Juliet glanced at her watch as she and Michael Robinson toiled at the seventh draft of his statement for the press. It was almost 3pm and she needed to get away by 4 o’clock. She’d started work very early that morning to compensate for leaving early – not that Tim or Superintendent Thornton would ever have demanded this of her: in common with all her colleagues, she often put in twelve- or fourteen-hour days. But Juliet would have felt uncomfortable working a short day, as if she were cheating.
Robinson was sitting claustrophobically close to her. She could smell his (expensive) deodorant, which didn’t quite conceal the tang of fresh sweat. Perhaps he’d been more nervous than he had appeared at the briefing. Juliet had met him only a few times. She knew Tim disliked him, but also that Superintendent Thornton went out of his way to shower him with praise, and suspected that the two circumstances were not unconnected. She had yet to form her own opinion of Robinson. He was quite unlike Tim, that was for sure, both in attitude and the way he went about things. There was a decided slickness about the way he talked which contrasted with his slow and meticulous take on practical detail. Juliet was aware that her own painstaking way of doing things was a good foil for Tim’s more quixotic approach, but even she was beginning to feel exasperated as Robinson continued to chew over every word in the statement. For God’s sake, she wanted to shout, how controversial can a preposition be?
She looked at her watch again. This time Robinson noticed. He pushed his yellow fringe out of his eyes and gave his forehead a rub.
‘I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?’ He sounded affronted.
‘Not really,’ said Juliet. Then she changed her mind: she’d spent too many years of her working life suffering from her own politeness. ‘I mean, not yet,’ she added. ‘But I do have to get away by four.’
‘Something to do with this machinery theft muddle of Timmo’s?’
Juliet bridled a little. Tim could – often did – irritate her, but she knew he was very worried about these crimes and had been working overtime for months to try to solve them.
‘No, nothing to do with work. It’s a personal matter.’
‘Oh, hot date, then?’
‘Not that either,’ said Juliet, flushing. Robinson was nearer the truth than he guessed, but she had no intention of enlightening him. ‘Shall we have another go at this? Perhaps start again from scratch?’
‘Good idea. Look, I’m sorry this is taking so long. I’m no good with words – not written ones, anyway. Spoken word’s okay: I’m told that I’ve mastered the gift of the gab.’ He grinned like a schoolboy.
Juliet managed a weak smile in return. Correction, she thought to herself, he was like Tim in one respect: he knew when he’d overstepped the mark and wasn’t above a bit of self-deprecation to make amends. She turned back to the computer screen and banged out a fresh couple of paragraphs, Robinson watching intently as the words appeared on the screen.
‘You’ve cracked it! That one’s perfect!’
Juliet quickly erased from her face an expression of disbelief. She certainly didn’t want to indicate that she had anything less than full confidence in what she’d written, but she knew that, word for word, the statement was virtually identical to the first one she’d drafted two hours previously.
‘Great! I knew we’d get there in the end,’ she said, standing up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to catch up with Tim again before I leave.’
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘and thank you, Juliet – much appreciated.’
‘My pleasure,’ she responded, as she made for the door. She was almost through it when he called after her. ‘I hope you enjoy yourself! If you can’t be good, be careful!’
She flicked a quick look of contempt over her shoulder. Unrepentantly, DI Robinson winked.