Tainted Ground Read online

  ‘Absolutely,’ Carrick replied with a grin. ‘And back at work terrorizing the ungodly in this lovely city of ours. Is your father well enough to see folk?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s tired so we didn’t stay very long,’ I said.

  ‘Know the feeling,’ he said and with another smile for us both was gone.

  ‘What did you think about James?’ I asked Patrick when we were in the car.

  ‘I’m not at all happy about him. Scots are only jolly like that when they’re putting a brave face on things. I have an idea he’s finding it a struggle to regain fitness.’

  A reply to Patrick’s application for a place on the pilot scheme came very quickly, almost uncannily so, making me wonder if my suspicions were correct. His own conditions or no, he was told to present himself, the day after next, at an address in London for a week-long course that would amount to a suitability test. Elspeth would have none of his reservations about leaving us, for as she said, John would be in hospital for at least another week after that and meantime she and I would have a ball. She ended up, when the time came, by practically shooing him out of the door.

  This too, of course, was brave talk for John was not a young man and by no means yet out of danger. During the next few days there were a couple of scares, one complication sufficiently serious to necessitate us having to go to the hospital during the night. But John weathered the storm and following a request from Elspeth I played down the seriousness of the temporary setbacks when I spoke to Patrick on the phone.

  ‘He’d only have come rushing back, and to what purpose?’ she rightly said, garden herbs in her hand as she prepared to make chicken soup to take in to the patient.

  In a quiet moment I wondered which duties Patrick would be given, assuming he passed the preliminary aptitude tests. I almost wrote ‘attitude tests’, for that would be where any pitfalls would lie. He was never the archetypal army officer, although such a thing might not exist in today’s modern armed services. He is a man who has never posed, never yearned for the accessories of some of his colleagues, a couple of black Labradors and a Filofax; never drunk gin and tonic, preferring instead to have a beer and play darts in the public bar with the locals. He was in trouble countless times for doing things his own way – insubordination, they called it – and as he himself once said there were few carpets upon which he had not spent time. That he had reached the rank of lieutenant colonel had a lot to do with possessing the kind of charisma that ensured he could lead men into a black bog and safely out the other side, win the war and come home again, not to mention a downright scary ability to be instantly at home with whichever weapon was placed in his hands. And hey, hadn’t James and Joanna Carrick bought him a Swedish throwing axe for Christmas as a joke only to have him fall on their necks with gratitude as he had always wanted one and would now be able to go to Sweden and take everyone on as it was a sort of national sport there?

  I have not even touched on his proficiency in mimicry, almost essential when working undercover and the smile that would charm Sauron clean out of his tower.

  I surmised that if he got his own way as to where he would be stationed for the probationary period he would have to report to Avon and Somerset Police HQ at Portishead in Bristol and take a turn in various departments savouring all aspects of the work. It occurred to me that no one had yet told Carrick what was going on. Surely there was really no point until it actually happened.

  ‘You know, I simply can’t imagine Patrick as a policeman,’ Elspeth said, all at once, her mind obviously on the same track as mine.

  It was a pity that neither of us thought through what the downside of this new venture might be.

  At least I could now devote myself to the screenplay when not helping Elspeth with chores. It transpired that she had many friends in the area, who took her off to their homes for coffee, bridge and supper parties, so I made myself at home with a makeshift desk in a box room used for storage and got to work. In between sessions I walked to get some fresh air and exercise, exploring the village and the surrounding maze of country lanes. At least the weather had improved, having turned cold, clear and breezy.

  Patrick’s nightly phone calls told of medicals, fitness tests – which rather surprised me – that had weeded out the candidates by about ten per cent, hours in classrooms, a written road-knowledge test and, in the latest call on the Thursday, that an hour or so in the morning had been spent square-bashing at Hendon Police College, which had caused another three people to walk out in disgust. This had been followed by a visit to a shooting range where, after throwing down a gentle challenge, he had out-scored the instructor.

  ‘Didn’t you mind the square-bashing?’ I asked.

  ‘Lord, no. It was only to get rid of those who thought they were too grand to have to do things like that. Besides which, you have to know how to carry yourself if you’re attending passing-out parades. Oh, I’ll be home for the weekend.’

  ‘Have you been accepted?’

  ‘No one’s saying anything yet. Probably to keep everyone on a knife-edge. Some of the guys, ladies included, are all of a twitch about it, but what’s the point? I got annoyed when the sprouts were overcooked two nights running, though.’

  John, in his own wry words, was ‘delivered unto the bosom of his family’ on the following Wednesday, arriving with written instructions concerning gentle exercises, especially walking, and a diet sheet that Elspeth took one look at and then tore to confetti.

  ‘It’s for idiots who can’t cook,’ she snorted. ‘Canned soup rather than takeaways! Not too many chips and burgers! Easy on the fizzy drinks and Coke!’ Eyes flashing, she regarded her husband, who was somewhat frailly inhabiting an armchair. ‘This evening you’ll have fresh salmon with parsley sauce, new potatoes and broccoli – which is exactly the sort of thing all invalids should be eating.’

  ‘I’m allowed to have a small tot of whisky before dinner,’ he told her, chin jutting.

  ‘I don’t remember reading that,’ she countered.

  He wagged a finger at her. ‘You’ve just condemned the instructions utterly. And, my dear, I’m supposed to avoid all contentiousness.’

  ‘Whoever wrote that wouldn’t even know what the word meant,’ Elspeth said triumphantly but she was smiling as she left the room.

  Patrick and I had spent the weekend generally making ourselves useful, and early on the Monday he had set off for Portishead, just as I had guessed he might, but still with no confirmation that he had been accepted into the scheme. As far as my work was concerned I was galloping through the screenplay, which actually involved rewriting my own work of several years previously, bringing it up to date and making improvements as I went along. Recent involvement in the making of a film was proving to be a huge help.

  Then, on the Thursday, Patrick came home shortly before dinner with an indiscernible look on his face.

  ‘I’m in,’ he said simply. ‘And start Monday morning.’

  Everyone offered him their congratulations.

  To me, Patrick said, ‘You were right, John Brinkley’s involved, he rang me and broke the good news before I heard officially.’

  ‘You don’t seem to be as pleased as you might be,’ I said.

  ‘I’m to report to Manvers Street police station, Bath. I have to say I wasn’t expecting it.’

  ‘But that’s wonderful!’ Elspeth cried. ‘You’ll be right on the doorstep.’

  ‘Does James know?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, he does. And I should imagine he’s not too happy about it.’

  ‘But why not?’ Elspeth wanted to know. ‘The pair of you are good friends.’

  ‘He’ll assume those in charge don’t think he’s up to the job yet,’ Patrick told her. ‘But it’s worse than that. Because of my previous army rank I’m classed as acting detective superintendent.’

  ‘That’s disastrous!’ I said. ‘It’ll be bad enough to have you parachuted in like that but as his superior …’ Words failed me.

  ‘
It really is only a pay scale,’ Patrick explained. ‘I have to take orders from everyone above the rank of sergeant. James won’t see it like that.’ He went off to find a couple of whisky tumblers, one of which he waggled interrogatively in his father’s direction before pouring them both a tot from the new bottle of single malt he had brought in with him.

  ‘This could be another test,’ said John reflectively from his armchair, after taking an appreciative sip. ‘This is wonderful – you’re spoiling me. To see how you handle such a potentially difficult situation, I mean. They can’t be that stupid at HQ as not to realize the state of affairs they’re creating.’

  ‘But most of the difficulty could well be James’s,’ Elspeth said. ‘Patrick, be so good as to fetch the ladies a sherry – or whatever Ingrid wants.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said and hastened away to amend the omission.

  ‘Use those nice large schooner glasses,’ she called after him.

  ‘Well, I think it’s really crass,’ I said, nevertheless amused at the way she always keeps Patrick on his best behaviour even when he is really put out about something.

  ‘Or a test for Carrick?’ Patrick said when he returned. ‘Or the powers-that-be are a bunch of insensitive thickos?’

  ‘Ring James,’ I suggested.

  ‘I’ll grovel,’ Patrick said gloomily and went away again.

  We could tell by his face when he came back into the room that the call had not gone well. He told us that Carrick had already complained about the arrangement, which he felt to be untenable, and although he recognized their friendship he felt they could not work together under those circumstances. Patrick, therefore, would kindly stay away until something else could be sorted out. Despite every assurance that Patrick had given him he was of the opinion that the Bath posting stemmed from an unverified supposition by everyone that he was no longer, or not yet, fit for the job.

  ‘Scottish stubbornness and pride,’ Patrick said, taking a fierce swig of his drink. ‘Where do I go from here?’

  ‘It’ll blow over,’ Elspeth said soothingly. ‘He’ll soon come round.’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘I’ve a nasty suspicion he won’t.’ He did not burden his mother with the news that Carrick had once taken a broadsword to him following another misunderstanding and there had been a brief but electrifying duel that the inhabitants of a certain Scottish castle are still talking about.

  Two

  Carrick’s objections were overruled. I was made aware of this before the man in my life heard of it by the rather surprising development of a phone call to my mobile number from Carrick himself on the Sunday morning.

  ‘Are you free to talk?’ he asked anxiously.

  I told him that I was, having stayed behind to watch over John as Patrick had accompanied his mother to church.

  ‘I’ve been ordered to get on with it and stop arguing, so there’s no choice,’ he muttered. ‘But I don’t need help, I can do my job. I can’t face having someone shadowing me around either, learning the job or not and him with a senior rank, whoever it is. Another thing; as you well know, we’re not two of a kind, Patrick and I, and we’ll be at one another’s throats in no time at all. He’s always worked to a different set of rules, ways that I simply can’t adopt. So he and I will have to keep a distance, work on different jobs, if that’s possible. Not that I won’t be there to advise him if he wants it.’ Carrick paused awkwardly and then continued, ‘I just want you to know there’s no ill-feeling, Ingrid, nothing personal, especially as far as you’re concerned.’

  ‘Patrick only asked to be in the West Country because of his father’s illness,’ I told him.

  ‘Aye, that’s as maybe. And I know that Patrick once saved my life – which makes it worse. I feel a right bastard being the way I am.’

  ‘How can I help?’ I asked when he stopped speaking.

  ‘You can’t. There’s nothing anyone can do. We’ll have to get by as best we can but I just wish everyone would understand that this isn’t helping me at all. But who knows? Patrick might soon decide the job’s not for him.’

  We rang off and I hoped I had been mistaken about the hint of hope in his voice when he had uttered those final words.

  Monday morning arrived and Patrick set off in dark suit and sober tie, the crooked smile he gave me as he went out of the door an indication of his apprehension. Everyone at the rectory was on tenterhooks all day and when he returned, quite early at just before six, and headed straight for the whisky we all imagined the worst.

  I left it to Elspeth to ask the question. ‘Well?’ she said quietly.

  Patrick swirled the golden liquid around in his glass reflectively for a few moments, chuckled humourlessly and then said, ‘It was interesting in many ways. I didn’t get to see James, just his sergeant, Lynn Outhwaite, who appears to have been delegated as messenger between us. And despite what I was told it would appear that I take orders from her. That doesn’t actually bother me much as she’s a nice girl and too busy to make things awkward. Anyway, I spent the first part of the morning touring the station with Sergeant Woods, who, by the way, has been told he can give me orders too but doesn’t like to. The pair of us are old enough stagers to get around that. So, yes, we toured the nick, finding out what everyone does, then I was allowed out to do a little checking on a couple of cases; a shoplifting lady who obviously genuinely forgot to pay as her mother had died the previous day and a yobbo, all of fourteen, who’d been arrested for being drunk and disorderly and then made a complaint that the police had roughed him up at the nick making him fall over and hurt his head.’

  ‘I trust you were very careful,’ I said apprehensively, mulling over this potential nest of vipers.

  Patrick seemed to have recovered his sense of humour but I doubt it was anything to do with the single malt. ‘Oh yes,’ he replied. ‘There was no question of leaning on sonny boy to make him retract. Gone are the days of carte blanche. I just requested politely that he come to the nick, with his mother, who was present at this interview – Daddy’s in Parkhurst – to identify the people who had done him over. He said he couldn’t remember who they were. I then said that was very likely as a police surgeon who was present in connection with another case had remarked that as the arrested boy was out cold care must be taken to place him so he did not choke in the event of vomiting. Our man then kicked the wall a couple of times. After indulging in what went for thinking in his case, he admitted that he’d made it all up and had hurt his head falling into the gutter before he passed out. Would he get into trouble for wasting police time? his mother asked. I said we’d think about it but there was a slim chance he wouldn’t.’

  ‘What about the shoplifting lady?’ Elspeth asked. I happen to know that this is one of her horrors; that she will leave a shop, her mind on other things, and completely forget to pay.

  ‘I managed to persuade the manager not to prosecute.’

  ‘Oh, well done!’ she cried.

  ‘And the police surgeon?’ John ventured.

  ‘Would you care for another dram?’ Patrick asked him solemnly.

  ‘But as far as James goes …?’ I said to Patrick later when we were alone.

  ‘Never the twain shall meet.’

  ‘It’s really as bad as that?’

  ‘This was only day one, mind.’

  ‘But you actually get on very well with one another.’

  ‘Socially and for most of the time, yes. I just wish the guy would give me a trial run. He ought to realize that I’m not the sort to start throwing my weight about.’

  ‘What James actually said to me might not be quite the whole truth of it,’ I said. I had told Patrick about the phone call.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘James is probably worried about the kind of man you can be. When you’re cornered. When you’re in extremis. When a man has threatened or hurt me. You’ve killed and maimed, Patrick. With your bare hands, with your knife, with firearms. When you found James where he’d been left to die inside
that old boiler and the men who had done it had followed you … James told me he’d never, ever, seen such filthy fighting tactics.’

  ‘It was three against one.’

  ‘Cheerfully,’ I said. ‘Cheerfully and with relish, according to James, you dealt out potentially crippling injuries.’

  His eyes never leaving my face Patrick said, ‘You’ve witnessed me—’ He broke off.

  ‘I still have the odd nightmare,’ I disclosed. This was probably unfair of me as on that particular, different, occasion he had been fighting for his life following a period of ghastly maltreatment. And another time when he had broken a man’s neck. The sound had been akin to that made by snapping a stick of seaside rock between gloved hands. Orders then, though, orders.

  ‘You’re too scary by half,’ I said. ‘For Bath, that is. And for someone like James who hasn’t quite got over almost dying.’

  ‘This will fail, then, you think?’

  ‘Not necessarily. I suggest you stay right out of his way. If your paths do cross, pretend he’s Elspeth. Treat him as you would her.’

  ‘Buy him flowers, you mean?’

  ‘Don’t be pig-stubborn!’ I bawled. ‘No, GENTLY!’

  Matters did not improve and as the week progressed Patrick’s lips became tighter and the look in his eyes more strained. Tactful enquiry elicited the information that extra awkwardness and difficulty was being created by Lynn Outhwaite having to act as go-between. For, obviously, as Carrick’s sergeant there was a need for her to be at his side when he left the station to deal with things directly. When this happened and she was required to break off from what she was doing in order to forward instructions and possibly information to someone working on another case it was Carrick himself who began to run out of patience.

  On the Friday morning the inevitable happened and the two men met face to face in a corridor. There was no shouting match, the resulting exchange of views being conducted in the privacy of Carrick’s office. Patrick assured me that he did not lose his temper, which I believed for I know him well enough to be aware of what it takes to make him lose control.