She checked her watch. It was almost 11 P. M. She was exhausted. And still hungry in spite of the chocolate. She reckoned she might as well go home and try to start really early the following morning. There was, in any case, little more that she could do. Tomlinson could wait until the next day. He was probably off at one of his myriad politically motivated dinners, and in any event there was just a chance that, between them, the team might have worn Marshall down a bit by the following day. Not much of one though, if the bastard ran true to form, she reflected grimly. But as she prepared to leave the station she called through to the incident room and gave instructions for the pressure to be kept up on Marshall throughout the night.
“I want Marshall given absolutely the minimum rest,” she ordered. “I want a team available to interview him continuously, every minute that we’re allowed. Tell them to push. Really push. Our best hope is still to break the bastard. But also tell them to be sure to keep within the rules. Stick to the book. I don’t want him getting off on some blasted technicality, that really would be the end.”
“And it would be just our luck and Richard Marshall’s.”
She leaned back in her chair and considered any other last-minute things she had to do before leaving. Oh God, she thought, Phil. The detective sergeant had also had a long day and had been trying to call her all evening to relate it in full.
He had already told her briefly about Jennifer Roth, but she had not had time to listen to the full account of his Dorset investigations.
Swiftly she dialled the number of his mobile phone.
“I’m in heavy traffic, I’d better not talk,” he said. “I might get arrested.”
Karen didn’t even manage a giggle.
“Where are you?” she enquired.
“On the Newton Abbot road, nearly back, but I think there may have been an accident or something.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Sandwiches.”
“Fancy telling me all about it over a pint and a curry?”
“I do.”
Phil hadn’t hesitated. And she knew that it wasn’t just that he always seemed to be hungry, either. There couldn’t be a police officer alive who worked harder or longer hours than he did. Except her perhaps, she thought. It was a bonus that they enjoyed each other’s company. Not for the first time she reflected on how lucky she was to have him on her team.
“See you at Akbar’s as soon as you can make it, then,” she said. “I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”
Karen left her car in the station car park. The ten-minute walk to the restaurant would do her good and she felt like having a decent drink. She thought she might well get a taxi home.
The atmosphere at Akbar’s was restful and relaxing. All dark-red plush upholstery and similar wall coverings blending into one in the subdued lighting. Karen arrived first, but Phil joined her not long after, before she had even got around to ordering herself a drink. Although he was obviously tired, he also seemed excited. You could see that he was pumped up.
“You look how I feel,” she told him. “Marshall’s being impossible, of course, but at least he’s inside. I don’t know whether to collapse or cheer.”
“That’s just how it is, boss. We’re all the same, you know, even the really young guys. Everybody wants Marshall. Nobody will relax, though, until he’s charged, and even then not really until he’s convicted. That’s the trouble with this one. You can’t quite believe it, can you?”
Karen grunted. “It’s been a long haul,” she said, as she ordered two pints of lager and passed Cooper the menu.
“Thanks, boss,” replied the DS. “You’ve no idea how much I’m looking forward to a square meal and a few beers.”
“Oh yes, I have,” said Karen. “I really have.”
By the time they had finished their main courses, chicken masala, chicken tikka, and a selection of vegetable curries, Phil had told Karen all about his enquiries and given her a rundown on Jennifer Roth.
“She’s a piece of work, boss, I’m telling you,” he said. “At first she just seemed shocked rigid. But as soon as I started to push her she changed into something I hadn’t expected. Like a trapped animal she was. She’s a snooty bitch, too. And she won’t have a word said against Marshall. Not a word.”
“Yup. Well, that much is par for the course. God knows what he does to the women in his life but they all seem totally taken in by him.”
Karen tried not to think about just how much her mother may have fallen into that category. She called for another two pints of lager, their third each.
Cooper held up a hand to stop her. “I’d better not, I’m driving,” he said. “The days when you could tell the pointy-hat brigade you were in the job and they’d go away are long gone.”
Karen grinned. She knew that as Cooper was thirteen years her junior those days must be mere mythology to him, but she could remember them for real.
“Where’ve you parked?” she asked him. “My car’s at the nick. I’m leaving it there. To hell with it, Phil. You don’t arrest Richard Marshall every day of your life.”
Cooper grinned back at her. “You’re right, boss,” he said. “My motor’s in the car park round the corner. As long as I get there early in the morning it’ll be all right overnight. I’ll have Sarah give me a lift in. In which case, how about a whisky chaser?”
“Done,” said Karen, and ordered two large ones.
They stayed in the restaurant until past 1 A. M., demolishing two more whiskies each.
“Do you ever think about how the law was in the old Wild West, boss?” asked Cooper casually at one point, when the booze had definitely kicked in.
Karen giggled. “Can’t say it’s a major preoccupation, Phil,” she confessed.
“Yeah well, those cowboy lawmen could get away with murder, and did, didn’t they?” Phil went on. “If they’d got a fucking Richard Marshall in their territory they’d have shot him or lynched him straight away. Now, I’m not saying that’s right, boss, no, I’m not. But you got to admit it wouldn’t half save a lot of unnecessary bother.”
Cooper, whom Karen knew was not a big drinker at all, was obviously feeling no pain having downed the best part of three large whiskies. He was very very serious and spoke with careful deliberation. Karen became almost overwhelmed by an irrepressible urge to giggle. Eventually she could contain herself no longer. And her suppressed mirth came out in the form of an explosive snort.
Still apparently very serious, Cooper made a show of wiping his face with one hand and then the lapels of his jacket.
“Sorry, Phil, did I get you?” Karen asked, in between hoots of laughter.
“Think you did, boss. It’s all right. I just don’t know what I said that was so funny.”
The laughter really kicked in then. Uncontrollably.
“That’s it, that’s it,” she spluttered. “You really don’t, do you?”
Cooper looked bewildered. “No, I don’t, boss,” he said, downing the last of his whisky.
“You are quite wonderful sometimes, Phil, particularly when you’ve been drinking,” she continued through giggles. “Oh, and when we’re off duty I do wish to God you wouldn’t call me ‘boss.’ That makes it even funnier, if you see what I mean.”
“No, I don’t see, really, boss—”
“Oh Phil, please.”
“Right. All right. OK. Here goes. K-A-R-E-N. Karen.”
Phil beamed at her.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Did that sound all right, boss?” asked Cooper then.
She shot him a sharp look.
He grinned broadly. She pretended to throw the remains of her lager over him. It was all very childish. But it really felt good to unwind and play the fool.