Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

“Then what?”

“First, I want you to pay a visit to Jaff’s flat. You know where it is. That posh place by the wharf in Leeds. Here’s the key. He’s still got something of mine, and I want it back. Maybe he heard what happened to his girlfriend and took off somewhere, took it with him, even though he must know what that means, but…well, have a butcher’s, anyway.”

Darren pocketed the key. He didn’t ask where Fanthorpe had got it from. It didn’t matter. “No sweat, boss. And then?”

“Jaff. He’s not as tough as he thinks he is. Once the coppers get to him, and they will, it’s only a matter of time before he talks, if he hasn’t already. Maybe they’ll offer him a deal, too. And he knows too much about us. Way too much.” Fanthorpe shook his head. “I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. Jaff. You know he’s practically my partner? I’ve treated that boy like the son I never had. Groomed him. And this is how he repays me.”

“We don’t know that he’s done anything yet.”

Fanthorpe turned red. “He’s given me fucking indigestion, for a start. And he’s a let a gun fall into police hands, all because of some stupid tart. If that’s not enough, I don’t know what is. He’s a liability.”

“So what do we do?” Darren asked again.

“Whatever damage is done, we make sure it stops with Jaff. Is there anything concrete to link him to us?”

“Tenuous, at best,” said Darren. “Rumors. Innuendo. Nothing we can’t deal with. No loose ends we can’t tie up.”

Fanthorpe nodded. “As I thought. Well, rumors and innuendo are about as much use as a fart in a force nine gale, but they can cause a lot of peripheral damage. So it stops with Jaff. See to it.”

“Right, boss.”

“Find him. Pay him a visit. Don’t bring him back here. Take him somewhere nice and quiet. Find out exactly what’s going on. Let Ciaran loose on him if you have to. He must be getting thirsty for blood again by now. It’s been a long while. Get what you can out of him. Get my stuff back for me. Give me a bell when you’ve done it, and I’ll give you further instructions then. Think you can you handle it?”

Darren gave him a look of wonder that he should ask such a question.

“Course you can,” said Fanthorpe, patting Darren’s shoulder. “Course you can, my lad. You haven’t let me down yet. Remember. It stops with Jaff. First get my stuff back, then…then…” He paused and drew the edge of his hand across his throat. “It stops.”

DETECTIVE SUPERINTENDENT GERVAISE OCCUPIED her predecessor Gristhorpe’s old office, as befitted her rank, but it was far less cluttered than it had been when the old man was in residence, Annie thought, far more spick-and-span, light and airy. A fresh coat of pale blue paint had worked wonders. The bookcases held works mostly relevant to the job, rather than the rows of leather-bound classics Gristhorpe had kept there, and the volumes were interspersed by the occasional cup or mounted award for dressage and fencing, along with silver-framed family photographs. A white MacBook sat open on her orderly desk, pushed slightly to one side. Street sounds drifted in through the open window-a car starting, schoolchildren calling out to one another across the market square, the sliding door of a large delivery van-along with the occasional breath of fresh air and the aroma of warm bread wafting up from Pete’s Bakery.

“Sit down, Annie,” said Gervaise. “I’ve already sent for tea. Earl Grey all right with you?”

“Fine,” said Annie. She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair.

Gervaise toyed with a paper clip, unbending it slowly, her Cupid’s-bow lips pursed. “I like the blond highlights,” she said finally, turning her blue eyes on Annie. “What made you do that?”

“I don’t know. Blondes have more fun?” Annie was far from certain that she’d done the right thing. Having her hair cut short in the first place was one step toward a new look, but the highlights were quite another, and she was still feeling self-conscious about them.

“And are you? Having more fun?”

“Not at the moment, I must admit.”

“Me neither.” Gervaise paused and put the paper clip down. Annie noticed a bubble of blood on the tip of her index finger. “Look, Annie, we’ve had our ups and downs, you and me, but I like you, Annie. I want you to know that. Despite your often misguided loyalty to DCI Banks taking precedence over correct procedure, and even simple common sense at times, I like you. And I want to build on that. How are things?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question. How are things? Your life? In general. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

“And would you tell me if they weren’t?”

“Probably not.”

“So I haven’t earned your trust yet?”

“It’s not a matter of…” Annie began. Then she stopped. “Of what? Go on.”

Annie shook her head.

“I suppose what I meant,” Gervaise went on, “was you and Alan. DCI Banks. In the short time I’ve been here, it could hardly have escaped my attention that the two of you have a somewhat special relationship, and-”

“There’s nothing untoward about it, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Annie said. “No romantic involvement. No impropriety whatsoever.”

“Whoa there.” Gervaise held her hand up, palm out. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. But that’s by the by. I wasn’t referring to your sex life. Ah, here’s the tea. Come in, Sharon. Put the tray down here, please. Thank you.” The WPC who had brought the tea smiled, nodded and left the room.

“We’ll just let that mash awhile, shall we?” Gervaise said. “Then I’ll play mother. No, what I meant before was that you actually complement one another quite well in your work. I know things have a tendency to go awry once in a while, especially when DCI Banks is around, and some things don’t always look too good on paper, but your cases get solved, you get results. Both of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Gervaise leaned forward and linked her hands on the desk. The tiny bubble of blood smeared the knuckles on her left hand. Her diamond engagement ring sparkled as it caught the sunlight. “Let me tell you, quite frankly, that I’m worried about Alan. I’ve been worried about him ever since that business with MI5 last spring. There’s something…different about him. And one hears…rumors. I understand he split up with his girlfriend, too?”

“Yes. Sophia.” Annie had never really taken to Sophia, had always believed she could see right through her, see her for what she was-vain and shallow, used to being desired and celebrated as a muse by men. Sophia needed their adoration, she fed on it, and the attentions of an older, attractive man of Banks’s stature had flattered her ego. For a while. Until a better offer came along, someone who would write poems or songs for her, perhaps. But she couldn’t say that to Gervaise. It would sound like sour grapes, as if it were born out of envy and jealousy. Which it partly was. Since Banks had split up with Sophia and become uncommunicative, Annie had found herself frequently thinking of their short time together. He had been hers once. Could she have hung on to him? Should she have tried? Even taken a transfer to some other county force not too far away so that they wouldn’t have to work together? Because that had been the problem, she had discovered; she hadn’t been able to work alongside him and be romantically involved.

“Is there more to it than that?”

Annie snapped herself back to the present. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked if there was anything else that was worrying him. I’m not asking you to betray any sort of trust, you understand. I ask entirely out of concern for his welfare. And for yours, too, of course. For the team.”