Death's Door

Twenty-nine

Maggie Rose looked around her dingy office. When she had moved in there, into a senior command position, she had not given a second’s thought to the end of her police career. If by some chance she had imagined that day, she would never have foreseen that it would have come there, or then.

She smiled at the prospect, simultaneously amused and amazed that she had reached her decision.

Overnight, she had managed to put her meeting with Aldred Fine into perspective. She had done some Internet research and had seen that there were many potential explanations for her ovarian shadow. The one that she favoured was that it was a simple mistake, a misleading shading caused by the technology that had spotted it. She was confident that everything would soon be clarified and the worry removed, without Stevie ever having to learn of it. She was pleased, oddly, that her decision to leave the force had not been influenced in any way by what might be or, much more likely, might not be wrong with her.

There was a soft knock on the door. She looked up and called, ‘Enter.’ It opened and a young man stepped into the room, with a hesitancy that was unusual for him.

‘Yes, Sauce,’ Chief Superintendent Margaret Rose said cheerfully, on her last day in command. ‘What can I do for you?’

Police Constable Harold Haddock stood stiffly before her. He had changed since the day she had appointed him as her unofficial leg-man, when first she had taken temporary command of the division. The gawky lad she had seen then had grown an inch or so and had filled out. From seeming to be composed almost entirely of elbows, he had become broad-shouldered and thick-chested, someone not to be messed with in a bundle, as he had proved on street patrol on more than one occasion. Maggie was not known to play favourites, but if she had been so inclined, young Sauce Haddock would have been one of them.

‘Nothing, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being presumptuous, but I’m going to do it anyway. I know we’re having a goin’-away do for you tomorrow afternoon, and I’m coming in for it, but I’m off from lunchtime today. While I’ve the chance I’d like to thank you, just myself, for doing so much for me.’

She swallowed, completely taken aback and uncharacteristically touched. She looked at him, masking her feelings with a straight face. ‘I haven’t done anything for you, Constable. Everything you’ve achieved so far you’ve done on your own merits.’

‘If that’s so, ma’am,’ he insisted, ‘it’s because of your encouragement. I just want to wish you luck, and I look forward to seeing you back here when you’re ready.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Sauce, and I don’t think it’s presumptuous at all.’ She smiled. ‘What I just said about not doing anything for you: that’s not quite true.’

‘I ken, ma’am.’

‘No, you don’t get me. I was going to tell you this later, but I might as well spill it now. You know that our CID’s been flying one short since my husband stole DC Montell? By the way, he swears he didn’t but he’s getting the blame. Well, I’ve had a word with my ex-husband and with Detective Superintendent Chambers, and they’re both agreed. You are the replacement.’

The young constable’s face widened. ‘Are you serious, ma’am?’ he exclaimed. ‘I reckoned I wouldn’t have a chance of CID for at least another couple of years.’

‘Normally you wouldn’t, but this force has a recent history of picking out people with potential and giving them a chance to fulfil it. Initially you’ll be working with Detective Sergeant Regan; report to him on Monday morning. Make sure you learn as much as you can from him: he’s a pretty good teacher.’

‘I will do, ma’am. I can’t thank you enough.’

‘You’ll have thanked me when you’re sitting behind this desk or one like it.’ Her phone rang. ‘On you go now,’ she said, as she picked it up. ‘Rose,’ she exclaimed, as the door closed behind him.

‘Maggie,’ a woman’s voice replied, ‘it’s Sylvia Thorpe here. I’ve got some information for you. I’m putting it in the post as we agreed, but I thought I should give you a run-down.’

There was something in her tone that punctured Maggie’s good humour. ‘Go ahead then.’

‘I’ve found both the registrations you were after. Your grandmother’s cause of death is given as uterine cancer, that’s all. Your aunt Euphemia’s is more specific: she died of pneumonia.’

Maggie whistled. ‘Terrible thing to say but that’s a relief.’

‘Maybe yes, maybe not: the underlying cause was ovarian and stomach cancer.’

The butterfly that she had fluttered the day before seemed to have evolved overnight into a rending carrion bird.

‘I’m sorry, Maggie,’ said Thorpe. ‘But if I read the reason for your request correctly, you should share this information with your consultant.’

‘I plan to do that.’

‘And with your husband.’

‘That I will not do, until it’s absolutely necessary, or unavoidable.’ She drew a breath. ‘Sylvia, you wouldn’t do anything silly, would you?’

‘No, I wouldn’t, I promise. But, please, think about talking to Stevie.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Maggie replied. ‘Be sure I’ll think about it. But that’s not my priority: our child is. She’s more important than anyone else.’