Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

Warren looked carefully at the man in front of him. He saw the bags under his eyes, the lines on his forehead. He noted the way that he tore the beer mat into tiny little pieces, his powerful hands shredding the thick cardboard. His nails were ragged, bitten to the quick, Warren spotted now.

“Tony, tell me about Gavin Sheehy. Everything.”

Sutton stared into his pint silently. The pause was so long that Warren didn’t think he was going to speak. Finally speaking slowly and without looking up, Sutton started.

“I don’t have much to tell. I didn’t see it coming. The first I heard of it was when I was pulled into the superintendent’s office at eight a.m. by three suits from Professional Standards and told that Sheehy had been arrested that morning on suspicion of corruption. They didn’t say any more as I was part of the investigation. I was removed from active duty pending an inquiry, told to get myself a lawyer and instructed not to speak to anyone about the case.

“It was the most humiliating day of my life.”

He took another mouthful of his beer. “Well, they investigated me every which way from Sunday and found nothing. Apparently Gavin claimed that I knew nothing and that he had acted alone. I suppose I should thank him. But I can’t. Whatever he’s done, I hope they throw the book at him.”

“The papers have been quiet and there is remarkably little on the grapevine. What exactly is he alleged to have done?”

Sutton shrugged, but his eyes betrayed the nonchalance of the gesture. “I still don’t know what the full story is. He doesn’t come to trial until next year, when I guess it’ll all come out.”

“Rumour has it, he’s admitted everything.”

Sutton nodded. “I’ve heard that too. I don’t know what to believe.”

He stared thoughtfully at the small pile of shredded cardboard that he’d made. “That doesn’t seem quite right to me. One thing about Gavin is he’s a fighter. I can’t see him giving in and pleading guilty without a fight. He’d rather stand toe to toe and defend his corner, even if in the long run he loses the opportunity to do a deal. He hated lawyers. I can’t imagine his legal team are having much fun with him.” His face twisted in a half-smile.

“And what about you, Tony?”

“Like I said, I was fully cleared of all involvement.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Warren quietly.

Again, Sutton took his time, destroying yet another beer mat. They’d have to ask the barman for more if he kept this up, thought Warren.

“After my divorce, I had a long hard look at my life. I realised that I had to grow up and do the right thing. I suppose that part of it was to do with my mother-in-law, Betty. She clearly hated me for what I had done to her daughter, but she put that to one side for the sake of her grandchild.” He snorted humourlessly. “Never thought I’d ever see Betty as a model of Christian forgiveness, but there you go.

“Anyway, I started to get my life together, studying, doing what I could for Josh, trying to make myself a better man. I started going to church again, and that helped a lot.” He looked at Warren, amused. “Don’t worry, guv, I’m not some born-again nutter determined to shove my version of God down the throat of everyone I meet. I can’t even remember the words to ‘Kum Ba Yah’. I’m purely a Sunday morning believer.

“Anyway, that’s when I met Gavin Sheehy. He was a DI, I was a newly minted sergeant assigned as part of a large team tasked with bringing down a drugs gang that we believed were using the big warehouses up on the Fowler Estate to redistribute cocaine.

“We raided the warehouse at three in the morning — only to find it empty. The white Transit van that they were using was nowhere to be found. As we were searching the area for clues, I spotted the guard at the next-door warehouse and went over for a chat. He hadn’t seen anything, but he said that one of their security cameras overlapped the edge of the road that the two warehouses shared. I went in and had a look at it and, sure enough, we had the white van leaving the premises at half-past eleven that night. A white Ford Transit, identical to about fifty thousand others throughout the country, too far away and at the wrong angle to see the licence plates.

“I called over Gavin Sheehy, who praised my quick thinking, but reckoned it was probably useless. But then as we replayed the tape again I saw one of the passengers. A white bloke, that was all we could make out, no use at all for an ID — but I spotted that he was on a mobile phone. They were easier to spot then of course, bit of a brick.

“I figured, it’s half-eleven in a lonely industrial estate in the back of beyond — just how many people were making a phone call that time of night? Sheehy liked my idea and so first thing the next morning we got a warrant for the phone companies and traced the only phone making a call using that cell tower at that time to a Darryl Wentworth. Already known as a small-time dealer, trying to climb a few rungs up the ladder, he earned himself a twelve-year stretch at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”

Sutton smiled at the memory. “Anyway, Sheehy was impressed with the way I’d pieced together the clues and my creativity and so he encouraged me to apply to do the detectives’ course. When I graduated, he had made DCI and requested that I join his team.”

“But he became more than a boss to you, didn’t he?”

Sutton nodded. “First he became my mentor, then we became friends. We used to attend the same church.” Sutton swirled the remains of his pint. “I haven’t been back since his arrest. I don’t know if he still goes to the same service. I’m not supposed to have any contact, so I steer clear.

“You know, I thought he was the most honest man I’d ever met. Not once in all the years that I knew him did I ever see him break the rules or even stretch them. And he wouldn’t tolerate anyone else doing that either. Outside of work he raised a fortune for charity and he was always the first to visit officers who were injured or taken ill.

“We even used to play bridge — that’s why I haven’t seen Allie Carmichael for so long. Gavin was my partner. He taught me to play years ago when we did a stakeout together. Said that Judith, his wife, could just about manage snap, and he needed someone to play with.” Sutton spoke quietly, and Warren knew that he wasn’t referring to his card-playing abilities. “We were a bloody good team.”

After a few seconds’ pause, Sutton started again. “You know, I thought he was having an affair.”

Warren blinked at the apparent non sequitur.

“I thought he was cheating on Judith. I didn’t say anything, because how could I? He knew all about my stupid mistake. I didn’t like it. I’ve always been fond of Judith and thought he was better than that, but I didn’t know what their home life was like and I didn’t feel I could pass judgement.

“It seemed so obvious — he was late middle-aged, probably going through a mid-life crisis. Safer to be bonking some bird than killing himself on a motorbike, I figured. So I said nothing. The times he disappeared out of the office unexpectedly, the furtive phone calls. It all seemed to point to an affair.”

Sutton lapsed back into silence.

Warren chose his words carefully. “It’s your decision, Tony, but I don’t want you to leave Middlesbury. If you really decide that you want a fresh start, then I’ll back your transfer request. But from what I’ve seen, you’re a bloody good copper, Tony, and I want you on my team. Think about it.”

Sutton nodded, his face still troubled. Warren looked at his watch; it was nearly closing time.

“Right, I’ve had enough for tonight. Any more and I’ll have to catch a cab again. Are you coming?”