Chris’ disapproval. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, I thought it might make her feel better. You know, knowing that it wasn’t anything he’d done – it was just bad luck.’
Chris shoved the key in the ignition and turned sharply to Matthew. ‘Bad luck? You think? Yeah, I suppose having your skull smashed to
pieces with a hammer could be called ‘bad luck’, although there are probably more appropriate ways to describe it.’
Matthew winced. Chris wasn’t sure if it was the description of Michael Morris’ death that had affected him, or the fact that he was being reprimanded for his lack of sensitivity with regards to the victim’s wife.
‘Look, forget it,’ Chris said, waving the comment away and pulling off from the kerbside. Matthew hadn’t meant to be insensitive; he was young, he was learning, and he would quickly discover that if he couldn’t think of anything intelligent, revelatory or inspired to say then it was best he keep his mouth shut. ‘Just, next time, let me do the talking, right?’
Matthew raised a hand. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said quietly.
Eight
‘I want to make an official complaint.’
Nathan Williams’ bony elbows rested on the front desk; his greasy forehead pressed against the Perspex screen above the counter.
‘Regarding?’ the desk sergeant asked.
‘Regarding,’ Nathan parroted, ‘DI Kelly.’
*
Superintendent Clayton closed the door behind Kate and sighed loudly; an exaggerated gesture that expressed his opinions before he’d even opened his mouth.
‘Sit down,’ he said bluntly.
He sat behind his desk and distractedly pushed a pile of papers from in front of him. ‘Kate,’ he sighed. ‘What were you thinking?’
Kate exhaled loudly. ‘Boss, I…’
‘Sir,’ Clayton corrected her. He sat forward in his seat and laid his palms flat on the desk. He had hands like shovels.
‘Sir, I…’
She’d had her speech planned out, her justifications lined up ready for attack, but now she was faced with Clayton and that look he gave her – that look that said he was disappointed in her, as though he was her father rather than her boss – the words became tangled and she was unable to distinguish between the excuses. Unsure which explanation was likely to get her in the least trouble, she opted for saying nothing. She looked away, unnerved by Clayton’s moustache, which twitched unnaturally when he was restless. She could already predict the expression that would be fixed on his face and didn’t need to see it to understand its intentions. She had seen the same look from her father on too many occasions and now that he was no longer around Clayton seemed to be filling the blank spaces left for looks of disapproval.
‘Go on,’ he prompted her.
‘I don’t think I’ve done anything unreasonable,’ Kate told him.
‘I have a very angry Nathan Williams waiting in reception,’ Clayton said, rolling his eyes. ‘A very angry Nathan Williams who is shouting police harassment and – in particular – shouting about you.’
The moustache flexed on his upper lip like a break dancing caterpillar.
‘Sir,’ Kate tried to reason. ‘I’m the DI on this case. Isn’t it my job as detective inspector to…well…inspect?’
Clayton sat back in his seat and moved his hands from the table.
‘Don’t be sarcastic, Kate,’ he said, although his voice was without censure. ‘You’re pushing the
Chris shoved the key in the ignition and turned sharply to Matthew. ‘Bad luck? You think? Yeah, I suppose having your skull smashed to
pieces with a hammer could be called ‘bad luck’, although there are probably more appropriate ways to describe it.’
Matthew winced. Chris wasn’t sure if it was the description of Michael Morris’ death that had affected him, or the fact that he was being reprimanded for his lack of sensitivity with regards to the victim’s wife.
‘Look, forget it,’ Chris said, waving the comment away and pulling off from the kerbside. Matthew hadn’t meant to be insensitive; he was young, he was learning, and he would quickly discover that if he couldn’t think of anything intelligent, revelatory or inspired to say then it was best he keep his mouth shut. ‘Just, next time, let me do the talking, right?’
Matthew raised a hand. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said quietly.
Eight
‘I want to make an official complaint.’
Nathan Williams’ bony elbows rested on the front desk; his greasy forehead pressed against the Perspex screen above the counter.
‘Regarding?’ the desk sergeant asked.
‘Regarding,’ Nathan parroted, ‘DI Kelly.’
*
Superintendent Clayton closed the door behind Kate and sighed loudly; an exaggerated gesture that expressed his opinions before he’d even opened his mouth.
‘Sit down,’ he said bluntly.
He sat behind his desk and distractedly pushed a pile of papers from in front of him. ‘Kate,’ he sighed. ‘What were you thinking?’
Kate exhaled loudly. ‘Boss, I…’
‘Sir,’ Clayton corrected her. He sat forward in his seat and laid his palms flat on the desk. He had hands like shovels.
‘Sir, I…’
She’d had her speech planned out, her justifications lined up ready for attack, but now she was faced with Clayton and that look he gave her – that look that said he was disappointed in her, as though he was her father rather than her boss – the words became tangled and she was unable to distinguish between the excuses. Unsure which explanation was likely to get her in the least trouble, she opted for saying nothing. She looked away, unnerved by Clayton’s moustache, which twitched unnaturally when he was restless. She could already predict the expression that would be fixed on his face and didn’t need to see it to understand its intentions. She had seen the same look from her father on too many occasions and now that he was no longer around Clayton seemed to be filling the blank spaces left for looks of disapproval.
‘Go on,’ he prompted her.
‘I don’t think I’ve done anything unreasonable,’ Kate told him.
‘I have a very angry Nathan Williams waiting in reception,’ Clayton said, rolling his eyes. ‘A very angry Nathan Williams who is shouting police harassment and – in particular – shouting about you.’
The moustache flexed on his upper lip like a break dancing caterpillar.
‘Sir,’ Kate tried to reason. ‘I’m the DI on this case. Isn’t it my job as detective inspector to…well…inspect?’
Clayton sat back in his seat and moved his hands from the table.
‘Don’t be sarcastic, Kate,’ he said, although his voice was without censure. ‘You’re pushing the
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