Bobby Warner had seen the text summoning him to Carson’s office several hours ago, but had seen fit to ignore it. He’d go into the MCU after a couple of pints of reflection with DC Murray. On balance he was still fairly sure that he’d made a good case against Cotterell and that the CCTV footage was speculative at best. He didn’t buy the defence’s version of events or even the timeline. In retrospect he should probably have anticipated the defence’s objections to his narrative. But that was the prosecuting team’s job, not his. He’d resume the case first thing in the morning. He was angry, as this meant he’d have to spend more time in Bristol, with all eyes on him. People would be openly questioning his ability. But the fact was that sometimes verdicts didn’t go the way they should. Even so, Cotterell was out of the frame now. He had to accept that it was possible he’d been wrong. Not an easy thing for a man of his character. He listened to Murray’s consolatory protestations in the pub for as long as his ego needed stroking, then decided it would be politic to go and see Carson before the end of play. He wanted to lay down some ground rules for the investigation going forward. The first of which was that he wanted neither Cross nor Ottey anywhere near it. It was a simple case of him or them.
Carson recognised the look of a detective who’d spent the best part of his day in the pub, the moment Warner knocked on his office door. The loosened collar, the slightly sweaty skin, the small red veins on his cheeks and nose a little more pronounced. The rheumy eyes, constantly trying to focus.
‘Bobby. Come in. Been consoling yourself in the pub?’ Carson asked.
‘Not exactly. Just chewing the cud with Murray,’ he replied.
‘Did you put the world to rights?’ Carson was trying to break the ice. Warner didn’t reply. ‘Well, thanks for stopping by.’
‘No problem. I was going to come in anyway. Before I saw your text. I think we should have a grown-up conversation about how we go forward in light of the verdict,’ Warner mumbled slightly.
‘Oh good. I completely agree,’ said Carson allowing himself to believe for a moment that this was going to be a lot easier than he’d thought.
‘I still think Cotterell was good for it,’ said Warner causing Carson to pause.
‘Except for the fact that he was found not guilty in a unanimous decision,’ he pointed out.
‘Sure, and I accept that. So, we must look elsewhere and I’m more than happy to do that. But in order for me to agree to that I have certain conditions,’ he went on.
‘Bobby—’ said Carson, in an attempt to interrupt him.
‘No, hear me out, sir. Like I say, I’m happy to reopen the investigation. It’s unfinished business for me, if you like. But I cannot do it with DS Cross. We’re just not a good fit and that goes for Ottey as well.’
‘Who, it should be pointed out, you haven’t actually worked with.’
‘That’s as may be. But they’re partners and I’m sure you’d be loath to split them up. It would be easier for everyone if they had nothing to do with it. So just assign me other detectives from your roster and I’ll be a happy chappy.’
Carson looked at him for a moment. In truth he was thinking that people who wanted to conceal the fact that they had been drinking would do well to construct their sentences with less sibilance.
‘So, here’s the thing, Bobby. You don’t have to worry about working with Cross or Ottey.’
‘Oh, great.’
‘Because you won’t be working the Moreton case from here on in.’
‘What?’
‘You’re going back to Kent.’
‘Then who’s going to be leading the investigation?’ Warner asked.
Carson said nothing.
‘You are fucking kidding me.’
‘Call it a need for fresh eyes, if you like.’
‘The idiot savant?’
‘That is offensive, Bobby, however much you’ve had to drink.’
‘You’re replacing me with that freak? What does he have on you? He must have something.’
‘I think you should go before you say something you’ll come to regret,’ Carson warned him.
‘I’ve never seen another officer so indulged in the way you indulge that man. He’s like a teacher’s pet. No one here likes him but they’re afraid to say it. It’s just weird.’
‘I do indulge him, yes. Absolutely. He does get special treatment yes. On account of his condition. He has his own office. Yes. Because of his sensory issues. Something you clearly have no interest in, nor consideration of. He has all of this because as challenging and infuriating as he often can be, he is the best detective I’ve ever had the privilege of working with,’ Carson replied. ‘For what it’s worth he’s actually a lot more popular in the unit than you’d like to believe.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ spat Warner.
‘Do you want to have a look at his numbers? Or maybe we should just look at the case you have just failed in. Watch him as he solves it and, what is more, gets a conviction instead of just an arrest. I don’t like you, Warner, and so let me put this in language you might understand. He is Sherlock Holmes to your Inspector Clouseau.’
Warner sat there for a moment taking in what had just been said. The alcohol in his bloodstream was encouraging him to turn the desk over in Carson’s lap. But as pissed as he was, his innate survival instinct kicked in. So instead, he got up with as much dignity as he could muster and, with a slight sway, sashayed out of the room, leaving Carson reflecting pleasantly on his surprisingly choice analogy.
As Warner left the building with his overnight bag and jangling his car keys, he saw Alice Mackenzie get into her car and drive out of the car park.