Barry Maitland: Babel

‘You’ve seen this already, have you?’ Kathy didn’t like the interrogator’s tone in her voice, but couldn’t help herself.

‘David phoned last night and told me about it.’ Suzanne was the only one who called Brock David, and sometimes it seemed to Kathy as if they were talking about two different men, Suzanne’s younger and more in need of guidance than the other. ‘I think he was preparing the ground in case he has to cancel this weekend. Sounds as if this may be a big case. Do you think?’

Kathy thought she detected relief in Suzanne’s voice, and realised that it wouldn’t have been her style to deceive her. Brock then-he must have asked her to do it. She wondered again whether coming back to stay with Suzanne had been such a good idea, although at the time she’d been in little shape to argue with Brock.

‘I don’t know. I only just picked the paper up from the next table. I didn’t get past the front page. Is it someone famous?’ Her mind began to run along familiar lines-a stalker, a Yardie killing, a breakaway Irish group.

‘Well, they say he was, but I’ve never heard of him. A philosopher, for goodness’ sake, and I don’t think he’s ever been on TV. To be honest, if someone asked me to name a famous living philosopher, I’d be hard put to get past a couple of French names, wouldn’t you?’

‘Why did Brock not want me to see it?’

‘Why do you think? I told him he was daft. He just wants you to forget about work while you’re on leave.’

‘Does he think I’m that fragile?’ Kathy found herself curiously alarmed by the idea that Brock would think it necessary to hide newspapers from her.

Suzanne considered this. ‘I don’t think it’s that, exactly. More that he thought you might be tempted to go rushing back to London and try to get involved, when you should be having a complete break.’

‘No,’ Kathy shook her head firmly, trying to sound as if she meant it. It was the first time she’d had to say this aloud, and her words sounded false. ‘I’m not tempted.’

Kathy felt Suzanne’s questioning eyes on her and felt compelled to say more. ‘In fact, I’m beginning to think that I may not go back at all.’

‘What… leave the police?’ Suzanne frowned doubtfully.

‘Yes.’

Suzanne hesitated, then spoke quietly. ‘David only gave me an outline of what happened to you on Christmas Eve. But I know he’s concerned that you must have enough time to get over it. Don’t you think you should wait before you make any decisions?’

‘Starting a new case, like Brock’s doing at the moment, it’s like

…’ Kathy struggled for the image that was in the back of her mind, ‘… like standing on the edge of a deep, dark pool, having to dive in, and knowing that beneath the surface is this awful mess, everything tangled up, everything tied to everything else with lies and fear and greed, and it’s your job to untangle it and sort it all out. I mean, why would you want to bother?’

‘Well, if you feel like that, no, I suppose you wouldn’t… Is there something else you’d rather do?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve been thinking how nice it must be to do something that isn’t so… so claustrophobic and intense. Something that brightens people’s lives, where they’re pleased to see you instead of looking guilty or belligerent when they find out what you do. Something light and cheerful.’

‘And well paid, of course. And with lots of opportunities to meet eligible members of the opposite sex in friendly and relaxed settings.’

‘Yes,’ Kathy grinned ruefully. ‘That too. Definitely that.’

‘Well, go on then. I’m all ears. What is it?’

‘I don’t know…’ She fixed her attention on her teaspoon, stirring hard, wishing they hadn’t got onto this.

‘No ideas at all?’

‘Well, I thought, maybe something to do with travel. A travel agent or a courier. Something like that.’

Kathy stared out of the window. On the far pavement the couple at the pedestrian crossing were on the return leg of their walk, the wind now at their backs and threatening to blow them off their feet.

‘I feel I’m running out of time, Suzanne. Why should I waste any more of it trying to clear up the messes that other people make? Do you think that’s stupid?’

‘No, I don’t. I don’t think that at all.’ Suzanne seemed to struggle with her reply, and Kathy wondered if there was another level to this conversation, as if it reflected in some way on Suzanne’s own relationship with Brock, which Kathy had found hard to fathom.

‘I think what you say is very sensible. When I hear some of the things that you and David and the others have to do, well, I couldn’t do it. And I know that you’ve had some terrible experiences, especially this last time, and if I’d been through anything like that my reaction would be the same, I’m sure, to run a mile. Only…’ She hesitated, as if struggling to force herself to be objective.

‘What?’

‘Well, I think it is important to understand yourself, and what you have a talent for. Like, I have a talent for what I do-I’m not boasting, I’m just saying it as a fact. I have an eye for old things, I can recognise the good stuff, and I enjoy discovering it and restoring it and then selling it to people who trust my judgement. I’ve known this since I was a girl, going out with my father to junk shops and flea markets. But for years I ignored it and did work that I was competent at, but that didn’t really use my particular talent, because I didn’t especially value it. And in the end that made me unhappy and dissatisfied.

‘You ask why you would want to do police work, and I suppose the answer is, because you have a special talent for it. I know that because David’s told me, and he knows. And I believe that a talent like that is something you have to recognise somehow. You don’t choose it, it just is, and it may be a curse. That doesn’t mean that there may not be lots of other fields where your talent can flourish just as well as police work. I don’t know, but I do think you have to bear it in mind when you’re thinking what you should do with your life.

‘Sorry. That sounded like a sermon. Have you had anything to do with the travel business before?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘I know one or two people. A friend of mine runs a travel agency here in Hastings. Suppose I ask her if you could talk to her, maybe work with her for a few days to get the feel of it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Suzanne. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to involve you in all this.’

‘You mean you don’t want me reporting on you to David? I promise. He won’t hear about it from me.’

Kathy appreciated the other woman’s concern, but didn’t tell her that she’d got it wrong. It wasn’t her talent she was worried about, but something altogether more critical. She thought of Bren in the pub, that last time she’d seen them all, and how utterly reliable he had appeared to her. That was what had gone, her reliability. She had lost her nerve, and without it she was as useless to them as a spent battery. They got up to leave, and Kathy glanced again at the photo of Brock in the paper, wondering what it was that had attracted his attention away to the left.

T he most striking thing, Brock had thought, when he’d first arrived, was the public nature of the crime. This was no private violence in some dark corner, but a public execution staged before a large audience. The body had lain sprawled theatrically halfway down a monumental flight of steps, the image like a still from The Battleship Potemkin, with a trail of blood leading back up the flight, and clumps of students and police standing in immobilised groups beneath the glare of lights. He turned from his conversation with Bren to look away to his left across the curve of the Thames, towards the Millennium Dome glowing huge in the winter twilight, and at that moment a press cameraman caught him in his flash. They were practically on the newspapers’ doorstep here, and the reporters had arrived quickly, attracted perhaps by this public nature of the death. He gave them a few non-committal comments, then told the uniforms to move the cordon further back.