Jack pushed open the door to the toilets, headed for the furthest cubicle and locked the door behind him. He sat down on the top of the closed toilet seat, put his head in his hands and let out an almighty sob.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there, or what had been going on around him, and he was only brought back into reality by a knock on the door of the cubicle.
‘You alright in there?’ a man asked.
‘Fine,’ Jack said, his voice showing otherwise.
There was silence for a couple of moments. ‘Tough, isn’t it? I remember my first week. My first call, in fact, was to a suicide in Mensham. Bloke blew his own head off with a sawn-off shotgun. Never seen anything like it. That’s one way to throw yourself in at the deep end. Wouldn’t recommend it, though.’
Jack didn’t know what to say back. He didn’t recognise the person’s voice, so he had no idea how he knew it was his first week. Perhaps he smelt of enthusiasm and naiveté.
‘Listen, it gets better. Well, I say it gets better. Maybe we just acclimatise to it. I’m not sure if that’s helpful or soul-destroying. I’m probably not being much use, am I?’
Jack didn’t want to tell the man he was actually helping, if only in some small, strange way. Instead, he said nothing.
The man said nothing, too, at least for a few seconds. ‘Look, I’ll leave you to it. Just keep your chin up, okay?’
Before the man could leave, Jack pulled back the bolt on the cubicle door. It swung slowly open of its own accord. He could see the man’s feet and lower legs. The suit trousers told him it was a fellow CID officer, although it wasn’t one he knew or had encountered in the past.
‘You know,’ the man said, ‘some people will tell you these days are the easiest. Perhaps it’s because as you get further along you’re given more responsibilities. People expect more of you. Maybe it’s because at this stage you’ve still got the chance to get out. Because you’ve not yet been snared by that strange grip the job has. The thing that keeps you getting up every morning to stare at dead bodies, comfort families whose lives have been ruined and get given the run around by violent and dangerous criminals. We’re always chasing, you know. We’ll never be one step ahead. The ultimate aim is to prevent crime before it happens, but we’ll never get there. It’d put us out of a job. The best we can hope for is to sweep up neatly afterwards.’
Jack didn’t know what to say. Instead, he dried his eyes with his shirt sleeve.
‘So, what was it? First dead child? Distraught family?’
Jack sniffed. ‘I chose not to arrest a burglary suspect. He went out and did another one, and this time he put an old woman in hospital.’
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘You chose not to? You’re only a DC, surely? Who’s your senior officer?’
‘DI Taylor.’
The man let out something that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. ‘Makes sense. The one thing about Taylor is he won’t take the rap for anything. He’ll go out on a job and act the Big Shot, but when it comes down to making a call he’ll leave someone else to shout it. Then, if it goes tits up, he’ll shift the blame onto you. You aren’t the first DC to fall foul of that. But I’ll tell you something — he’s a good officer. He gets results. He just doesn’t always go about it the right way. Lot to be said for that, actually. Ask yourself how many grieving families would rather have their loved one’s killer banged up in jail, regardless of how he got there.’
‘Try telling that to Mary Stokes’s family,’ Jack said.
‘That the old dear who got done over?’
Jack nodded.
‘You shouldn’t have to tell them anything, other than point out the fact that your senior investigating officer, DI Taylor, chose to leave an officer fresh out of uniform — no offence — to make a critical decision over whether to arrest a potentially dangerous suspect. There’s another thing you need to know about Taylor if you’re going to survive around here. Every now and again, you need to stand up to him. He respects that. He might seem like a bully, but really what he’s looking for is someone with the balls to stand up for what they believe in and get results regardless. He’s the sort of guy whose respect you need to earn. Otherwise, you’ll spend the rest of your career — as long as he grants you it — apologising to families and sweeping up the mess while he’s down the pub or sunning himself in his professionally landscaped, south-facing back garden at four o’clock in the afternoon. And you don’t want to know where he got the money for that, either...’
Jack swallowed hard and furrowed his brow.
‘Sorry, lad. Went a bit far there. DI Taylor’s not that bad. There’s just been rumours, you know...’
‘No. It’s not that,’ Jack said. ‘South-facing. Gary McCann’s parents’ house faces west.’
‘Right... Sorry, I’m not quite sure I’m following you. Gary who?’
‘He said he was sunbathing at half-four.’
‘I think it’s probably best you go home,’ the man said. ‘Get yourself some rest. Clear your mind.’
Jack shook his head and looked the man in the eyes. ‘Trust me, sir. My mind’s perfectly clear now. I think you might have just saved my career.’
The man looked a little surprised. ‘Well, I’m not entirely sure how, but I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Trust me. If this pays off, I owe you one. Big time.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ the older man said, laughing. ‘I never forget someone who owes me a favour. What’s your name?’
‘Jack Culverhouse.’
The man extended his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Bill Knight.’