A Bleeding of Innocents (28 page)

Liz blinked, astonished. ‘A street-fighter? Me?'

‘Undoubtedly. A beautifully brought-up street-fighter, a street-fighter with a grammar-school accent, but the velvet glove doesn't alter the essential nature of the iron fist. You'll go a long way. I've always worried too much about the minutiae, about justifying every detail – occasionally it's paid off but more often it's bogged me down. I can't see you making the same mistake. You have the courage of your convictions. You're like Donovan in that too.'

Liz was troubled. She wasn't sure that Shapiro was paying her a compliment. She'd known him too long to think he admired ruthlessness, even when it was effective. She said in a low voice, ‘I don't know if that's the sort of copper I want to be. I'm not ambitious, Frank. Not enough to want promotion more than respect,'

He glanced fondly at her. ‘Liz, whatever you choose to do – if you want to be the first female chief constable or the best detective inspector in the country – wherever you want to go from here you will always have my respect. Even if we don't agree on everything. Look. Police work, particularly CID, isn't an exact science. You do your best and hope it'll work out, but often enough the results are disappointing. It's hard to keep on trying, but you have to. That's where street-fighters come into their own. It's better to try too hard than not hard enough.

‘That's Donovan's strength: that he'll put himself on the line for something that matters without wanting a cast-iron guarantee that he'll come out of it all right. You have to watch your back in this job, but if you're always watching your back you lose sight of where you're going. Donovan doesn't mind making himself unpopular. He doesn't mind being in a minority of one. It doesn't make him the easiest man to work with but it means he sometimes gets results that almost nobody else could get. You do that too. Eyes on the prize: isn't that what the Americans say?' He sounded pleased and surprised that he knew that.

They drove another mile in silence. Then Shapiro said, ‘I want to make a call on our way in, if that's all right?'

It was a purely rhetorical question. Liz nodded automatically. ‘Of course, sir. Where are we going?'

‘It's time I talked to Marion Clarke. For both their sakes – hers and Donovan's. I shouldn't have let
this
go on so long: her blaming the lad for Alan's death and both of them hurting because of it. It's time I put a stop to it.'

Liz studied what she could see of his profile by the gleam of the instruments. ‘At two o'clock in the morning?'

Shapiro nodded warily. ‘I know. I should have done it sooner. I've been busy. She'll be in bed, I'll have to get her up. But I think – I think – she'll be glad I did. I think she might want to go down to the hospital, see if he's all right.'

Liz didn't know Alan Clarke's widow, didn't know how she was likely to react. And she was learning something new about Shapiro all the time. When he'd parked the car she said, ‘Shall I come in with you?'

‘No need,' he said, ‘and anyway better not. She won't be wondering who's on her doorstep, she'll know it's me. And we might get cross with one another before we're done so we'd better be left alone for ten minutes. Then you can drive us both to Castle General.'

But as he was climbing out of the car, a man past middle age weary with all that had happened in the last eight days, he came slowly to a halt and turned back to her. ‘There is something you can do.'

‘Name it.' She was tired too but she meant it.

‘Think if there's any way you could stay here – take Alan's job on a permanent basis. Brian's an art teacher, isn't he? Could he get work in Castlemere? There are some good schools. If not, would one of you consider commuting? I don't want to put you on the spot, Liz, I'm not expecting you to choose between your marriage and your career. I haven't said anything to Headquarters, if the idea doesn't appeal to you all you'll be turning down is an informal approach, there'll be nothing on your record. But if there was a way I'd like to have you here.'

Momentarily she was dumbfounded, amazed and not amazed.

She'd been here a week. Together they'd solved two cases involving six deaths – seven counting Mary Swann. In one way she'd hardly had time to think where she was, what she was doing, where it might lead, where she wanted it to lead. In another, all the years she hadn't been working with Frank Shapiro seemed to have dissolved to nothing.

She had a good job where she was. She had prospects. She wasn't sure if DI at Castlemere amounted to progress. But already she knew she wanted it. She wanted to work in the real world again, not just with computer files and other police. She wanted the immediacy, the direct evidence of making a difference that came with hands-on detecting. She wanted to work with Shapiro. She could even get used to the idea of working with Donovan.

‘Frank, I don't know. I can't say, not off the top of my head like this. Can I think about it? See what room I have for manoeuvre?'

For a moment Shapiro's tired, amiable smile was framed in the car's open door. ‘Of course. Take all the time you need. Talk to Brian. Talk to Headquarters. Then do what's best for you.' Then he straightened and turned, and she watched his back in Harris tweed trudge up Marion Clarke's garden path.

First published in 1993 by Macmillan

This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world

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Copyright © Jo Bannister, 1993

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