’t do that.”

“Yes, we can,” Kernan said irritably.

Tennison blinked rapidly. “How would we explain that in court? It’d reek of a cover-up… besides, think of the way they’d feel.”

“I’ve made my decision.”

“Yes, and it’s a bad one.”

“Well, that’s what I’m paid for!” Kernan snapped at her. His patience, threadbare at the best of times, was wearing dangerously thin. When he was in this frame of mind he sometimes blurted out things better left unsaid. And the icing on the cake was that his headache had just shifted up into second gear.

But the bloody woman wouldn’t let it rest. She said tartly, “You’re paid to make bad decisions, are you?”

To stop himself from landing one on her, Kernan went over to the little bar and picked up the whisky bottle. “You know what I mean,” he growled under his breath.

Tennison watched him pour, at least three fingers’ worth. She said quietly, “Mike, how much have you had to drink?”

Kernan shot a fierce glance over his shoulder. “Now you bloody watch it,” he warned her, mottled patches appearing in his cheeks. “None of this would have happened if you’d kept Oswalde on a tighter rein…”

That was rich, and Tennison flared up. “You brought him in, not me,” she reminded the superintendent. “I didn’t ask for him. He’s a loner, a one-man-band, he’s not my type.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

There was dead silence. Tennison wasn’t sure he’d said what she’d heard, and then with a sickly feeling she knew that he had. She controlled the sudden panic fluttering in her chest and said coolly, “I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” Kernan said. He took a gulp.

“No,” Tennison said, and her cool tone now had icicles hanging from it. “You explain that comment.”

Kernan came back to the desk, swirling his whisky. “I’m merely suggesting that you might have let your personal feelings for him cloud your judgment.”

“My personal feelings?” Tennison said carefully, and regretted saying it before the words were out of her mouth. She was right to, because Kernan put his glass down, and placing both hands flat on the desk, leaned towards her, looking her squarely in the face.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” He paused. “You had an affair on that course! There. Now. I didn’t want to mention it. But…” He shrugged and picked up his glass.

Tennison stared him out. “Nothing happened on that course,” she said, her face stiff as a wooden mask.

“You will bloody argue, won’t you?” Kernan closed his eyes, unutterably weary and pissed-off with the woman.

“You’ve been misinformed…”

“I hope so,” Kernan said with a small sigh. “For your sake.”

Tennison left the room. She needed to go to the lavatory, quick.

Downstairs, on the main floor, Tennison stopped a WPC in the corridor. “Show Mr. and Mrs. Allen up to my office, will you, please? Not a word about what’s happened, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Oswalde came through the swing doors, on his way to the elevator, summoned by Kernan. Tennison glanced around, making sure the corridor was deserted. “Bob…”

He stared past her with dull eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it right now,” he muttered. “I’ve got to see Kernan.”

From the set of his mouth she could tell he was holding himself as tight as a coiled spring. But she couldn’t let him step into the lion’s den without warning him. As he moved to go around her, she said, “Kernan knows about us at the course.”

Oswalde halted. Now he did look at her, his handsome face creasing in a bewildered frown. “I don’t know what…” he started to mumble.

“Listen.” Tennison cut him short. She was holding judgment on whether she ought to be absolutely furious or not. She said, “If you’ve been bragging about laying the Guv’nor…”

“What do you take me for?” Oswalde was plainly hurt by this. “Do you think I’d say anything? You think I’d…” He swallowed and looked away.

Tennison kneaded her palms anxiously. “Well, all I can think about right now is I’ve got to tell that boy’s parents that their son is dead.”