Barry Maitland: The verge practice

‘Thank you, sir. It was much appreciated. And by DI Gurney.’

‘Bren Gurney, yes. And your DS, Kathy Kolla, she also performed extremely well, didn’t she? In difficult circumstances.’

Brock shifted uneasily in his seat. Sharpe’s memory for names was well known, but still, it sounded as if his boss had been checking up on his team.

‘Couple of important things I need to discuss with you, Brock. You’re familiar with the Verge inquiry, I take it?’

Of course he was-the whole country had been following it avidly since May, when the body of Miki Norinaga had been found in her bed, naked and stabbed through the heart. Her husband, prominent architect Charles Verge, had not been seen since, and the international hunt for the missing man had become a national obsession. The press carried regular reports of sightings from around the world, but none had yet resulted in an arrest.

‘It’s one of those cases that just won’t go away.’ Sharpe stirred his coffee vigorously. ‘Tabloids love it. Today he’s seen in Sydney, last week in Santiago. He’s Ronnie Biggs, Lord Lucan and the Scarlet Pimpernel all rolled into one. And he’s not just any architect. High profile, international reputation, knighthood pending-the very epitome of Cool Britannia.’ Sharpe snorted and sipped at his coffee.

‘It’s all very embarrassing,’ he continued. ‘He had some extremely important clients. Significant buildings for the German and Saudi governments, for instance, neither of which are pleased to find that their glossy new landmarks are the work of a murderer. And our friends in the Home Office are particularly cheesed off. Their new Verge masterpiece is nearing completion, a Category A prison as luck would have it-Marchdale, out in the fens. The Prince was going to do the opening, but that’s in doubt now, and the Home Secretary has been taking a lot of stick in the House. You can imagine what the press’ll make of the unveiling.

‘What particularly galls our friends isn’t just that their golden boy is a killer, but that the world believes he’s got away with it. If they can’t hush the whole thing up, which they can’t, then they want some kind of resolution-either his arrest and incarceration in one of their grubbier institutions, or, better still, proof of his innocence.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘Hardly, but you can’t blame them for hoping. The point is that after four months we haven’t been able to deliver on either option, which is a major embarrassment for the Met. So…’ Sharpe deliberately placed his cup in its saucer and sat back, fixing Brock with one of his scalpel stares, ‘… it’s been decided that we need a fresh approach. A new team.’

A move of desperation, Brock thought, not liking the sound of this one bit. ‘Superintendent Chivers has been leading the inquiry, hasn’t he?’

‘Dick Chivers, yes. The proposal is that he now hands the reins over to you.’

‘I see.’ Hell, Brock thought… a trail gone cold, all avenues exhausted, the press watching every move, bosses demanding miracles.

‘You sound less than thrilled.’

‘Chivers is a thorough detective. I doubt he’ll have overlooked much.’

‘There’s no suggestion that he has. In fact, I’m certain that he’s conducted himself impeccably. But without result. What the inquiry needs now is a fresh mind to rejuvenate it, and you have a reputation for coming out of left field and getting results. It’s not a criticism of Chivers, but it is an expression of confidence in you, Brock.’

Or of panic, Brock thought, but saw that he would have to make the best of it. He tried to look pleased. ‘Thank you, sir. When exactly is the prison due to be opened?’

‘Three weeks. The Palace will make a final decision on their involvement one week beforehand.’

Brock began to frame an objection, but Sharpe went on. ‘Form your own team. Take any of Chivers’ people you want. He’s waiting to brief you now. Room 413, two floors down. All right? Now, the second matter …’ He sprang to his feet, reached for a glossy document lying on his desk and slapped it onto the table in front of Brock.

‘You’re familiar with this, of course.’

Protect and Respect: Everybody Benefits. Diversity Strategy of the Metropolitan Police. Brock recognised the cover. Everybody in the Met had received one and there had been extensive reports in The Job, but he hadn’t got around to reading it. There had been a series of briefing sessions for line managers, but he’d always been busy elsewhere.

‘What do you think?’

‘Well…’ Brock said cautiously. ‘A positive move, post-Macpherson …’

‘Yes, yes. But more than that. In the Deputy Commissioner’s words, this is a core business imperative.’

Sharpe paused to let that sink in, then tapped the document with his fingertips and went on severely, ‘It’s that important, Brock, and we all have to embrace it.’

Brock was wondering now whether this was some kind of reprimand. Had his absence from the briefings been noted, or had he inadvertently committed some error somewhere along the line? Had he been reported for political incorrectness?

‘The Diversity Strategy includes a six-point action plan, as you know. Six strategic areas, right?’

For an awful moment Brock thought he was going to be tested, but Sharpe lifted his left hand, fingers outstretched, and ticked the points off with his right index finger, one by one, for emphasis. ‘Leadership, crime, processes, workforce, training and communications. And to help stimulate debate and develop policy in each of these strategic areas, six Strategy Working Parties are being established. One which will be particularly close to your heart, Brock, will be the Crime Strategy Working Party.’

He opened the booklet and read, ‘“Resolving problems, investigating and preventing crime through a more inclusive approach. ..” Now, Human Resources have been charged with bringing forward names, and from our point of view, you will agree, it is crucial that the voice of experienced, serving detectives is heard on these committees.

Especially the Crime Strategy Working Party.’

While Sharpe returned to his desk for another document, a sheaf of A4 pages clipped together, Brock thought, oh no, I’m not going to waste my time on some bloody committee.

‘The name of one of your team has come up, Brock, and I wondered what you thought. DS Kolla.’

Brock hadn’t expected this, and Sharpe saw his surprise. ‘No?’

‘I thought you’d be looking for someone older, sir.’

‘She’s got quite a few years under her belt now, and we’re after new blood. Over the next ten years the Met is going to have to recruit two-thirds of its staff over again, and people at her level are going to be crucial to that process. Besides, she’s got an excellent record at the coalface, both in crime detection and in interacting with ethnic communities. There are a couple of recent letters of appreciation here from community leaders; one from a Mr Sanjeev Manzoor of the Pakistani community in Stepney, and another from Mr Qasim Ali of the Shiite community.’

Brock was familiar with the letters. Sanjeev Manzoor had deemed it politic to be nice to Kathy, hoping to avoid prosecution for making false statements to a magistrate, and Qasim Ali probably fancied her. ‘Yes, I got copies of the letters. They were well deserved. And she’s a woman, of course.’

Sharpe smiled briefly. ‘That too. And with an ethnic partner, I understand.’

‘How did Human Resources get hold of that?’

‘We’ve run a bit of a check on her, and it all sounds good. So what do you think? You don’t look certain.’

‘No, no, I think she would do very well. She’s intelligent and articulate. I’m just being selfish. I don’t want to lose her, especially if we’re taking on the Verge case.’