Resnick sighed. Education, wasn't that at the heart of it? Jobs, housing? Maybe the Brents were right to feel they deserved better.
"What was she, Charlie, this kid? Sixteen? Barely that. My kid or yours, she'd not be out there running with a gang, likely doing drugs, getting laid. Ask yourself why."
Resnick didn't have a daughter. If he had, he'd no idea what it would be like to help her live her life without due harm. Except that it would be hard.
"Let's order," Berry said. "Smell from that grill's making me fair starving."
He had bacon, sausage, and fried eggs, Resnick pancakes with a couple of rashers of bacon on the side. Coffee, rye bread. Resnick exchanged with the proprietress the few Polish pleasantries that came easily to the tongue. Since he'd started living with Lynn, his visits to the Polish Club had become less and less frequent; now months could pass without him ever stepping through the door.
"Kelly Brent's murder," Berry said. "I've drawn the short straw."
Resnick broke off a piece of bread and wiped it around the bacon juices that had collected at the side of his plate.
"I want you for my number two."
Resnick stopped what he was doing and looked at Berry squarely.
"Jerry Latham for office manager," Berry said, "and the outside team, that'd be up to you."
"Prentiss'd love that," Resnick said, popping the bread into his mouth.
"Fuck him," Berry said.
Derek Prentiss was the City Divisional Commander, accountable for balancing budgets and hitting an array of ever-shifting targets, one of which, relating to robbery, was currently Resnick's specific area of responsibility. Since he'd taken charge of the division's robbery squad, the number of offences was down, all right marginally, but improving further, even if the clear-up rate was, as yet, lagging behind. Prentiss wasn't going to be happy with anything that put those figures under threat.
"Besides," Resnick began, "with Lynn involved-"
"Outside team, Charlie, that's where I want you, like I said. No conflict of interest there. Any part she's got to play, evidence, whatever, you steer well clear."
"I don't know." Resnick shook his head.
"It's your patch, Charlie."
"Used to be."
"Youths likely involved'll be known to some of your lot, I'd not be surprised. Street robberies and the like."
"Possible."
"More than bloody possible." Berry speared a piece of sausage with his fork. "Come on, Charlie. Stop dicking me around. Bring one of your lads in with you, if it'd make you feel happier."
Resnick leaned back, pushing away his plate as he did so. "What you're not saying, Bill, behind all this flannel, Homicide's stripped so bare there's no bugger else. It's either me or a DI you don't know from outside."
Berry laughed. "Some clever bastard wheeled up from the Met. I'd love that, right enough. But no, that's not it. That's not it at all."
"No?"
"Charlie, Charlie. A bloke with a good head on his shoulders, someone I can bloody rely on, someone I can trust. That's why I want you."
"Is it? Bollocks!"
Berry laughed even louder. "Come on, Charlie. Kids thievin' mobile phones and MP3 players, old dears having their pensions snatched, that's not your mark. This'll get you out of the office for a bit, instead of shuffling bloody papers. Bit of real police work for a change. Let me put my feet up on the desk, instead."
Angling away, Resnick looked out through the glass at the traffic making its way up Derby Road from the city centre. For years he'd been stationed at Canning Circus, no more than a stone's throw from where they were now, his squad handling everything from petty misdemeanours to murder. Not much time in those days for Best Value Programmes or monthly Performance Scrutiny Boards, little of the pressure of constantly changing Home Office directives.
What had Berry just said? Some real police work for a change.
"Prentiss," Resnick said, swivelling back round. "Even if I wanted to go along. If. He'll never accept it."
"Don't be so sure. I had a word with the ACC, before I rang you. He'd like to get this little lot sorted as soon as possible. Now what d'you say. In or out?"
Resnick hesitated, but he didn't hesitate for long. "In," he said.
"Good man. Now let's get out of here and get things started."
"Over my dead fucking body!" Derek Prentiss exploded.
The Assistant Chief Constable smiled a corporate smile. "I wonder, Derek, if we need to be so extreme."
If the Divisional Commander could have breathed fire from his nostrils, the reports on the ACC's desk would be singeing at the edges, about to spark into flame. "You know how long, sir, it's taken to get street robberies under control?"
"Of course, Derek, of course. And you know, from the last trimonthly report of the Performance Committee, that's not gone unnoticed. Far from it."
"Then why the-?"
"Because there are other priorities. And because now the robbery squad's on a more even keel, it shouldn't be beyond the realms of possibility for someone else to steady the ship. For a time, at least."
Fucking yachting metaphors, Prentiss thought. Just because you've got?40,000s' worth of motor cruiser moored on the Trent.
"A month or so, Derek," the ACC said. "That's all. With luck and a following wind, it could be even less. Then you can have him back refreshed. Not that he'll be on board forever, mind. There's that to consider. Can't be far off his thirty, our Mister Resnick, and then he'll draw his pension and be on his way without so much as a by-your-leave."
"Not forced to go, sir. Just 'cause his years are in."
"Wouldn't you?"
Too fucking right, Prentiss thought. "Not necessarily, sir. Not if I thought there was a job I could still usefully do."
The ACC gave him a look which suggested that was dubious at best, then glanced down at his desk. There was a meeting of the Corporate Governance Panel in a little over an hour, and before that he'd promised the head teacher of St. Ann's Well Nursery amp; Infant School he'd drop in and present a certificate to the children who'd raised the most money towards sponsoring a police horse called Sherwood.
"All right then, Derek. Thanks for stopping by. Your cooperation, as ever, much appreciated. I know you'll do your best to ensure it all runs smoothly."
"Yes, sir."
Bastard, Prentiss thought as he left the room, I hope your boat fucking sinks.
When Resnick nipped home, Lynn was sitting in a wicker chair near the bay windows at the front of the house, cushions at her back, reading a book.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he said.
"I got bored."
"And is that comfortable?"
"Not really."
He kissed her cheek. "How's it feel?"
She winced a little as she moved. "Could be worse. Long as I keep on with the painkillers, it's bearable."
"Get you anything?"
"Not right now."
He kissed her again.
"What's that you're reading?"
She held it up towards him. This Book Will Save Your Life.
"Bit late for that."
Lynn smiled. "Not really that kind of book. Good, though." She folded down the corner of a page and set the book aside. "What did Bill Berry want?"
"The girl who was killed, he's leading the enquiry."
"And what? He wants to borrow some of your squad to bump up his numbers?"
"Not exactly."
She looked at him carefully: no mistaking the smile that was crinkling his eyes.
"He wants you," Lynn said.
"So it seems."
"For his number two."