it. But how on earth could she turn from gossip to what she wanted?
Why not be as direct as she usually was? ‘Actually, Maeve, wedding reception venues apart, I was wondering if you could do me a favour.’
‘Ask away. I can always say no.’ Her voice suddenly lost its buoyancy.
Was she having a flashback? At one point she confessed to finding it hard to use the simple negative without recalling the event when she used it in vain. Fran held her breath.
‘But I’m sure you wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t important, so fire away,’ Maeve continued in her normal voice.
‘I don’t know if you’ve heard about our village water supply? There’s a funny smell – and taste – to it—’
‘As if there’s a dead dog in an aquifer or something?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that precisely,’ she said.
‘But it would certainly explain the milk in the coconut. Isuppose it does come from an aquifer? Or a reservoir?’
‘I’ve no idea. Just out of a tap.’
She was rewarded by a cackle of derisive laughter.
‘Anyway, a number of villagers have already tried complaining to Invitaqua direct. Some have phoned, others have written. But no one has had a response.’
‘Anyone can get water tested, Fran. Is that what you’re asking me to organise?’
‘Could you? Unofficially at this stage.’
‘No problem. OK, I’ll send someone round to collect a sample or two from your very own tap. No, tell you what, we’ll have a meal – our shout – and come back and I’ll take the sample myself. Actually, perhaps we’d better eat somewhere a good distance from Lenham…’
Fran’s encounters with colleagues in the canteen or elsewhere might have looked casual but rarely were. Today when she saw DI Jon Binns lurking by the water cooler, she found that she too was thirsty, although she’d just downed a mug of tea.
Jon Binns had moved from forensic accountancy into the more general area of CID, where he had attracted Fran’s attention for his loyalty, occasionally misplaced, and his acumen. He also seemed to like her as much as she liked him, and even if passing the time of day with him didn’t elicit the information she needed she wouldn’t consider it time wasted.
Pleasantries exchanged and over, she said bluntly, ‘Jon, I need to pick your brains. You’ve got a business degree, haven’t you?’
‘Fancy your remembering that!’
Fran usually did recall things she might find useful one day, but she grinned noncommittally, implying, she hoped, that shealways took an interest in promising young officers’ backgrounds.
‘Tell me, why should a firm risk failing to respond to customers’ letters and calls?’
‘They probably don’t think it’s a risk at all. People aren’t persistent.’
‘People like me are persistent. People like me smell rats if Customer Relations never phone them back.’
‘You needn’t always. It can simply mean that the firm doesn’t employ enough poor drones to respond to all their complaints.’
‘Not that it doesn’t care?’
‘It’s all to do with balancing variables, guv. And very few customers are going to make a fuss if no one rings back.’
‘OK, so you give up phoning and write. And still nothing happens. What than?’
‘Someone makes a stink. Goes to the media. And then things start to happen.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you thinking of a specific organisation here? Because I’d have thought a call from someone like you, speaking with the authority of your rank, would work wonders.’
He was good, this lad.
The authority of your rank!
What he meant, of course, was that Fran could bully her way through most situations. She smiled silkily. ‘So you think I should give Invitaqua one of my grade one bollockings?’
‘Invitaqua? Aren’t they in the process of being sold?’
She rounded her eyes encouragingly.
‘They’ve not been a UK company since privatisation, I know that, and I’ve an idea they’re owned by some German-based
Why not be as direct as she usually was? ‘Actually, Maeve, wedding reception venues apart, I was wondering if you could do me a favour.’
‘Ask away. I can always say no.’ Her voice suddenly lost its buoyancy.
Was she having a flashback? At one point she confessed to finding it hard to use the simple negative without recalling the event when she used it in vain. Fran held her breath.
‘But I’m sure you wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t important, so fire away,’ Maeve continued in her normal voice.
‘I don’t know if you’ve heard about our village water supply? There’s a funny smell – and taste – to it—’
‘As if there’s a dead dog in an aquifer or something?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that precisely,’ she said.
‘But it would certainly explain the milk in the coconut. Isuppose it does come from an aquifer? Or a reservoir?’
‘I’ve no idea. Just out of a tap.’
She was rewarded by a cackle of derisive laughter.
‘Anyway, a number of villagers have already tried complaining to Invitaqua direct. Some have phoned, others have written. But no one has had a response.’
‘Anyone can get water tested, Fran. Is that what you’re asking me to organise?’
‘Could you? Unofficially at this stage.’
‘No problem. OK, I’ll send someone round to collect a sample or two from your very own tap. No, tell you what, we’ll have a meal – our shout – and come back and I’ll take the sample myself. Actually, perhaps we’d better eat somewhere a good distance from Lenham…’
Fran’s encounters with colleagues in the canteen or elsewhere might have looked casual but rarely were. Today when she saw DI Jon Binns lurking by the water cooler, she found that she too was thirsty, although she’d just downed a mug of tea.
Jon Binns had moved from forensic accountancy into the more general area of CID, where he had attracted Fran’s attention for his loyalty, occasionally misplaced, and his acumen. He also seemed to like her as much as she liked him, and even if passing the time of day with him didn’t elicit the information she needed she wouldn’t consider it time wasted.
Pleasantries exchanged and over, she said bluntly, ‘Jon, I need to pick your brains. You’ve got a business degree, haven’t you?’
‘Fancy your remembering that!’
Fran usually did recall things she might find useful one day, but she grinned noncommittally, implying, she hoped, that shealways took an interest in promising young officers’ backgrounds.
‘Tell me, why should a firm risk failing to respond to customers’ letters and calls?’
‘They probably don’t think it’s a risk at all. People aren’t persistent.’
‘People like me are persistent. People like me smell rats if Customer Relations never phone them back.’
‘You needn’t always. It can simply mean that the firm doesn’t employ enough poor drones to respond to all their complaints.’
‘Not that it doesn’t care?’
‘It’s all to do with balancing variables, guv. And very few customers are going to make a fuss if no one rings back.’
‘OK, so you give up phoning and write. And still nothing happens. What than?’
‘Someone makes a stink. Goes to the media. And then things start to happen.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you thinking of a specific organisation here? Because I’d have thought a call from someone like you, speaking with the authority of your rank, would work wonders.’
He was good, this lad.
The authority of your rank!
What he meant, of course, was that Fran could bully her way through most situations. She smiled silkily. ‘So you think I should give Invitaqua one of my grade one bollockings?’
‘Invitaqua? Aren’t they in the process of being sold?’
She rounded her eyes encouragingly.
‘They’ve not been a UK company since privatisation, I know that, and I’ve an idea they’re owned by some German-based
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