John Harvey: Rough Treatment

“Sooner me than you, sir,” Resnick said. There had been no mention anywhere in the press, local radio or television about the arrest of Skelton’s daughter. The DCI had agreed that in view of her lack of any previous record, no charges would be brought. Restitution and apologies had been made to the firms concerned, along with a promise that extra policing would be maintained.

“Tom Parker was on the phone earlier,” Skelton said, “the Chief Constable’s received Jeff Harrison’s resignation. Apparently he’s off to head up a new security agency in south London; specialize in anti-burglary work, uniformed neighborhood patrols, ex-forces personnel.”

Skelton offered Resnick a chair. “Grice’s been charged?”

“Thirty-seven counts of burglary. Grabianski gave us a list half a yard long. Photographic memory.”

“Fossey?”

Resnick made a face. “He’ll go into court screaming not guilty.”

“You do think he’ll go to trial?”

“I’d like to be certain.”

The superintendent prodded papers on his desk. “We’ll have to get something stronger than this.”

“We’ll keep trying.”

Skelton nodded. “I know what I’ve been meaning to ask you, Charlie? How’s the house sale going?”

“Sounds as if someone’s made an offer. Matter of fact, I’m off to look at a new place this evening, just in case.”

“Another house?”

Resnick shook his head. “Flat.”

“Better, Charlie. More sensible. What d’you need a whole house for?”

The cats? Resnick thought. He didn’t say it.

The CID room was like Gatwick in the middle of a security alert. Above the movement of bodies and the spiral of voices, Resnick heard Patel’s shout and saw him pointing towards one of the phones. He pushed his way across and picked the receiver from the pile of pink forms where it had been laid.

“Resnick.”

“Inspector Resnick?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Diane Woolf.”

“Diane …”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already?”

“No.” He could hear the smile in her voice and see the shades of red as she moved her head. “I was just surprised.”

“You’re a star now, you know.”

“I see,” said Resnick, and then, when she didn’t respond, “Five-minute wonder.”

“Well, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks, but you shouldn’t be.”

“Modest with it.”

What was she phoning for, Resnick wanted to know. What was this all about? The sound was still swilling about him and he had to keep the earpiece pressed hard against his head to hear her clearly.

“Anyway, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

For Christ’s sake, thought Resnick, ask her to meet you for a drink. What’s wrong with dinner?

“Maybe we’ll bump into one another again,” Diane Woolf said. “’Bye.”

Resnick stared at the phone for a few moments before setting it back down.

“It’ll look a lot better when there’s furniture,” Claire Millinder was saying.

The walls were the not-quite-white of toilet tissue. Passing through the kitchen she switched on the extractor fan to prove that it worked; dropped paper into the sink and ran the tap to test the waste disposal.

“Twin power-points in every room,” she said.

If Resnick stood up on his toes he could leave finger marks on the ceiling.

“So what do you think?” Claire asked.

They were standing by the double-glazed window, rustproof aluminum frame. Resnick couldn’t be certain if what he was seeing was a reflection of this flat in the glass or another one opposite, different but exactly the same.

“I think I’d go mad inside a month,” he said.

“Let’s go and have a drink,” Clare Millinder said. “Spend some of my commission.”

“Spend what you’re getting from me, we’ll be lucky to drink water.”

“What I get from you,” Claire grinning her broken-toothed grin, “I might as well be in the desert.”

“Thanks.”

“For nothing, Charlie. Come on, we’ll find some good New Zealand wine and first thing in the morning I’ll phone those people and tell them we’re sorry, but the deal’s off.” She locked the flat door behind them and slipped her arm through Resnick’s on the way to her car. “The vendor’s changed his mind.”

“You know I’m not going to stay in for ever, don’t you?”

Kate looked at her parents across the breadth of the living room. Wendy Craig was doing something in a conservatory but nobody was watching.

“We know that, Kate,” Skelton said.

His wife got up and left the room.

“I can’t sit around here like a vegetable.”

“Nobody’s suggesting you should.”

“She is,” said Kate, nodding towards the sound of crockery from the kitchen.

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Kate, when you do go out, we’ll want to know where.”

“I’d have told you before if you’d asked.”

“Told us the truth?”

She gazed for a moment at the television set where happy families were being created to the sound of studio laughter. “Probably not.”

“And now?”

“Yes. All right, I’ll try.”

“More than that.”

“All right. I’ll tell you where I’m going. The complete itinerary. Satisfied?”

Skelton looked at her carefully. “And the rest?”

She swung her legs from beneath her and headed for the stairs, back up to her own room. “You’re going to have to trust me, aren’t you?”

Claire stopped the car outside Resnick’s house but kept the engine running. “That was nice, thanks.”

“Yes, it was,” Resnick agreed.

“See what a good time you can have when you relax?”

He set a hand to the catch and opened the door. Dizzy was already running along the wall to greet him, his tail with that old familiar crook.

“Here,” Claire said, fishing in her bag. “You’d better have these.” She dropped the keys in his hand, the agency tag still attached. “I’ll get someone round tomorrow, take the board down.”

“Thanks.”

He stood a shade anxiously on the pavement, looking down.

“’Night,” Claire said, raising her hand. She leaned across the front seat and watched him walk towards the door, the cat fishtailing in and out between his legs.

“I’ll give you a ring some time,” Claire called.

“Do that.” Resnick waved back, unlocked the door and let Dizzy into the house. Just before she drove off, Claire saw him stoop towards the mat and pick something up, an envelope. The way he looked at it, she hoped it wasn’t unwelcome news. She turned the car around and headed back towards the main road, towards the city, and by then Resnick’s door was closed and he was back inside his house.