‘That’s all I propose to say to the press,’ Sharpe said.
‘They’ll ask about Kathy,’ Marilyn objected.
‘That’s all I shall say,’ Sharpe repeated, and got to his feet. ‘Now you and I should go to New Scotland Yard.’
With a rueful look at Kathy, Marilyn stood up and followed him.
‘Well,’ Chivers said finally, ‘sorry about that. Didn’t know he was going to kick you lot out.’ His eye roved around the room as if working out where to hang his framed commendation certificates. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m going home to get some shut-eye. See you both here tomorrow, eh? Eight o’clock sharp.’
When he’d gone Bren said softly, ‘Bastard.’
Kathy blinked and sat up. ‘I feel sorry for him, stuck in the middle.’
‘No, Sharpe. He looked like he felt defiled just being here, like what he really wanted to do was raze the place to the ground and spread salt over the rubble. You were dead right, Kathy, they’re overreacting, badly.’
Kathy couldn’t frame a response to that.
Bren looked at her with concern and said, ‘Come back and stay at our place tonight, Kathy. After a good kip and one of Deanne’s hot breakfasts things will look brighter.’
‘Thanks, Bren, I appreciate it, but I’ll head off home to lick my wounds. See you tomorrow.’
She didn’t go home to face the press mob. There was a change of shirt and underwear in her locker and a bed in the staffroom, and she just wanted to be alone to confront the reality of it all, to come face to face at last with something that had haunted her from the beginning: the possibility of stuffing things up so badly that her career would be over. No longer viable. Only it was worse than that, because along with her, Brock’s whole outfit was going down. She had destroyed it, all of Brock’s patiently nurtured team broken up, scattered across London. And she had to go and tell him what she’d done. A sudden wave of nausea rose up in her gullet and she got quickly to her feet, went out to the women’s toilets down the corridor, and was sick.
She rose at five the following morning from the unfamiliar bunk, moist from a couple of hours of sweaty dream-filled sleep, had a shower and got dressed. Then she went to her computer and downloaded all the case files she could access onto a flash drive, and typed out the letter of resignation that she had been composing during the night.
She could hardly bring herself to look at them during Chivers’ team meeting-Dot, Pip, Mickey, Zack, Phil and the others-as they gasped with disbelief at the news that they were to be moved on. When Chivers called upon her to speak she did force herself to meet their eyes as she accepted full responsibility for the way things had turned out, and commended them on their dedication. She told them the hopeful news of Brock’s recovery and said she would be seeing him later that day to tell him what had happened, if he was well enough. Then she asked them to give Superintendent Chivers and his team every assistance to complete their work.
Chivers introduced his team, looking subdued, and explained how the debriefing would be organised.
At lunchtime, when it was all over, Chivers gave Brock’s team the rest of the day off, saying they would receive text messages later as to where to report the following day. Bren suggested they adjourn to the Two Chairmen, and they all filed out, carrying bulging bags and backpacks. Kathy stood the first round, and waited until the moans became repetitive, then said she would have to leave them to go and see Brock.
When she got to the hospital and caught a first glimpse of him, sitting up against the pillows, sucking juice through a straw, her courage gave out. But he looked up suddenly as if he’d sensed her presence, and smiled and waved her in. That gaunt smile was the worst thing of all, she decided, but she choked back the sick feeling and fixed a smile on her own face and stepped forward.
‘You look better today,’ she said brightly. ‘There’s colour in your face.’
‘I am feeling a bit more myself. Sorry if I was dozy yesterday. Suzanne’s just popped out to do some shopping. How are you?’
‘Umm…’ She wasn’t sure whether she should say anything, but then his eyes probed her and she launched into it. ‘It’s been a bad twenty-four hours, actually.’
He nodded. ‘Panic stations, eh?’ He indicated the TV on the wall facing the bed. ‘I saw Hadden-Vane’s performance, and Sharpe’s press statement. But we’ve seen it all before.’
She heard his reassuring, steadying voice, and wondered how she could tell him that it was worse, much worse.
‘Sharpe has decided to put Chivers in charge,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘Well, can’t be helped. In terms of his own accountability, Sharpe probably should have done it a week ago. You’ll get on with old Cheery all right. Just play it by the book. That’s what he likes.’
‘I won’t get that chance, Brock. None of us will. He’s brought his own team in. We spent this morning briefing them. We’re being
… dispersed.’
‘Dispersed?’
‘Assigned to other commands.’
A low growl rumbled in Brock’s throat.
‘And Chivers has taken over Queen Anne’s Gate.’
He looked startled, then slowly shook his head.
She waited, giving him a chance to say something before she broached the final thing. At last, when he said nothing, his expression unreadable, she took the envelope out of her pocket and said, ‘I’ve written my letter of resignation. I’ll post it downstairs when I leave.’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ he said quietly. ‘A building’s just a building and the team could benefit from a change for a while, but you’re not going to sacrifice your career for that corrupt windbag. What on earth are you thinking of?’
‘The team’s being broken up permanently. Sharpe says it’s no longer viable, and it’s my fault entirely. I’m sorry, I was impatient. I showed my hand before I was ready. I deserved to be crushed. But you and the team don’t. I’ve ruined everything you’ve worked for.’ She took a breath and shook her head. ‘I just feel so bloody stupid and inept. It’s not as if I hadn’t seen it all before. I let him do to me what he did to Tom Reeves-I set him up and then had him pull the rug out from under me, in full public view.’
‘This is nothing like what Tom Reeves did. Tom set himself up, getting evidence by breaking the law. I take it you haven’t done that?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ He gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Come on, Kathy, this isn’t like you. You’re tired, aren’t you? But you’re a fighter, and your instincts are spot on. You know as well as I do that that man is bent. I’ll bet a pound to a penny that there’s a ton of stuff about him and Moszynski that he’s desperate to keep hidden.’
Kathy bowed her head. ‘Yes.’
Brock was scratching his beard. ‘That last bit about keeping the receipts, remember that? Bit odd, wasn’t it?’
Kathy nodded. ‘I thought he must have primed the interviewer to ask that question.’
‘Exactly! That was his hidden confession. He couldn’t help himself. The cock of the walk, preening himself in front of an audience of millions, he just had to say it. Moszynski paid for my tarts, but you’ll never be able to prove it.’
Kathy thought about it. ‘He’s probably right.’