Unfinished Business...

SEVEN

THE LAST time – the only time – I’d been in Commissioner Evans’s office was a couple of months ago when I’d been summoned to hear the good news and the bad news.    The good news came from Internal Affairs, who couldn’t conclude that yours truly had blown away Lenny Glover without offering him the chance to surrender.   The bad news was that the Commissioner didn’t agree, and he was referring the matter to the Coroner.   That was his prerogative, and I had to live with it, and the implied slur, while the Coroner made up his mind.  What was more demeaning was being suspended from the Armed Robbery Squad and dumped into Missing Persons.   To me, that amounted to being sentenced in advance of the jury’s decision, and I was stupid enough to say so.   Evans coldly reminded me that he could put me where he damned well pleased and I could thank my lucky stars he didn’t have the prerogative to put me on full suspension.   Then the little prick told me to get out.

So it was OK by me to be warming a chair in his waiting room while Connie duly reported our findings.   As instructed, Connie had bypassed Homicide and reported direct to McDowell.    He’d taken one look at the videotape and rushed her straight to Evans.   Me he told to wait outside.

The arrogant smartarse didn’t know that Connie, burning with suspicion, had her mobile phone on.   So did I.   For once, my earphone was not plugged into my Walkman.    Evan’s secretary would’ve had kittens is she’d realised I was tapped into her boss’s private conversation.

Which had gone temporarily quiet.    Connie had given the gist of our investigation, then played the tape.   Now, I imagined, Evans was trying to get his brain around the ramifications.

“This is dynamite,” McDowell offered.   “The Minister and the Romanos!  Christ!    And a policewoman up to her neck it!    And not just any peewee.   Do you know who her father is, for Christ’s sake?”

He must have addressed the last question to Connie, who told him that she certainly did and yes, it raised all manner of interesting questions.   Before she could ask one, Evans intervened.

“Who else knows about this tape?”

“Apart from whoever killed Constable Aston, only Sergeant Mason and Senior Constable Elliott.”

“Good.   You will tell them that this case now belongs to Chief Inspector McDowell and the Command Support Unit.   You, Mason and Elliott are to take no further part in it.  Not only that, you are not to discuss it with anyone.   As for this tape, it doesn’t exist.   Do you understand?”

Connie wasn’t going down without a fight.   “This is highly irregular.”

Irregular?   It was bordering on criminal.   I could barely wait for his rationale.

“I realise that, but you must realise the implications here.   With respect, I think someone of higher rank than yours is required for such a delicate investigation.   One politically false step and the whole thing could blow up in the Force’s face.   I can’t permit that.”

“Of course not, sir, and I agree about a high-ranking investigator.   But why not one from Homicide?”

“I have my reasons, but for the time being, it’s on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

There was silence.   If Connie was thinking what I was thinking, she was thinking that Evans was having a lend of her.    Here was an unpopular commissioner whose term was up for renewal in a month’s time, and the betting was that he’d be tipped out on his ear.   So what do the fates land him with?   A compromising tape of his minister, the man who could, until now, make or break him.   Now the boot was on the other foot.  

As it turned out, Connie was thinking what I was thinking.   And she wasn’t having any.

“I’m sorry, Mr Evans,” she began, and I could visualise the Irish stubbornness in her eyes, “but I do my job without fear or favour, just like it says in the Force’s mission statement.   I demand the right to continue this case, with overview from Internal Affairs, in accordance with operational procedures.”

Onya, Connie!   I could visualise the shock on Evan’s pudgy face.   Defiance from a lowly subordinate, other than me, of course, would not be within his recent experience..

“Are you defying my orders, Senior Sergeant?”    The voice was clipped, dangerous.   So was Connie’s position.    She was following me into quicksand country.

“If you’re asking me to turn a blind eye to established procedures without justification…yes.”

“I have just given you justification.”

“Not sufficient, sir.”

In the following silence, I could imagine Connie and Evans eyeballing each other.  Irish blue versus milky blue.   Connie would not be the first to blink.

“Well,” Evans began, “let me give an order that does fall within your understanding of established procedures.   As of this moment, you are suspended from operational duty.   Conduct prejudicial.”

Just what I expected.   Conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline.   The old Army catch-all charge.   Very handy for eliminating outbreaks of unrest among the troops.   Now Evans had Connie by the short and curlies.

“This is the only copy?” he asked.

“How would I know?”   

I knew that tone.   If Connie was off the case, then she was damned well off the case.

“Is this the only copy you’re aware of?” 

“It is.”

The disbelieving bastard’s next order was to McDowell.

“Get a couple of men and take this woman back to Homicide.    If there’s a copy of this tape there, find it.   O’Brien, I’ll be asking your chief inspector to put you on admin duties until further notice.   Until then, you are not to discuss any aspect of this case with anyone.   Is that clear?”

Connie must still have been giving him the wild Irish stare, because he had to repeat himself.

“It is,” she hissed.

Then McDowell asked, “Which two men, sir?   Any preferences?”

“Good point.   Let’s see who’s on duty.”

Next thing, Evans was leading Connie and McDowell through the outer office and into the waiting room.   The little prick stopped, frowned, then turned to his secretary.

“Where is Sergeant Mason?”

The ageing blonde looked around, surprised to find me absent.

“In the toot, sir?”

Her guess was good.   The moment Evans intimated he was leaving his office, I’d rocketed into the short corridor that led to the men’s.   I had the toilet door just sufficiently ajar for a furtive view of the landscape.

Evans scowled.   “Tell him he’s to return to Homicide and report to Mr McDowell.”

“Yes, sir.”

A moment later, the two men and a pale Connie crossed my view on their way to the Command Support Unit.   I whipped out my mobile, broke connection with Connie and redialled.

 “Commissioner Evans’ office,” the blonde secretary announced.   “Mrs Ericson speaking.”

I laid on the Oz accent for all I was worth.   John Williams would’ve been proud of me.   “Mail room ‘ere.   We got a registered parcel for the Commissioner.   You wanna come down and get it?”

“I’ll be right down.  Thank you.”

Mrs Ericson dutifully left her office and summoned a lift to the basement, where all Force mail was routinely X-rayed for nasty surprises.    I waited until the lift door closed before retracing my steps, fingers crossed.

Beauty!   Her office was open.    Beyond it, so was Evans’s.    So much for security.

Heart pumping, I half-ran into the Commissioner’s office.  

There was no sign of the tape.   

Shit!   Had Evans taken it with him?   No, he hadn’t.   Neither had McDowell.   It must still be here.   Think, you idiot!   Then I saw the empty tape box on the credenza behind Evan’s desk.   That meant…   I leapt to the VCR, hit “Eject” and nearly whooped when the machine regurgitated its prize.

I stuck it down the back of my trousers and headed oh so casually for the lifts.   Second thoughts told me there was no sense in chancing being intercepted so I took the stairs.   I was four flights down when the big question hit me:   I had the tape;  what the hell was I going to do with it?

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