Behind Dead Eyes (DC Ian Bradshaw #2) - Howard Linskey Page 0,20
point so there was a momentary lull in their conversation until he said, ‘What about this other fellah you told me about a while back?’
Kane seemed to stiffen at that but simply answered, ‘Which one?’ while privately regretting he had ever mentioned Tom Carney’s name, even in passing, for he realised the bloody reporter was undoubtedly the reason for Jarvis’ visit.
‘That journalist.’
‘That was a very different case, Frank.’
‘It was a missing person.’
‘It wasn’t that simple.’
‘But you said he was a real asset.’
That was before he stabbed me in the back, thought Kane, whose opinion of Tom Carney had plummeted since the days immediately following the resolution of the Michelle Summers case. ‘Don’t go down that route, Frank, I’m begging you.’
‘Why not? He’s a good investigator, isn’t he? You said so yourself.’
‘He’s also a self-centred, arrogant, egotistical, cage-rattling, pain-in-the-arse.’
‘Sounds like he’s just the man I’m looking for then.’ Jarvis leaned forward and poured another generous measure into Kane’s glass.
DI Tennant left her office an hour later and peered out at her team. Her gaze settled on Ian Bradshaw and her eyes narrowed. ‘Bradshaw,’ she called, ‘DCI Kane wants you.’
‘DCI Kane wants me?’ he parroted back at her in surprise. Bollockings from senior officers had been a regular occurrence during Ian Bradshaw’s police career but he had hoped that was no longer the case. He’d been keeping his head down and his nose clean as Kane once advised him.
‘Yes,’ she said curtly, ‘he wants you to drive him home.’
This was the cue for some hilarity from the team, including DS Cunningham reciting gleefully, ‘Kane and Bradshaw sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G.’
‘Fuck off, Cunningham,’ might not have been the wittiest answer Bradshaw could have come up with but he offered it anyway. He was troubled now. It wasn’t Cunningham’s comment that bothered him though or the banter that continued as he was leaving the room, it was the look on DI Tennant’s face as she watched him go, as if he’d just farted at the dinner table.
DCI Kane felt quite hammered. Not falling-down-drunk-on-a-night-out-with-the-lads pissed but drunk enough for a school night and certainly in no condition to drive, which was why he had phoned Katie Tennant to commandeer Bradshaw. It made obvious sense for him to kill two birds with one stone.
Katie had asked him why he needed to speak to one of her officers and his first reaction had been to tell her to mind her own bloody business but he bit his tongue. She was one of the new generation, he supposed, trained to use their initiative, not blindly follow orders like he had been. He would never have dreamed of questioning a senior officer. It wasn’t the way to get ahead.
Had he been entirely sober he might have said, ‘I’d like a word with him,’ but because of the whisky he’d been a little too honest and said, ‘I need him to drive me home,’ and by the time he’d realised that was probably not the most impressive thing he could have told his subordinate, it was too late.
‘I see,’ she clearly wasn’t impressed, ‘I’ll send him over.’
He was glad he had the Polo mints. God knows how long they’d been in his drawer but he didn’t care about that now. He shovelled four into his mouth and crunched on them, managing to swallow all of the minty fragments before Bradshaw showed up at his door.
‘Ah, Bradshaw,’ he said, ‘good lad. My car’s playing up and I wanted a word with you anyway. Be a good man and give me a lift home then you can knock off, eh?’ he said brightly. ‘After we’ve had our chat.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Bradshaw, who was still baffled as to why he had been summoned to act as his DCI’s taxi driver, though he did at least understand the reason why Kane wouldn’t be driving himself home. He noticed his boss discreetly palm a packet of Polos into his jacket pocket and there were two empty, recently rinsed glasses on a nearby cabinet. There was something solid wrapped in an old carrier bag that had been placed in the waste paper basket too, which could have been an empty spirit bottle. Bradshaw supposed he should be grateful there were two glasses.
‘Let’s get going then.’ Kane put the palm of one hand firmly against Bradshaw’s shoulder as he steered the detective sergeant to the door and Bradshaw got a strong whiff of mints as they left the office.