Peter Robinson: Bad Boy

“Oh, shit,” said Gervaise. “Here we go.”

RIGHT,” SAID ACC RON MCLAUGHLIN WHEN EVERYONE was seated in the boardroom of Western Area Headquarters. “We’ve got the house on Laburnum Way locked down. Erin Doyle is in custody, and Juliet Doyle is at the hospital by her husband’s bedside. I hardly need to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that we appear to be looking at a cock-up of gigantic proportions.”

McLaughlin had called the meeting to make some sense out of what had just happened and to determine what should be done next, and by whom. The room was crowded and the atmosphere tense. Though no media had arrived at the station yet, Annie could sense the vibrations thrumming through the ether, hear the tom-toms beating in the distance and see the smoke signals curling into the sky.

In plain gray T-shirts and combats, the AFOs looked as if they had just come from the nearest fitness center. Annie saw that she was right about one of the team being female. She had seen the woman around County HQ at Newby Wiske on the few occasions she had been there, and they had exchanged brief and polite greetings, but she hadn’t known the woman was a trained AFO. Luckily, Western Area hadn’t had much use for their services lately. There were few enough women in the force, and Annie reckoned that this one must be very good if she was a member of the AFO team. Training was tough and standards were high. The female officer had closely cropped spiky dark hair over a heart-shaped face with large eyes, a small mouth and an olive complexion. She was short, with a barrel-shaped muscular upper body, as if she lifted a lot of weights. Annie caught her eye and gave her a smile of solidarity. She gave Annie a grim, shy smile of understanding back, then turned away.

One of the team members, a youngish-looking fellow whom Annie didn’t recognize, seemed paler than the rest and was chewing on the end of a Biro. The hand in which he held it was shaking, and it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was the shooter, the one who had dashed out of the house and thrown up in the herbaceous border. He didn’t look any older than eighteen, but Annie knew that he had to be in his mid-to-late twenties to have completed the training and psychological testing necessary to be an AFO.

“I think you all know the drill,” McLaughlin went on once everybody had a coffee in front of them. “I’m going to hand over to Superintendent Chambers from Professional Standards now, to get the ball rolling. Once we’ve got the general picture, we’ll try to make some decisions on how best to proceed. Reg?”

Chambers cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair and put his pen down on his notepad. The buttons on his waistcoat stretched tight across his chest and belly. Annie thought he had the faintly ridiculous air of a Dickensian character. She had once worked with Chambers for a few weeks herself, and had quickly come to understand why the Internal Affairs Department was always referred to as the “Rat Squad” on American television programs.

“Thank you, sir,” said Chambers. “Let’s just get a few facts straight, first of all, shall we? Who called in the FSU?” He had a Home Counties accent, which he seemed to think made him sound posh.

“I did,” said Gervaise. “We had information that an illegal firearm had been discovered in Erin Doyle’s bedroom at her parents’ house on Laburnum Way. Miss Doyle had remained there in the custody of her father while her mother reported the weapon to us.”

“Admirable.” Chambers jotted something down, then asked Gervaise, “Was there any reason to suspect that anyone in the house was in danger?”

“None,” said Gervaise.

“Or that the firearm was a threat to anyone at all?”

“A loaded firearm is always a threat. But there was no reason for us to assume that either Erin or Patrick Doyle intended to use the weapon, either on each other or on anybody else. They were both aware that the mother, Juliet Doyle, had gone to the police station to report finding it. They were expecting us.”

Chambers scratched the edge of his nose and coughed. “I understand that the daughter was quite upset and angry when the gun was discovered in her room?”

“Naturally,” said Gervaise.

“But you don’t think she was afraid of the consequences, was likely to use the weapon to effect an escape?”

Gervaise took her time before answering. “I don’t think she was even aware of the consequences,” she said finally. “Most people in her position aren’t. They don’t really think they’ve done anything wrong in simply giving house room to a gun, no matter how they came by it. After all, they haven’t used it. I doubt that she even realized she was committing a serious crime. She probably expected to be thanked for keeping it off the streets. If she even knew about it.”

“What do you mean?” Chambers demanded.

“I’m just pointing out that at this stage in our inquiries, we have absolutely no evidence whatsoever that Erin Doyle had any connection with the gun found by her mother on top of her wardrobe.”

“Are you suggesting that someone else put it there?”

“I am simply saying that we don’t know,” said Gervaise. Annie could tell she was holding back her irritation.

“I understand from Sergeant Haggerty on the reception desk that Mrs. Doyle asked to see Detective Chief Inspector Banks?” said Chambers, shooting Annie a sly glance. Annie knew that Chambers and Banks didn’t get on, had crossed swords on more than one occasion since the reorganization, in which Chambers’s department had been relocated to County HQ.

“DCI Banks is one of my best officers,” said Gervaise. “As it happens, he’s on holiday.”

“Gardening leave, is it?” Chambers asked with a smirk. “We all know he’s been off his medication lately.”

“A well-deserved holiday,” said Gervaise, tight-lipped. She looked over at Annie. “According to DI Cabbot, Mrs. Doyle did first ask for DCI Banks, yes. Your point is?”

Chambers turned to Annie. His eyes narrowed. “So it’s true?”

“Yes,” said Annie.

“Any idea why this was?”

“Apparently they used to be neighbors and have remained friends since DCI Banks left the neighborhood.”

“Why do you think she asked for him by name?”

“Because she knew him. I think she expected that he would accompany her back to the house, pick up the gun and bring it in to the station.”

“Rather than follow correct procedure?”

Annie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I think that DCI Banks’s first priority would have been to defuse the situation,” she said, “and to make sure that no harm came to anyone.”

“And our priority-the correct procedure-wasn’t likely to achieve that?”

“With all due respect, it’s not my place to comment on procedure, but I’m certain that whatever DCI Banks would have done would have been well within acceptable bounds.”

“I wish I could share your confidence,” said Chambers, his upper lip curling.

“Well, we’ll never know, will we?” said Annie. “Because he wasn’t here, and it’s all mere speculation.”

“That will do, DI Cabbot,” said Chambers. Annie gave him a contemptuous look.

“So, in fact, what Erin and Patrick Doyle were expecting,” Chambers went on, “was for an old family friend to come knocking at their door, give their daughter a stern talking to, then disappear from their lives forever with the gun? Problem solved.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Annie argued. “I don’t know what they were expecting. There are no grounds whatsoever for assuming that DCI Banks would in any way interfere with the law, or try to protect Erin Doyle from prosecution for any offense she might have committed.”