There was the merest hint of a catch in Karen’s voice. She hoped nobody would notice it, but she was sure John Kelly would. She glanced at him. Kelly was staring straight at her, making no attempt to write in his notebook. She knew he wouldn’t need to. He would remember every word that she had said. He had always had a brilliant short-term memory and the ability to report verbatim without notes, as long as he did so quickly. In this case, so important to all of them, Karen reckoned he’d remember every detail for a long time to come. She could see that he was as moved as she was.
She made herself remember her job and her rank. “That’s it, ladies and gentlemen,” she concluded briskly. “Thank you for your interest.”
The press did not back off, of course. Karen was well enough aware that they never knew when they had had enough. Their attentions switched to Sean MacDonald who had finally left the court and was standing, a little uncertainly it seemed, a few paces behind Karen. But the older man seemed mentally and physically unable to say much at all. Unusually for someone who was normally so articulate, he stumbled over his words. However, what he did manage to say was possibly the most moving part of the whole day.
“I’m able to bid a Christian farewell to my daughter at last,” he said quietly. “And I’ve seen the man who murdered her punished for his crime. It was all there was left, all I’ve had to live for all these years. But nothing will bring my Clara back, nor her beautiful daughters, my grandchildren...”
Then the tears started to come again. Karen ushered him towards the waiting car.
“C’mon, Mac,” she said. “I’ll take you back to the Grand.”
Phil Cooper pushed through the crowd just as they were climbing into the car and hurried across to them, his progress hampered by a pronounced limp. Karen knew that the sergeant had picked up a nasty injury to his left ankle during a rugby match, but if Phil was suffering any pain he certainly wasn’t showing it. His eyes were bright, his face flushed. He looked absolutely delighted.
“We’re all going back to the boozer, boss,” he said. “This one calls for a real celebration. And you, Mac. You’re included. You’d be very welcome...”
The Scotsman wiped the back of one hand across his eyes, rubbing away the tears, and managed a wan smile.
“I know I would, and I thank you for that, young man,” he said. “I thank all of ye, and I’d be glad if you’d pass that on to the rest of your lads and lassies. I thank you for everything that you’ve done. But I’m not in the mood for drinking, I’m afraid. I want to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”
“I understand, Mac,” said Phil, his voice gentle, and he reached out with one hand to touch the Scotsman lightly on the arm. Phil really was quite a sensitive bloke, for a burly rugby-playing cop, Karen reflected not for the first time.
“You’ll come though, boss, won’t you?” he continued.
“Wouldn’t miss it, Phil,” Karen responded. She was actually not as keen on these kinds of communal boozing sessions as she had once been, but she knew she really had to be seen taking part in this one. It was, however, her avowed intention to stay a scant hour or so and drink just a couple of beers.
Good intentions, like promises, are all too easily forgotten.
It was a good do, a particularly good do. Somebody had even done a fairly impressive quick phone round, it seemed, following Marshall’s conviction. A number of Devon and Cornwall Constabulary veterans, now in retirement or working elsewhere, turned up to drink to Richard Marshall’s ultimate demise, most notably Bill Talbot, who made a beeline for Karen as soon as she walked in.
“Congratulations, Detective Superintendent,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “You’ve achieved what I failed to do for more than twenty years.”
Karen smiled and shook her head, denying the compliment.
“I had a little help, Bill, help you didn’t get,” she said. “From a chance diving expedition, from the elements, from an old shipwreck. Oh, and from the Rolex watch company.”
Bill grinned at her. “Ah yes, the Rolex watch company — fast becoming a stalwart ingredient of the British legal system.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. He was in control — Karen had never known him not to be, he was that sort of man — but she could tell that he’d already had several drinks. She didn’t blame him. She didn’t blame any of them. And glancing around the gathering of happy-looking policemen she knew it was going to be difficult, after all, for her to show the forbearance she had promised herself she would. Good results, certainly on this scale, were all too few and far between.
“Champagne?” enquired Bill, gesturing towards a magnum sitting in a bucket on a table just behind him. “This is a celebration, after all.”
She hesitated for only a split second. “Why not?” she asked. And as she took the first welcome sip of the icy-cold bubbly liquid she reflected that it was a whole lot more interesting than a couple of beers.
She stood talking to Talbot for the best part of half an hour. She had liked working for him, more than that, she had learned so much of what she knew from him, and he had been one of her greatest supporters in her career; instrumental, she was well aware, in the speed of her promotion through the ranks. Also, she always enjoyed his company socially, and this was a very special night for both of them.
Everyone in the bar seemed to want to have a drink with her, which was par for the course. It had been a team effort through and through, but she was after all the senior investigating officer. Champagne was the order of the day. And when she finally considered going home, and checked her watch she realized that a good two hours had passed in a blink. She also realized that she had probably already drunk the best part of a bottle of champagne. Her car would have to remain in the station car park overnight again. It was not something she made a habit of, and in fact it would be the first time since that Indian meal she had shared with Phil Cooper on the day they had arrested Marshall the previous summer.
Special occasions called for special arrangements, she told herself as she made her way to the bar. But she wasn’t keen on drinking anymore in the assembled company in case she made a total fool of herself in front of her team. She had seen that happen often enough with senior officers, and knew all too well what good sport it always was for the rank and file. She was therefore determined to remove herself while still in reasonable shape.
“Steve, get me a taxi will you, darling,” she called to the landlord, raising her voice above the hubbub.
“What? You can’t go yet. We’re only just getting going,” said a voice in her ear.
Karen turned to find Phil Cooper right by her side. She had hardly seen the detective sergeant all evening. He had been ensconced at one corner of the bar with his rugby-playing colleagues. In one hand he carried yet another bottle of champagne and in the other an empty glass which he filled and held out towards her.
“Go on, have one more,” he said. “You don’t get too many days like this in this job.”
It was true. Without protest Karen accepted the glass and took a deep drink. She had already drunk enough to be highly susceptible to further temptation.
“You’re right about that, Phil,” she said. “This one’s in a class of its own. I’ll drink to that.”
She raised her glass and looked enquiringly at Cooper, who reached across the bar and lifted a pint glass of clear liquid to his lips.
“May the bastard stay locked up forever,” he pronounced, as if making a toast.
Karen muttered: “Hear hear,” followed by: “What on earth’s that you’re drinking?”