Bright was a proud man; man enough to do his own dirty work. His meeting with Martin had gone reasonably well. He knew that, because his warrant card was still in his pocket and the egg on his face felt a little less obvious.
Daniels’ ploy had worked. The ACC had responded well to her damage-limitation strategy. Now all Bright had to do was to put things right with Jo. Pulling his notebook from his briefcase, he checked the address twice – 45 Kings Gate – and tapped gently on the door.
At eye height, he was facing a tiny spyhole. He stood up straight, pushing back his shoulders in case anyone on the inside was checking him out. Seconds later, a dishevelled young man opened the door and leaned against the door jamb, one foot crossed over the other. Despite the time of year, he was wearing just a T-shirt, ripped jeans and flip-flops. He had long unkempt hair and a lit cigarette hung from his mouth.
Bright felt conspicuously disadvantaged. He had no way of knowing which one of Jo Soulsby’s sons he was looking at. He’d interviewed neither. He reached for his ID.
‘Mr Stephens?’
A male voice yelled from inside the house. ‘Who is it?’
James Stephens shouted over his shoulder. ‘Police!’ He turned to face Bright, sweeping hair from his handsome face. His voice hardened. ‘I assume that’s who you are?’
‘Yes, I’m Detective Superintendent Bright.’
‘What do you want?’
James flicked what was left of his cigarette out into the street in an act of defiance. It flew right past Bright’s left ear before hitting the pavement beyond, sending sparks flying. A second man came to the door and stood shoulder to shoulder with the first. There was no doubting that they were brothers. All the same, Bright had to be sure. He couldn’t chance another cock-up.
‘You are James and Thomas Stephens?’ he asked.
The two men glanced at one another.
‘Come to arrest someone who’s actually done something wrong?’ Tom mocked. ‘Or maybe you came to tell us the good news this time? Don’t bother, we already heard.’
‘Is your mother home?’ Bright asked.
James snapped: ‘You’ve got a nerve!’
He was about to shut the door when Jo Soulsby appeared behind him. She bristled when she saw who was standing on the threshold and quickly pulled her sons inside. Tom walked away without another word, but James stood his ground.
‘It’s OK, James,’ she said. Her son withdrew and went back inside. Then she turned her attention to Bright. ‘Something I can do for you, Superintendent?’
‘It seems I owe you an apology.’
‘I think that’s an understatement, don’t you?’
Bright pulled a bottle of wine from his briefcase. ‘Peace offering. Can we talk?’
They went inside. Bright sat down in the living room, his DCI’s suggestion to front up and take what was coming ringing in his ears. From the look on Jo Soulsby’s face, he doubted that even the most profound apology would put things right between them. He was prepared for a blasting, and it didn’t take long to arrive . . .
‘I don’t like you, Bright. You’re a bully.’
‘So you keep telling me.’
‘I detest bullies, even ones with their hearts in the right place.’
He sensed that all was not lost. ‘If it’s any consolation, I understand how you must feel.’ He broke off as Jo’s eyebrows arched in amazement. The softly, softly approach clearly wasn’t working. ‘You’ve every justification—’
‘To complain? Damn right, I have.’
‘Oh, fuck it!’ Bright leaned forward, pulled an official-looking document from his briefcase and handed it over. He felt strangely relieved, having faced up to her, even though he suspected that the complaint form he’d just given her would be winging its way to the Chief Constable within the next twenty-four hours. ‘I never was any good at grovelling. Whatever action you decide to take is fine with me. But I want you to know, it wasn’t personal.’
‘Oh, it was personal, all right! Why don’t you have the balls to admit it?’ Jo glanced at the form and set it down on the table between them. ‘You’ve always resented my involvement in what you see as police business.’
There seemed little hope of reconciliation now. Maybe too much water had gone under the bridge. Bright looked at the floor, suddenly gripped by mixed emotions. He wanted to hit back at her, yell at her, tell her he now had another reason to resent her. Finding out that she’d been where he wanted to be had knocked him sideways. How could he compete with a woman, for Christ’s sake? A relationship with Daniels was no longer an option for him and he was gutted by that thought. So much so, he was finding it hard to hide his hostility.
Picking up on this, but not the underlying cause, Jo damn near bit his head off. ‘Trouble with you is, you’re blinkered, a dinosaur in the modern-day police service. If you woke up, you might realize that we, I, have a contribution to make. Together, we might even make a good team.’
She had a point. Bright took her comments on the chin. She had every right to express her opinion and wasn’t the first to tell him he was territorial, set in his ways, resistant to change. Other formidable women had said as much, more than once, as he recalled – including Stella and Daniels. Sensing Jo’s anger subsiding, he chose his words carefully.
‘Well, now we’ve cleared the air, can we bury the hatchet and start again?’
Jo sighed.
‘Fair enough.’ Bright wanted to explain away his negativity as healthy cynicism, but was worried he might antagonize her even further. ‘I hear what you say and I accept that I’m old school. Will you at least meet me halfway and accept that I was just doing my job?’
‘I know that.’ Jo sat back in her armchair, crossed her legs and met his gaze head-on. ‘I also know you’ve put away some evil bastards over the years. Kate Daniels says she owes . . . well, let’s just say she has a lot of time for you.’
‘The feeling is mutual,’ Bright said.