Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(69)

‘Oh, Bob, did you hear?’ His tone had altered, seemed higher.

‘Hear what?’

‘About Greavsie. They’ve put him on gardening leave.’

‘The chief constable?’

‘Well, I’m not talking about the old Spurs player! Yes, Bill Greaves is off, and the word on the street is he’s not coming back.’

Valentine felt his mood lifting even higher. ‘You have a good day there, Jim.’

‘Oh I will.’

At the top of the stairs the DI found he was still grinning to himself, though he didn’t know rightly why he should be. He was heading into the incident room to check in with the murder squad when he was waylaid by the chief super, beckoning him from her office door with a confident bark.

‘Bob, in here . . .’

He turned round and walked in the other direction, keeping his pace slow and restrained in case it might be interpreted as enthusiasm. ‘Good morning, boss,’ he said.

‘Come in and shut the door behind you.’

Valentine moved towards the middle of the room where CS Martin’s desk sat in front of the large square window with the view of the King Street roundabout and the council flats opposite. He descended into the opposing chair, crossing his legs beneath the line of the desk.

‘You won’t have heard about the chief constable yet,’ said Martin.

‘Gardening leave.’

‘You have? Who in the . . .’ She interrupted herself, ‘Bloody Jim “the gas” Prentice, no doubt.’

‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’

‘Well yes, gardening leave, but it isn’t really.’

‘Oh no?’

‘No. Let’s just say that’s the official version of events. I think it’s more accurate to say we’re having the gold clock engraved with “thanks for the memories” as we speak.’

‘I see. I’m sure he’ll be well looked after . . . The clock aside, of course,’ said Valentine. He gripped the armrests and started to rise. ‘Was that everything?’

‘No. Stay where you are.’ Martin picked up a yellow pencil and started to tap the sharpened point into the desk blotter. ‘You’ll know by now the Met’s investigation into historical child abuse is taking an interest in the Columba House case.’

‘We’ve already exchanged information with them. They seem particularly interested in the Westminster links we’ve unearthed,’ said Valentine.

‘And we’ve a better chance of securing Fallon’s conviction with their cooperation, so bear that in mind too.’

‘Yes, chief.’ He started to edge out of his seat again.

‘Just a minute, I’m not finished with you yet.’ Martin reached into a drawer in her desk and withdrew a large manila envelope and slapped it down in front of Valentine. ‘I want you to have a look at this.’

He reached out and retrieved the envelope. ‘What’s in here?’

‘It’s my alternative offer, something you might want to consider instead of a transfer back to Tulliallan and the stink of sweaty jockstraps and Deep Heat.’

The DI removed the small bunch of stapled pages inside. He read the opening rubric slowly, then read it again to make sure he’d got it right. ‘You want me to consider a new DCI role?’

‘That’s right, Bob. More money, less stress, and absolutely no chance of the kind of boredom you know you’ll face at the training college.’

Valentine thumbed through the pages carefully. It was a typical move by the chief super, but he hadn’t seen it coming. He felt slightly aggrieved with himself for not preparing a ready rebuttal, something suitably cryptic that would see Martin creasing her brows and wondering why she had made the offer in the first place.

‘I can’t accept this,’ he said.

‘And why not?’

‘For a start, you said yourself that there’s no one else ready to take over the DI’s role.’

‘And as you reminded me, DS McCormack’s more than capable. I’ve assessed her already, before you ask, and she’s up for it.’

The DI found himself unable to disagree. ‘Sylvia’s a good copper.’

‘Then you’ll accept?’

‘No. I’m sorry.’ His response had a ring of finality. ‘You don’t understand what I was asking you for.’

‘I do, Bob, trust me. You’re feeling burnt out, fatigued . . .’

‘It’s not that. It’s my wife and my home life – or lack thereof.’

‘Bob, I know all that. And I also know you can’t afford to retire. I’ve run the numbers and there’s no way you can comfortably go down the pay scale and retire any time soon. In your position you need to maximise all the working life that you have left in you.’

It was a low move. What Martin was really reminding him was that he’d suffered a serious injury to his heart – his lifespan after normal retirement age might not be what he thought it was. Even though he knew this fact, had replayed it in his own mind many times, it was something he had tried hard to ignore.

‘I just can’t agree to this, not now,’ said Valentine. ‘Clare has my word, and I can’t go back on that.’

CS Martin pushed herself away from the edge of the desk, rolling on her chair’s castors towards the window. She stood up and stared into the street with her back towards the DI. ‘That’s fine, I understand. Why don’t you take some time off, go on a holiday and talk it over with Clare. But choose your moment wisely.’