he should bring along his companion, an off-duty policeman. They were in the reception area downstairs. ‘Uh-huh, I see. Well, you’d better both come up. Security’ll point you in the right direction. All right? Bye.’
During the ’phone conversation, she had stood up and wandered over to look out the window at the parking area, her lovely scenic view. After she replaced the receiver, she was still looking out of the window for something she couldn’t find.
‘Where’s the famous white Jag then?’ She had to hand it to him, though. Everyone’s immediate association with Loach was a fancy white Jaguar. Not bad. ‘Or are you parked somewhere else?’
He appeared strangely discomfited and evasive. ‘Er … I don’t have the Jag today. It’s … on hire … for a wedding.’
She was somewhat startled and incredulous as to what some people would do to make money. ‘You’ve hired your car for a wedding? Aren’t you taking this millionaire Special thing a bit too far, Bob?’
‘Flippin’ ’eck, what d’you take me for? If you must know, someone got let down … at the last minute. I don’t like to see folk disappointed.’
Try pulling the other one, she wanted to say. He didn’t go on, he didn’t go out. She looked at him expectantly.
‘Was there something else, Bob?’
Still he seemed ill at ease. ‘Well … now you ask … I did have another reason for coming here, Sandra. There’s something going on … and you’re the only person who might give me a straight answer.’
Something in his hesitant manner aroused her suspicion. ‘That’ll depend on the question.’
He contemplated, then decided to go ahead. ‘All right. It’s about Rob Barker – my Sub-Divisional Officer.’
Her fears confirmed. Winter came early, as her blood froze into ice.
Meanwhile, Loach was oblivious to the drop in room temperature. ‘What I want to know is … whether he’s coming or going? Viv Smith tells me he’s been into her Building Society making plans about selling his house.’
‘Selling his house?’ she asked bleakly.
‘Aye. What I want to know is if you’ve heard anything. Officially or unofficially. Is the man resigning or not?’
Before she could think of a hedge to put him off, there was a tap on the open door to her office. Standing there awkwardly was the young Special who had called from the reception area accompanied by the off-duty policeman, who appeared vaguely familiar to Sandra.
‘Sorry to trouble you,’ the young Special apologized.
‘That’s what I’m here for,’ she assured him with her best motherly smile.
The off-duty policeman spoke up. ‘I told him to touch base with you, Miss Gibson. Before he saw the lot upstairs. I’m Police Constable Leadbetter, by the way.’
Sandra nodded welcome, and Loach acknowledged him as well.
The young Special was eager to jump in. ‘I wanted to know what I’m expected to buy for meself. When I become a Special. How much am I gonna be in for?’
‘That’s easy,’ she grinned. ‘Nothing. You’ll be supplied with everything you need free of charge. You’re not expected to buy anything.’
The young man frowned. ‘But I heard … Well, what about other things … like handcuffs?’
It was Loach’s turn to field that one. ‘Uh … Somebody should’ve told you. A Special isn’t allowed to use cuffs.’
‘He’s right,’ Sandra was happy to concur. ‘This is Bob Loach. He’s a Special as well. A section officer.’
‘Nobody can stop you buying them,’ Loach conceded, qualifying his earlier admonition.
Leadbetter snorted. ‘Bloody stupid, if you ask me. ’Ere we got young lads like the lad ’ere who volunteer to be Specials, knowing they’ve gotta stand in line and take the same bleeding punishment a cop like me has to. For what? They don’t get paid. I got cuffs. They should be given cuffs. You can’t stand about like a bleeding football and have your head kicked in. You can ask ’em, tell ’em, but I’m buggered if I know how a Special’s going to lift ’em without cuffs.’
As if that extensive exposition weren’t sufficient, he added one more item to the wish list for good measure. ‘And another thing, they should be paid. Like the rest of us in the force.’
Loach was genuinely moved by his emotional support for the Specials, including the young man beside him. ‘I wish more policemen felt the same as you do. And I’ll tell you, there’s not many would give the time of day to help out a young Special the way you’re doing.’
Leadbetter just shrugged and smiled. ‘Got to, haven’t I?’ He put his arm around the young Special’s shoulder.
‘I’m his dad.’
Redwood’s combined office and residence was a modest house with a minute garden fronting it, the only outward sign of his existence a burnished brass plate fixed to a wall pier and bearing the legend: ‘John Redwood, Solicitor and Commissioner of Oaths.’ Stella, his secretary, who had been with him since the time when his dear wife was still alive, was fluttering at the window, waiting for him, when she saw his car pulling up. In a twinkle she flew to her desk, where a plate of savouries awaited, along with a bottle of champagne cooling in a flower vase. She carefully picked up the champagne and got ready. When she heard him enter the house, she started counting to herself.
Just as he opened the door to the office, she popped the cork in his direction. Momentarily startled, he put his hand over his heart and staggered toward her.
‘God, Stella, I thought you were a dissatisfied client.’
He dropped his briefcase on her desk and noticed her preparations. Slung over his shoulder was a plastic suit-carrier enclosing his uniform, tying up one arm.
‘Congratulations, John.’ She pushed a glass toward his lips, then pretended to snatch it back. ‘Wait. Are you allowed to drink on duty?’
Finally smiling and tolerant, he accepted the glass. She took care of the suit-carrier, transferring it to the cupboard. Just before doing so, however, she removed the cap. Taking it over to him, she playfully set the cap at a jaunty angle on his head, embarrassing him with her teasing. She tilted her head to one side, in parallel with the cap, and studied him.
‘Well, I am impressed.’ She gave him a cocky salute. ‘Evenin’ all.’
They clinked glasses and tasted the champagne. He sneezed on the bubbles.
‘Dammit. Just remembered … the conveyancing for 15 Sydney Street? Is it done?’
Stella was a bit piqued by his anxiety. ‘Of course it is.’ Now that he brought it up, she was irked that business was intruding on her carefully arranged mini-party, so she forestalled his next query as well. ‘And what’s more, I got the deposit cheque.’
She leaned over her desk to retrieve a document, then watched
