The Malcontenta

8

They sat in one of the ingle-nooks by the blazing fire in the snug of the Hart Revived. Jerry had style, Kathy decided. He was telling them a story about the unfortunate interior decor of the Jolly Roger and a biker who had become entangled in a lobster pot and fishing net after importuning an uncomprehendingly straight workman who had come in for a quick drink while repairing the road outside. He was very amusing and talked as if he were sitting with a couple of old friends instead of two police officers seeking his help with their inquiries. His large, round glasses reflected the firelight as he underlined his more telling phrases with languid movements of his hands and head. His complexion seemed ageless, although from the creases in his hands Kathy thought he must be at least forty.

‘So,’ she said eventually, steering the conversation back, ‘how do you come to know Dr Beamish-Newell?’

‘Dr Fiendish-Cruel?’ They laughed. ‘Oh, that’s what they call him up there, you know. That and a few other things. He’s a customer of ours. We supply the clinic. All organic, no pesticides.’

‘I thought they grew their own in the walled garden.’ ‘No, they can’t grow a fraction of what they use. They’re not set up for it.’

‘He’s just a customer, then?’

Jerry looked at her pointedly, pursing his lips. T didn’t say he was just a customer, dear. Unfortunately, my partner in life, Errol, has a great talent for attracting such shit, which is why I’m talking to you, isn’t it? From what Gordon tells me, it sounds as if Errol has been dancing a bit too close to the flame again, not for the first time.’

‘How long have you two been in partnership?’

‘We’ve had the business for fifteen years. But we’ve been together much longer. Next year is our twenty-fifth anniversary, as a matter of fact.’

‘Anniversary of what?’ Kathy couldn’t help asking, revising his age upwards.

‘Of when we were married. Yes, it’s true. Twenty-five years ago next spring, Errol and I were married in a church, on the quiet, by an obliging vicar we knew. I sometimes wonder why, but we’ve lasted longer than most of the straight couples we know. Are you married, luv?’

Kathy shook her head.

‘No, well. It has its ups and downs, but I think we’re getting to the stage when it’s just too much like hard work to look elsewhere. At least, / am. Sometimes Errol needs reminding.’

‘So what happened on Sunday?’

‘I thought something was going on when he said he was going to the shop to take stock of the non-food items for the VAT return. He never does that — leaves it all to me, the lazy bitch. After an hour I decided to go in and see if he really was there. Well, he was, and so was the doctor. They were having an argument about something, I don’t know what. They shut up when I walked in, and Fiendish-Cruel just glared daggers at me — at me! Then he marched out. I asked Errol what the hell was going on, and he got all sulky and said I was spying on him, which I was. He claimed Fiendish-Cruel just called in out of the blue with an order for fruit for Monday, but I could tell that wasn’t true — Fiendish never does the running around himself and, besides, Errol had that hurt, innocent look he always has when he’s telling lies. Anyway, I thought I’d made my point. But when Gordon came into the shop this afternoon and told me about this police investigation, I began to wonder if Errol was being used by that man and getting himself into deep water. He’s an innocent, you see, contrary to appearances.’

‘You knew Alex Petrou?’

‘I recognized the picture Gordon showed me, but I didn’t know his name. I’d seen him in the shop once or twice. Well, you couldn’t help noticing him. I’m not too old to look:

‘So you never met him socially?’

‘No, never. I’m sure Errol never has, either.’

‘I’ll have to talk to Errol. Is he at home?’

‘Must you? Yes, he’ll be home now. Probably wondering why I’m not there cooking his tea.’

Errol was in a belligerent mood. As Jerry closed the front door he shouted angrily, ‘Jerry? Is that you? Where the hell have you been?’

‘Scoring points,’ Jerry muttered softly.

Errol appeared at the end of the hall, his scowl changing reluctantly into a smile as he saw the strangers. He came forward to greet them.

‘This is Sergeant Kolla and Constable Dowling, Errol. They want to talk to us in connection with someone up at the clinic who died at the weekend.’

Errol stopped dead in his tracks.

‘Come through into the lounge,’ Jerry said, apparently not seeing the stunned look on his friend’s face.

They followed him and sat on a pair of old leather chesterfields.

‘You remember that Greek boy came into the shop a few times a couple of months ago? He’s the one who’s died. You hadn’t seen him since, had you, Errol?’

Jerry asked the question as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, but they all heard the accusation underneath.

‘Jerry, we should speak to Errol on his own, if you don’t mind,’ Kathy said gently. ‘It’s standard procedure, you see.’

‘Oh.’ His lips tightened, then he swung to his feet. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee, then, or a drink?’ ‘No, thanks all the same.’

‘Well, I think I will.’ He marched out, closing the door pointedly behind him.

Errol was shorter than his partner, more pugnacious in build and appearance, and without any of his easy charm. He glared at Kathy defensively.

‘You had seen him since, hadn’t you, Errol?’ she said.

‘Had I?’ He adopted a look of wide-eyed innocence, which she took to be the symptom of guilt that Jerry had described.

‘Jerry assures us that you’ve never met Alex Petrou socially, but we know that isn’t true.’ She let it sink in. ‘Well?’

He took a deep breath, shrugged in resignation, raised his eyebrows as if it wasn’t a matter of importance anyway.

‘I bumped into him once or twice in pubs.’

‘Which pubs?’

He mentioned the Jolly Roger and the names of two places in Crowbridge.

‘You became close friends.’ Kathy phrased it as a statement rather than a question, and he flushed and puffed his cheeks.

‘Absolutely not! God, if you’re trying to insinuate…’

‘You weren’t ever worried about him being HIV positive?’

It was an unforgivable tactic, she knew, and deserved to fail miserably, but she was tired of being spoken to as if she were a robot.

He turned white and for a moment looked as if he might topple from his seat. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he gasped. ‘Holy Mother of God! He wasn’t? Say he wasn’t!’

She stared at him, holding his eye for a long while, then said quietly, ‘He wasn’t.’

Colour rushed up his face from the neck. ‘You bitch,’ he hissed, tears spurting in his eyes. ‘You fucking, fucking bitch.’

They waited for him to recover, and then he told them of his affair with Petrou, a ‘passing fancy’, he said, which had come to a definite end two weeks before when he had discovered that the Greek had another lover. ‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. He just mentioned it casually one evening. I got upset.’

‘How did you meet him without Jerry knowing?’

Errol bowed his head. ‘I go to a gym in Crowbridge couple of times a week. Jerry likes me to keep in shape. I used to meet Alex there. I don’t want Jerry to know about this, Sergeant. It would make him very … unhappy. Does he have to?’

Kathy shrugged, suddenly feeling depressed. ‘I’m not sure. Tell us about Sunday afternoon.’

‘Stephen Beamish-Newell rang me at home on Sunday morning. He insisted on meeting me, and I suggested the shop that afternoon — there was an old movie on TV that Jerry particularly wanted to see, so he wouldn’t offer to come with me.’

‘You knew the doctor?’

‘Yes, I do the deliveries for the shop and often go up to the clinic. I’d met him a few times over the years. Anyway, it turned out he’d heard about me and Alex. He wanted me to promise to stay away from him. At first I thought he was worried about the reputation of the clinic or something. But he got very emotional, wouldn’t believe we’d broken up. Then I realized he was jealous.’

‘Jealous?’ Kathy repeated.

‘Yes. I told him so to his face, and he went berserk. That was when Jerry came in. Just as well, even if it did cause me more trouble with Jerry. Beamish-Newell was getting violent.’

‘Really?’

‘God, yes. I reckon he’d have killed me. Manner of speaking.’

‘Errol, I want you to come back with us to County HQ and make a statement. I’ll also want your permission to take a sample of your blood.’

‘Shit. He did have Aids, didn’t he?’ Errol’s hand began trembling again.

‘No, nothing like that. We’re using blood tests to crosscheck witnesses. It’s a scientific procedure. You have nothing to worry about if you’ve told us the truth. Of course, you don’t have to agree to this. It’s quite voluntary, at this stage.’

It was well after eight that evening when they finished with Errol. Gordon and Kathy had a quick meal in the canteen, then returned to their office to check his account against the earlier statements of people at the clinic. It didn’t take long to confirm the information they needed.

‘Beamish-Newell left the shop at around five-fifteen, certainly no later than five twenty-five,’ Kathy concluded. ‘It’s a ten-minute drive to the clinic, but he wasn’t seen by anyone until he appeared for dinner in the dining room towards six-thirty. He had plenty of time to find Petrou and have a fight with him.’

‘You think he did?’

‘Why did he lie to us? I’ll tell you what, I’d love to know if he’s an AB secretor — only two per cent of the population is, Gordon. Only two per cent!’ Kathy’s eyes were bright. ‘No wonder he didn’t want us to take the van. I’d better tell them we’re looking for his prints inside now.’

‘Do you want to speak to him tonight?’

Kathy hesitated, looked at her watch. It was fourteen hours since they’d come to work. ‘He’s not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘We’ll get him in the morning.’

She smiled. ‘Relish the prospect, Gordon. You did well.’

He grinned back.

They met early the next morning, but Kathy had to wait to find out what had happened with the van. It was nine-thirty before she was able to get hold of the sergeant in charge, and she was tapping her fingers impatiently on the phone as she spoke to him. ‘They returned it yesterday evening, Gordon. They’re sorting the fingerprints now. It’ll take them a few hours yet, he says, so we won’t wait. Come on.’

She got up and reached for her coat just as Tanner walked through the door. It was the first time she had seen him since their visit to the temple, and she froze inwardly at the sight of him. He ignored her and spoke abruptly to Gordon. ‘Where are you going?’

Gordon hesitated and half turned his head towards Kathy, expecting her to answer. When she didn’t, he said, ‘To Stanhope Clinic, sir.’

‘What for?’

Gordon looked back at Kathy again, not understanding. Still she made no move to step in. ‘Er … we want to interview the Director again, sir. It appears …’ he searched desperately for the right words. ‘It appears he lied to us in his earlier statement.’

Tanner glared at him, then barked, ‘My office!’ and turned on his heel.

Gordon looked appealingly at Kathy. She shrugged and hung her coat back on the hook. ‘My mistake, Gordon. We should have gone last night.’

They sat facing Tanner across his desk. It was untidy, piled with files and document trays. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke impatiently out of the side of his mouth. The ashtray beside the telephone was already half full. ‘Tell me,’ he said.

‘What, sir?’ Gordon said.

‘Everything. The whole thing.’

Gordon paused, then with relief heard Kathy begin to speak. Yet, unnervingly, Tanner continued to glare at him, snorting smoke from time to time, as if it was Gordon’s words coming out of her mouth.

She gave a full account of the development of their investigation over the previous three days. Her voice was expressionless, which Gordon found almost as alarming as Tanner’s strange eye-contact. When she’d finished, Tanner said, still staring fixedly at Gordon, ‘Your paperwork is shit.’

Gordon blinked. Was he supposed to respond?

‘I want all of this written up. A detailed report. Before you do anything else.’

‘Sir!’ Kathy protested, ‘It’s not that incomplete, apart from yesterday. We’ll write it all up later today, but right now it’s important we see Beamish-Newell immediately.’

‘You’ll do exactly as I say.’

Gordon hesitated, then offered, ‘I’ll write up the reports, Kathy. You can take someone else.’

‘Dowling, you sleepy bugger.’ Tanner’s voice was low and withering. ‘Why don’t you keep your fucking suggestions to your fucking self. I said, you’ll do exactly as I say. Both of you.’

It felt like being back at school on detention. They sat on opposite sides of the table while people came and went, Kathy writing longhand drafts, Gordon typing with two fingers. Her face was white, her lips tight with anger.

They finished soon after eleven and together took a photocopy along the corridor to Tanner’s office. He tossed it carelessly on to a brimming paper-tray. ‘There’s going to be a Senior Officers’ Case Conference on this investigation,’ he said.

‘A what?’ Kathy asked.

‘Senior Officers’ Case Conference,’ he repeated. ‘New management procedure. There was a memo about it a couple of months ago. Don’t you read the memos that come to you? To familiarize senior officers with significant cases and to help investigating officers deal with sensitive cases.’

‘Help?’ Kathy stared at him. ‘We don’t need any help.’

‘That doesn’t seem to be the general view, Sergeant.’ He lifted his eyes and looked her in the face for the first time. ‘Not the general view at all.’

She took a deep breath. ‘When … when is this conference going to be, then?’

‘Today. You’ll be called.’ ‘And meanwhile?’

‘Meanwhile, you sit in your office and do nothing.’

Towards one o’clock Kathy got one of the departmental secretaries to check with Tanner’s office and was told that they should get some lunch. When they returned there was a phone message taped to her door, saying the meeting would be convened at three o’clock in one of the small conference rooms, room 407. At a quarter to three another message arrived to say that it would be delayed for an hour and moved to room 518. At three-fifty they picked up their files, took the lift up to the fifth floor and found that room 518 was next to the Deputy Chief Constable’s secretary’s office. She showed them into the empty room, offered them tea which they refused, and left, closing the door behind her.

At four-fifteen the secretary returned and told them that the meeting would now be held in the Deputy Chief Constable’s own office. She showed them back through her room just as the door on the far side opened. Kathy was stunned to see Dr Beamish-Newell sitting inside. He was talking to someone out of view, and another man whom she didn’t recognize was standing nearby, looking down at him. He was tall, heavily built, with silver hair, wearing a silver-grey business suit. He was eyeing the doctor with a stony expression, and Kathy knew that she had seen his face before. A lawyer, perhaps. The man said something she couldn’t catch, then picked up a slim briefcase and came through the door, glancing briefly at her with a cold eye as he passed.

As they went into the room, Kathy saw that Beamish-Newell had been talking to the Deputy Chief Constable. Next to him was Inspector Tanner.

Long waved them to seats and waited for his secretary to leave. The chairs were low, designed for informal discussion around a coffee table, and made Kathy feel uncomfortably at a disadvantage.

‘I don’t propose to keep minutes at this stage,’ Long began. ‘We are here to review the investigation into the apparent suicide of Alex Petrou at the Stanhope Naturopathic Clinic, sometime during the night of 28 and 29 October. The aim is to dispel some of the confusion which appears to have accumulated around the conduct of this case.’

Kathy had not intended to speak until she understood better what was going on, but Long’s choice of words stung her.

‘Sir,’ she broke in, ‘if we are to review the investigation or conduct of the case, it is surely improper to have Dr Beamish-Newell present.’

Long raised his eyes to let her see his irritation, then lowered them again to his papers, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment. ‘Dr Beamish-Newell,’ he said quietly, ‘wishes to make a statement which will hopefully clarify matters a good deal. I was about to say that our aim is both to dispel confusion and to reach a resolution of the matter. I take it you would welcome that, Sergeant?’

‘Sir.’

‘Good. Now, doctor, perhaps you would repeat to the investigating officers what you told Inspector Tanner and myself earlier.’

Beamish-Newell said nothing for a moment, eyelids lowered, then his nostrils flared and he nodded. ‘Thank you, Deputy Chief Constable. I am very glad of the opportunity to set the record straight.’ His voice was sonorous. ‘I must confess to some embarrassment. I had no idea that such a matter — tragic certainly, but essentially rather straightforward, one would imagine — that such a matter could become so overcomplicated … take on the character of a major criminal investigation in fact.’ A faint, pained smile flitted across his face. ‘As it unfolded before my eyes, the simple tragedy was transformed into a nightmare. The peace of mind of dozens of people for whom I am responsible, the very balance and stability of the clinic, were threatened. I didn’t think as clearly as I should, and as a result I find I have placed myself and another member of my staff in an invidious position. I should like to clear up any possible misunderstandings now, and bring this whole matter to the simple conclusion that it should have reached on the very first day.’

He cleared his throat, adjusted his position on the chair and fixed his eyes on Kathy.

‘In my statements to you, Sergeant, at the beginning, I made certain simplifications, which in retrospect were counter-productive. I see that now, although at the time it seemed prudent to gloss over some matters which could stain the otherwise impeccable reputation of Stanhope Clinic. The fact is that Geoffrey Parsons and I did not call the police immediately after Mr Parsons found Alex Petrou’s body. At my instigation — and it was entirely my responsibility — we delayed in order to make certain adjustments to the circumstances in which we found him, which were, frankly, of an unpleasant and compromising nature.’

Kathy thought what a good salesman he was. He was immensely persuasive, using everything — his voice, his hands, his body and, above all, his eyes — to engage his audience and make them believe. The phrases were carefully prepared but delivered with an intensity that seemed spontaneous, straight from his soul.

‘When we found him, Petrou was wearing — I hesitate to call it “clothing” — a bizarre costume composed of straps and belts and the like. It apparently had some sort of perverse erotic significance — his genitals were exposed — although I must say we found it difficult to make that association at the time. The effect was quite grotesque and made more so by the fact that a leather hood covered his head, so that at first we didn’t know who it was, hanging there.

‘I simply felt that I couldn’t leave him to be discovered and exposed in that condition. One need only reflect upon the distress to his family and the unmerited taint upon the clinic if the tabloid press were to get hold of such a thing. I decided that it was my responsibility to save his, and our, reputation, even if I could not save his life. Together, Mr Parsons and I lowered his body to the floor and removed the things he was wearing. In the pocket of his tracksuit, which was lying on the floor with his sports shoes, I found his keys. I returned to the house and went to his room, to see if he had left a note. There was none, but I did find other things which I felt should be removed. There were a number of pornographic magazines — German, I think — showing pictures of people dressed much as Mr Petrou had been when we found him. I gathered all this together and put it into a sports bag which I found there in his room. Then I returned to the temple, where Mr Parsons had remained guarding the body. We redressed the body in the tracksuit and shoes and hanged him again, as best we could in the position we had found him in. It was an unpleasant task and we were in a hurry, anxious to get it over. I packed all the incriminating material into the bag, and when we had finished I put it in the boot of my car until we could dispose of it with the general refuse collection on the Tuesday. I returned to the house and called the police.’

He paused and looked around at his audience. ‘I realize we were wrong to do what we did, but I believe any normal, decent person would understand our motives and would have done the same.’

Kathy watched the Deputy Chief Constable nod sagely. Tanner’s expression said nothing.

Beamish-Newell spoke again. ‘There is something else. On the day before this tragedy, I became aware that Mr Petrou might be bringing drugs into the clinic for his own use. You can understand how shocked I was to learn of this. The whole purpose of the clinic is to promote natural therapies, health without medical drugs of any kind. To discover the possibility of narcotics being brought on to the premises was appalling. When I confronted Petrou with my suspicions on Sunday morning, he was quite open about it and unrepentant. He was in many ways naive to the point of childishness, and seemed oblivious to the legal and other repercussions of his folly. He told me the name of the person from whom he had obtained the drugs, which he described as an “amusement”. I contacted that person and went to see them late on Sunday afternoon in order to ensure that the supply was terminated and that no other members of my staff were involved.

‘Again, Sergeant, I omitted information to you in describing my movements for that afternoon, in order to avoid having to implicate my dead employee in another unfortunate … vice. What didn’t occur to me until today was the possibility that his two peccadilloes might be connected — that his bizarre appearance in the temple and his accidental death by hanging might both have been the result of his being under the influence of drugs.

‘I should like to make a sincere apology to you, Sergeant, as I have to the Deputy Chief Constable, for any possible prolongation of your investigation which may have resulted from my reticence. As I said at the beginning, I had no idea that a straightforward case of suicide would be pursued in such a … may I say, obsessive manner.’

He leaned back in his chair, erect, and looked at Long, who nodded.

‘Thank you, doctor,’ he murmured. ‘I rather think we can let you retire at this point. Is there anything you would like to raise before the doctor leaves, Sergeant?’

Kathy hesitated, then looked Beamish-Newell in the eye.

‘Were you and Petrou lovers, doctor?’ she said.

There was a snort from Tanner, a stutter of protest from Long. Beamish-Newell’s eyes widened.

‘There’s no need to respond to that,’ Long said quickly, getting to his feet. He indicated the door and led Beamish-Newell away.

Kathy sat motionless, feeling numb.

When he returned, Long took his seat behind his desk, rather than with Kathy and Gordon around the coffee table. His eye-level was now eighteen inches above theirs. With his slender pink fingers he straightened two files on his otherwise empty desk, one the case file for Petrou, the other a green file from Personnel and Training.

The sense of unreality which had gripped Kathy from the moment she had seen Beamish-Newell sitting in the Deputy Chief Constable’s office intensified as Long now launched into a monologue that appeared to have no connection whatsoever to the Petrou case. Listening for some cue to link his words with what had just occurred, she found herself losing track of their meaning. She was conscious of the emphasis placed on certain phrases, best practice policing, quality assessment procedures and quality audits, desirable outcomes, client satisfaction and institutional goals, though quite what all this had to do with the body of a young man hanging in a deserted building in the middle of the night, with a hood over his head and semen stains on his legs, was not immediately obvious. Only at the words facilitated counselling did a small alarm bell begin to go off in her head.

Suddenly she realized that he was talking about Petrou. ‘Inspector Tanner and I are satisfied, however, that the account of events now tendered by Dr Beamish-Newell provides a complete and adequate explanation for the circumstances of his death.’

Kathy seized upon this glimpse of something solid through the verbal fog. ‘Well, I’m not satisfied, sir. Dr Beamish-Newell has now lied to us on at least four occasions — concerning the removal of keys from the body, concerning his search of Petrou’s room, concerning his movements on Sunday, and concerning his actions when the body was found. He is completely unreliable. His statement does not provide a complete, let alone adequate, explanation of Petrou’s death at all. It is highly improbable, for example, that Petrou died alone, whether his death was accidental or, as seems more likely, given the amount of covering-up that’s been going on, murder. Then there’s the forensic evidence — ’

‘Inspector Tanner has thoroughly reviewed the forensic evidence with the pathologist, Sergeant …’ Long hesitated in his angry response, regretting being provoked into an explanation. His fingers gripped the green file as if trying to choke it. ‘Let me make this quite clear, Sergeant. You don’t seem to have been listening to what I said earlier. Whether you are satisfied with Dr Beamish-Newell’s explanation is now irrelevant. What is more relevant is whether we can be satisfied with your conduct.’

He took a deep breath, consciously relaxing his fingers. ‘Inspector Tanner has my instructions to conclude this matter immediately and to prepare a report for the coroner. You and DC Dowling are to be assigned to other duties. You are to undergo counselling in investigative procedures and community relations. Now … you will please go with Inspector Tanner and conclude this briefing. I wish to hear nothing further on this matter.’

Stunned, Kathy and Gordon got to their feet and followed Tanner out of the room, along the corridor, into the lift down to level 2 and along to his office.

Tanner sank into the chair behind his desk, lit a cigarette, then indicated that they sit. He looked at Kathy expectantly. ‘Did you follow all that, Sergeant?’

‘No, I can’t say I did,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t follow how a case could be resolved without the participation of the two investigating detectives who were most familiar with it. I didn’t follow how a senior police officer who was himself a witness and involved in the financial affairs of the institution under investigation could assume control of the investigation and close it down without consulting the investigating officers. I didn’t follow how a principal witness who had lied to the police on a number of occasions could be privately briefed by that senior officer. And I didn’t follow how, after all that, I’m the one who needs counselling in investigative procedures.’

Tanner exhaled smoke upwards. ‘The fact is, you haven’t followed very much at all. Not from the very beginning of this case.’

‘Sir! I won’t have snide remarks about my competence used as a smoke-screen to mask a cover-up.’

Tanner smiled, pleased that she was so angry. ‘The only cover-up going on around here is the attempt by the Deputy Chief Constable and myself to hide the incompetence of an officer who can’t handle her job. In just three days you expended — ’ he made a play of consulting some figures written on a memo pad ‘- 214 man-hours of police time. Yeah, 214!’ He raised his eyebrows in mock amazement. ‘And at the end of it the only thing you’ve proved conclusively that wasn’t obvious at the bloody start is that you couldn’t organize a piss-up in a fucking brewery.’

He gave her a big grin of satisfaction.

‘Oh, I tell a lie! There were other outcomes. We’ve had a small mountain of complaints. From Mrs Doris Cochrane, for example, alleging that you harassed and bullied her in order to get her to say that Dr Beamish-Newell was a monster. Her son is a QC, interestingly enough. In fact there were a number of distinguished members of the legal profession and senior public figures among the clientele of the clinic when you mounted your assault on the place on Monday morning, many of whom have written personally to the Deputy Chief Constable in support of the Director and expressing concern at the heavy-handed tactics of the police. I think “crass insensitivity” was the phrase one of them used. Apparently they didn’t appreciate all those little jokes at the expense of sick people.

‘Then,’ he shook his head wonderingly, ‘alongside your incompetence, there’s your homophobia, your obsessive — yes, that word suits you very well — your obsessive pursuit of some kind of gay plot. We’re still not sure whether we can persuade one gentleman not to go public on that — you know, the one you reduced to tears by pretending that his boyfriend had Aids?

‘You look pale, Sergeant. Not feeling well? Can I make a suggestion? And this applies to you both, because however much we may privately feel that Sergeant Kolla is the prime mover in all this, you, Dowling, you dozy bugger, are also up to your ears in shit. If either of you still thinks you have a future in the police force, any police force, then you have some very serious rehabilitating to do. You will do what you’re told; you will go to counselling; you will keep very, very low; you will be very, very quiet and humble. Because if I see or hear one cheep from either of you again, I am personally going to insert all the paperwork from this case into your private orifices and set fire to it. Do I make myself clear?’