David Belbin - Bone & Cane

‘I’d appreciate that,’ Nick mumbled, the old dread settling on him. Sarah picked up the phone.

‘I’ll put him on speaker so you can hear, but keep quiet.’

All the affection had left her voice. He was part of her caseload now. She had the Chief Constable on speed dial, Nick noted. At times like this, he wished he was a praying man. If this call went badly Nick would be within spitting distance of forty before he got out of the big house. ‘Eric’ answered on the second ring. Sarah accepted fulsome congratulations.

‘We’re expecting big things of you now that you’re in government,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘Very big things indeed. What can I do for you?’

‘Two things,’ Sarah said. ‘I think they’re connected. The taxi driver I vouched for last night: do you know who reported him?’

‘An anonymous tip, I think. There’s not enough evidence for a prosecution, but since he’s out on license, we can take him back in for any infringement. Do you still want to vouch for him?’

‘He’s an old friend who’s trying to turn his life around,’ Sarah said. ‘He was taking his sister-in-law to have her first baby. I’d appreciate it if this could go away.’

‘Done. What was the other thing?’

‘I think I know who had it in for Nick Cane – my bad penny, the one that keeps showing up: Ed Clark.’

‘What’s the connection. A prison feud?’

‘No. Something that happened since then. Trouble over a woman.’

‘Trouble usually is,’ the Chief Constable said, in his thin voice, which managed to be both obsequious and authoritative at the same time. Surely senior police weren’t usually this cosy with local MPs. But Sarah used to be a police officer. Maybe that made a difference.

‘When we spoke last week you said you’d look into the Shanks case again.’

‘I spoke to the officers involved. The evidence against him wasn’t strong enough for the appeal court, but we’re still sure Clark did it. Looking for somebody else would be a waste of time.’

‘So he got away with murder?’

The Chief Constable didn’t attempt to conceal his impatience.

‘What else did you expect when you campaigned for his release?’

‘I thought a retrial would get to the bottom of the matter.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, that’s a very naïve point of view.’

‘Ed wrote to me. So did a couple of other people who were convinced that he was innocent. I thought they were right and that’s why I started the campaign. There was no real evidence against him.’

‘Nothing concrete enough for a conviction, but there’s plenty of proof, if you know where to look. There was a lot of tenuous stuff that never made it into court. Most of it pointed in his direction, too.’

‘Terry Shanks wasn’t the only police officer responsible for Ed being sent down.’

‘That’s right. But he was the only officer whose sister was having it away with Ed.’

‘I wish you’d told me that before,’ Sarah said. ‘Polly Bolton played me for a fool.’

‘We kept her name out of the robbery trial, at her brother’s insistence. Bolton wasn’t relevant to Clark’s first or second case – involving her would have muddied the waters.’

‘What would you say if I told you that Polly’s going out with Ed Clark again?’

‘I’d say pull the other one.’

‘I’m pulling hard,’ Sarah said. ‘He’s been seeing her for at least a couple of weeks.’

There was a long pause before the Chief Constable responded. ‘Clark managed to convince you he was innocent,’ he said. ‘Maybe he pulled the same stunt on her. But I’ll pass that information on. Tell your taxi driver we might have a few questions for him, but he’s off the hook.’

‘I will, Eric. Appreciated. Thanks.’

She hung up. Nick wanted to hug her, to thank her, to go to bed with her.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘It was nothing.’ Sarah’s face was serious, glum. She was already focused on Ed. Nick’s problem was in the past. He had to help her in the present.

‘Perhaps Ed really is innocent,’ Nick said. ‘If he convinced Polly . . .’

‘It would be much better all round if he were innocent,’ Sarah said. ‘But I think he killed those people. I think I made a terrible mistake.’

Nick had no reply. Sarah got up and put the kettle on. While she was waiting for it to boil, she looked at the papers.

The Guardian talked about a late swing to the Tories not being enough to prevent a Labour victory. The local paper had OUT OUT OUT in a red strip below its masthead. Next to each word was the photograph of a defeated Tory MP. The main headline was LABOUR ROMP IN. A list of local results showed Five Labour gains. The only East Midlands seat the Tories had managed to hang on to was across the Trent in rich, middle-class West Bridgford, where the Tory Chancellor of the Exchequer had held on to his seat with a much reduced majority. On page five was a picture of an ecstatic-looking Sarah with the caption: BONE BREAKS BY-ELECTION JINX. The paper reminded its readers that, according to statisticians, seats lost in by-elections always reverted to the losing party. Not anymore.

Sarah made coffee. They sat together, reading papers, like the cosy couple they had once been. At five, Sarah put on the news, listened to the latest cabinet appointments. The new parliamentary term started on Tuesday. Nick would lose Sarah then, if not before. He didn’t know what to say to her.

As afternoon became evening, she kept answering the phone, turning down invitations to drinks, parties, meals, earnestly discussing the make-up of the new government. Every so often someone asked about her prospects of a government job.

‘Not a chance, but I have to stay near a phone just in case,’ was her standard reply. ‘Me and every other bugger who got re-elected.’

Nick phoned the hospital. Caroline had already been sent home. In Sherwood, his brother answered the phone.

‘It’s mad here,’ he said. ‘When are you coming round?’

‘Tomorrow, I guess. I’m with somebody.’

‘You pulled last night? Lucky bugger.’

‘Did you straighten things out with Caroline?’

‘In a manner of speaking. I’ve had to agree to let Nas go. Turns out she’s known about it for months.’

‘She doesn’t miss much, Caroline.’

‘Baby’s crying. Come to lunch tomorrow. Gotta run.’

Perhaps fatherhood would make a new man of Joe, though Nick doubted it. While Sarah made more calls, Nick prepared her dinner: cold chicken with potato salad, vine tomatoes and crusty French bread, washed down with Sauvignon Blanc. They ate with gusto.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ Sarah asked, as she finished her meal and poured each of them a third glass of wine. ‘I can’t be seen with you here. Everybody knows you’re fresh out of prison.’

‘Take me to London with you,’ Nick suggested.

‘And find you a job, with a serious criminal record? Not easy.’

‘I could be a house-husband,’ Nick said, not entirely joking, ‘taking care of your every need.’

‘I’ve got a tiny one-bedroom flat in London. There’s barely room for one, never mind two. And you’re hardly the house-husband type. Even if you were, we can’t go leaping into that kind of a relationship.’

‘I could,’ Nick said.

‘You’ve got less to lose than I have,’ Sarah said, softly, apologetically.

‘I’ve got nothing to lose,’ Nick told her.

‘Except your freedom. Again.’

‘Oh. That.’

33

Somehow it got to be midnight on the second of May and Nick was still there. Sarah knew he expected to spend the night with her, as he had the one before. When the phone calls finally fizzled out, and the TV coverage finished, Sarah found herself exhausted. The campaign had caught up with her. She would prefer to sleep alone, but couldn’t throw Nick out. He’d think it was a rejection. Easier to make love to him.