Michael Fowler: Secret of the Dead

The Detective Superintendent ordered drinks for everyone, then one of the Indian waiters showed them to their table. They had all pre-ordered their meals during drinks and as they selected their places at the long table the first course of mixed pickle and chutney with popadoms was already waiting.

Fighting spoon against spoon with Barry Newstead, seated opposite, to scoop out the lime chillies from the small metal dish they were sharing, helped Hunter to relax slightly, though he couldn’t help glancing towards the end of the table where Dawn Leggate was next to his boss.

It had crossed Hunter’s mind, as he guessed it had crossed many others around the table, that Michael Robshaw and the Scottish DCI were now an item. There had been office gossip and several sightings of the pair at a local restaurant over the past few months.

It couldn’t be easy carrying on a relationship with six hours’ driving time between them, Hunter thought as he watched the pair chatting with DI Gerald Scaife and his wife. He just hoped it wouldn’t be permanent. He felt uncomfortable in her presence; she knew too much about him and his family.

As they all finished the first course, two waiters glided in and cleared away the crockery. The table was ready for the next course; he had ordered Chicken Chat.

A sudden repetitive tinkling of metal against glass grabbed the table’s attention. Michael Robshaw was tapping the side of his beer glass with his fork.

It brought the team to order.

“I just want to say a few words.” He set down his fork but still held his pint glass. “This is not a night for speeches, but there are three celebrations tonight.”

Hunter began searching faces around the table, but was met with a series of raised eyebrows and shrugs,

“First and foremost, to the team for another successful outcome. Your hard work during the past eight weeks has paid off. We got a good result last week, the guilty verdicts with a twenty-five year minimum life sentence was a good judgement. It was well deserved after all the hard work you all put in and I’d like you to raise your glasses”

There was a resounding response around the table. “To us!”

“And now secondly. This has not been an easy decision. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time with you lot. This is probably the best team I have ever worked with in my career, but I have decided that with three years to go before I can officially retire I’m going to take a back seat. Though you all know I dislike the politics of the job, sometimes in your career you have to run with the devil. What I want to say in a nutshell is that next month I am moving on to headquarters. I am being promoted to Detective Chief Super.”

“And not a moment too soon,” Barry Newstead shouted from his seat. “Well done. Congratulations.” He raised his glass and drank.

The squad followed suit.

Barry kept his empty glass held up. “We’d thought we’d never get rid of you gaffer,” he added with a mocking grin.

There was a ripple of laughter around the table.

“Thank you Barry, I’ll take that as a compliment. From you those are heartfelt words. And do you know something deep down I’ll even miss you! By the way your P45’s in the post.”

There was another flurry of chortling.

“Now for the last celebration. I invited Dawn tonight for a specific reason. Not just so you could all gossip about us and yes we are an item but I wanted you all to share and celebrate her success.” Michael Robshaw glanced to his side and Dawn met his gaze. “Dawn has made a life-changing decision in the past few weeks. From today she is a member of South Yorkshire Police and more importantly she is here on promotion to Detective Superintendent.” He thrust forward his half full glass of beer. “Dawn will be shadowing me on this case for the next month and then she will be taking over. Please raise your glasses to your new SIO.”

Hunter’s head snapped up. Those words struck him like a Tsunami.

He didn’t join in the celebration — it wasn’t a deliberate snub, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

When he turned his attention back to the table, the second course had been put in front of him. He picked at the spicy pieces of chicken in crispy pancake casing. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry any more.

DAY TWO: 25th November.

The alarm woke Hunter at 6.45am and he slipped out of bed quietly and pulled on his training top and joggers. Beth and the boys were still slumbering as he locked the front door behind him. It would be at least another half an hour before they stirred.

The morning air was moist from overnight rain and the pale orange glow of dawn was rising above a grey blue horizon as he hit the streets to run the four miles into Barnwell station. At a slow jog, he slotted the small ear pieces of his i-Pod into place, selected ‘The Platinum Album’ by 30 Seconds to Mars, and clipped it onto the waistband of his jogging bottoms before picking up the pace. At the first corner he slipped up the hood of his top, there was a noticeable chill.

After four hundred yards his rhythm and breathing were in sync and he began to increase speed. He had always found that the harder he pushed himself when training, the easier it became to unwind. Hunter needed to clear his head before he got into work. It wasn’t just the latest case which had disturbed his sleep, the shock announcement delivered by Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw the previous evening was also preying on his mind. He had tossed and turned well into the early hours, and when he woke, everything was still tumbling around inside his head. He got up, determined to sort the muddle out so that he could be focused for the start of this new case. The last thing he wanted was to be out of kilter when there was so much to do.

Deep down, he was feeling vulnerable and he could kick himself for acting like a petulant teenager. After all, he didn’t know Dawn Leggate, and that was why her presence had got to him. Even though other members of his team, including Detective Superintendent Robshaw, knew about his parents’ past, he hated the fact that she knew all the secrets of his family and yet he knew nothing about her.

Grow up Hunter, he cursed inwardly, get over yourself and move on. What’s happened has happened and it’s not her fault .

Suddenly he realised his pace had slackened. He picked up his heels and turned his jog into a run.

* * * * *

In the female toilets of Barnwell Police station, Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate checked her appearance in the mirror. She ran a finger around her lips, softening the edge of the gloss which she had applied just two minutes earlier.

Not too much make up, she told herself.

She straightened her dark blue jacket, flicked at the collar of her white blouse and stepped back a few paces to take in the overall image. Outwardly she looked calm, but inside her head and heart were racing like a clubber on speed.

Her first day of promotion, and a new team to manage.

Meeting the MIT squad last night had filled her with trepidation, particularly after what had gone on two months previously with DS Kerr. She had voiced her anxiety to Michael before they had left his place and he had tried to reassure her that everything would be okay. In some ways he had been right but meeting up again with Hunter had not proved easy. She had tried to catch his eye a few times through the evening and had sensed him staring at her, but whenever she had caught his attention, he had quickly looked away.

Standing before the elongated mirror above the hand basins, doing her best to hide her nervousness, her mind drifted to what lay ahead. She couldn’t afford for things to be edgy between her and one of her team supervisors, not with an investigation in full flow.