This was a possible career finishing tactic on the part of the DCC. Introducing a catholic officer into his all-protestant squad was one thing but introducing a female catholic was a horse of a totally different colour.
“Moira McElvaney,” Wilson started reading from the personnel file. He castigated himself for not opening the file before entering the cafeteria and that wily old fox Jennings had been damn careful not to indicate the sex of his new officer. The colour photo was of the passport variety and it did not do its subject justice. “Nice bunch of A levels,” he said scanning the page.
“But not good enough to read law,” she sipped her tea.
“Bachelor of Arts in Sociology,” he said without responding.
“I was going to change the world.”
“Stint with Concern in Africa. Then social welfare officer and now PSNI.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m tempted to ask what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this.”
“You were gracious enough to skip over the failed marriage,” she said returning his gaze. “Just to get it out of the way. I married young. I didn’t realise that I was marrying a wimp until I lived with him and we parted amicably. No children, thank God.”
“You’re rather up-front as they say,” he turned the pages in the file to her superiors’ reports on her.
“If we are going to work together then I think it’s important that you should know what you’ve got, sir.” He had kind eyes, she thought. His face was rugged and lived in. He would have been considered a handsome devil when he had been younger. She might even have fancied him herself. As the thought struck her she felt her face flush and she fought to push any sexual thoughts from her mind. When they had told her that she was being posted to Tennent Street her reaction had not been so far removed from Wilson’s. Shock horror was the order of the day. But when they told her she would be working directly with the legendary Ian Wilson her courage had returned a little. Her instructors at the training college had used several of Wilson’s cases to illustrate correct police procedure. It had been her dream to work with someone like him. Now she found herself seated directly before him and staring back into blue eyes that seemed to reach right into the back of his head. He was a lot bigger than she had expected. She’s known that he had been a big-wheel rugby player but he seemed enormous to her. She was reminded of a large black bear. He certainly didn’t seem to be the sort of guy to get into a hassle with. She found him instantly likeable unlike most of her previous bosses.
Wilson glanced at the appraisals written by her superiors. They were uniformly excellent. “Social work didn’t suit either?” he asked.
“Social work wasn’t my bag. I didn’t have the required level of empathy to deal with the under-age mother who gets off on beating her child just because it interfered with the continuation of her social life or because it cried too much when it was hungry. So I really wanted to be a lawyer but when you don’t have the grades you don’t have the grades. Maybe I should have studied more and watched less of Kavanagh QC. So next best thing - join the police force. A couple of years on the beat in Strabane, exam to become one of the elite and three months college and here I am, sir.”
“You’re sure about this?” he asked. Please say no, he thought. She was obviously intelligent. Her superiors had graded her at the highest level and she was undeniably good-looking. What the hell had gotten into her red-haired head? He wanted to scream at her to go get a life. There would be no offers to her to join the Masons or the Orange Order. She could of course attempt to move up by
“Moira McElvaney,” Wilson started reading from the personnel file. He castigated himself for not opening the file before entering the cafeteria and that wily old fox Jennings had been damn careful not to indicate the sex of his new officer. The colour photo was of the passport variety and it did not do its subject justice. “Nice bunch of A levels,” he said scanning the page.
“But not good enough to read law,” she sipped her tea.
“Bachelor of Arts in Sociology,” he said without responding.
“I was going to change the world.”
“Stint with Concern in Africa. Then social welfare officer and now PSNI.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m tempted to ask what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this.”
“You were gracious enough to skip over the failed marriage,” she said returning his gaze. “Just to get it out of the way. I married young. I didn’t realise that I was marrying a wimp until I lived with him and we parted amicably. No children, thank God.”
“You’re rather up-front as they say,” he turned the pages in the file to her superiors’ reports on her.
“If we are going to work together then I think it’s important that you should know what you’ve got, sir.” He had kind eyes, she thought. His face was rugged and lived in. He would have been considered a handsome devil when he had been younger. She might even have fancied him herself. As the thought struck her she felt her face flush and she fought to push any sexual thoughts from her mind. When they had told her that she was being posted to Tennent Street her reaction had not been so far removed from Wilson’s. Shock horror was the order of the day. But when they told her she would be working directly with the legendary Ian Wilson her courage had returned a little. Her instructors at the training college had used several of Wilson’s cases to illustrate correct police procedure. It had been her dream to work with someone like him. Now she found herself seated directly before him and staring back into blue eyes that seemed to reach right into the back of his head. He was a lot bigger than she had expected. She’s known that he had been a big-wheel rugby player but he seemed enormous to her. She was reminded of a large black bear. He certainly didn’t seem to be the sort of guy to get into a hassle with. She found him instantly likeable unlike most of her previous bosses.
Wilson glanced at the appraisals written by her superiors. They were uniformly excellent. “Social work didn’t suit either?” he asked.
“Social work wasn’t my bag. I didn’t have the required level of empathy to deal with the under-age mother who gets off on beating her child just because it interfered with the continuation of her social life or because it cried too much when it was hungry. So I really wanted to be a lawyer but when you don’t have the grades you don’t have the grades. Maybe I should have studied more and watched less of Kavanagh QC. So next best thing - join the police force. A couple of years on the beat in Strabane, exam to become one of the elite and three months college and here I am, sir.”
“You’re sure about this?” he asked. Please say no, he thought. She was obviously intelligent. Her superiors had graded her at the highest level and she was undeniably good-looking. What the hell had gotten into her red-haired head? He wanted to scream at her to go get a life. There would be no offers to her to join the Masons or the Orange Order. She could of course attempt to move up by
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