A Journal of Sin (28 page)

‘Love you too,’ they replied in unison as the door slammed.

‘Where does the time go?’ he said, tucking into a still sizzling slice of salty bacon.

‘Well, at least I’ll be seeing a lot more of them after today.’

‘Don’t talk like that. It’ll be fine. He got convicted, right?’ He put his fork down and put his arm around her. ‘They can’t fire you for that.’

‘It’s not about that. It’s about not following orders. What if I had been wrong? Look, it’s best we don’t talk about it, I’ll just get upset again.’

‘You’re right. How’s your mum?’

‘Nice change of subject. From one misery to another. The doctors still aren’t sure. Whenever I talk to them, it’s always the same. The same non-committal answers. She seems fine when I visit, but from what they say, given her age and the head injury, she may never fully recover. Okay, on to happier subjects. How’s your work been, Mr Bigshot?’

‘Not quite Mr Bigshot yet. We’re still struggling for investors. Until that happens, we’ll just plough on as we are.’ He finished up, took the plates to the sink and started washing up.

‘I better get a move on.’

‘Okay, call me when you come out.’

‘I will.’ She kissed him and went upstairs to change into her uniform.

The office of the Professional Standards Department was at the end of long corridor that seemed to have been designed to intimidate. Closed doors lined both sides, broken up with professional photos of various senior officers: Chief Inspector this and Superintendent that, all complete with a string of letters after their names. A lady sat behind a large, oak desk and shuffled some paper to one side. She leant back into her black leather chair and beckoned Sarah to sit down. They wore the same uniform – black trousers, white shirt with epaulettes – Sarah’s with 310105 and the Chief Inspector’s with three pips.

‘Sarah Gladstone?’ She looked at the file on her desk, running her index finger along Sarah’s name. ‘Your badge?’ Was it that quick? Was she just going to give in her badge and leave? ‘For identification.’ Sarah removed her badge from her back pocket and opened it. The CI ticked the relevant box on the form in front of her. She didn’t hand the badge back, instead placed it on the desk, resting her hand on top of it. Sarah was too nervous to speak. She’d never been in this position before in any of her careers, didn’t know what to do, what to say or how to act. ‘Do you have a Fed rep?’

‘Yes. Yes, Ma’am, but he can’t make it today. He sat with me for the interviews. He was good. It was nice to have him. But he can’t make today. He asked me to call him afterwards though.’
Just stop talking,
she thought, as her mouth took on a mind of its own.

‘Right, well, if we’re not waiting for anyone, we may as well start. As you know, you’ve been under investigation for misconduct matters pertaining to a murder investigation. The allegations fall under the categories of failing to investigate, in that you failed to secure critical evidence in the correct manner and failing to adhere to force policy, in that you failed to listen to a lawful order given by a senior officer.’ She rattled it off as if it was the tenth one of these she’d done today. Sarah wanted to protest again, to tell her that she’d had no other choices back at Sunbury and that by ignoring orders, she arrested and jailed the correct suspect, but she’d given her side in the interview and she wanted to leave with some dignity intact. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ She clenched her fingers together and waited for the hit.

‘Now, I will apologise for how long it’s taken to get here. No one wants something like this hanging over their head, but we needed your help to secure that conviction. We’ve taken everything into account and have reached a decision on the outcome. I’m afraid that by unanimous agreement, your actions have been found to amount to misconduct on both counts. We cannot have officers wilfully disregarding orders, regardless of the results produced. There are regulations and guidelines about how we conduct ourselves and they are there for a reason.’ She handed her a sealed envelope. ‘A full explanation is in there with every aspect under both counts explained. Don’t open it now. Take it home, read it and think it over. It also explains the appeal process should you wish to lodge one.’

‘Ok.’ She wanted to cry. She wanted to tell her to go fuck herself and storm out of the door. She’d put away a killer and this was how the job treated her.

‘After deciding that your actions fell well below those expected of a serving police officer, it fell to the panel to decide what disciplinary action we were going to take. There are a range of options available to us, which I’m sure your Fed rep has talked through with you. Again, everything is taken into account. We’ve considered the position you were put in, the actions you took, everything you said in your interviews, your previous disciplinary record and conduct. We also took character references from people who have supervised you. In short, we were looking to see if your actions are the culmination of years of sloppy behaviour or if you can move on from this, learn and improve.’ It was patronising, but it was a lifeline. ‘One person in particular spoke very highly of you. I’ll let him explain. He has an offer and I suggest you take it.’ The Chief Inspector stood up and left the room.

‘Sarah.’ She didn’t expect to see him here, but she was happy for the familiar face.

‘I feel like I’m being dangled over a shark tank. Do I have a job or not?’ She held the envelope up.

Dales walked in and stood between her and the desk. ‘That’s up to you really.’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s up to that lady who just walked out?’

‘They’re launching a new Detective Fast Track programme. No one’s been signing up for the course since the pay freeze. People never used to mind; they got two pay rises a year and that offset the extra stress and responsibility. Now they’re less interested and I don’t blame them. Why take on the life of a detective for no extra benefit? So, they’ve come up with a programme to get people from uniform to substantive DC in four months. Do the course, do the exam, three months being tutored by a DS and you’re out. It’s about bums on seats more than anything else. They’ll publicise a large increase in detectives; whether the public will get the quality they deserve remains to be seen. And, if you want it, you’ve got one of two places reserved on the initial trial run, PC Guinea Pig.’

‘Should I feel more privileged than I do?’

‘Not really; no one else wants it. It’d be like a fat kid feeling privileged being picked to stand in goal.’

‘You’ve not lost your charm. And if I say no?’

‘They justify firing you by saying they offered you a chance to improve and you didn’t take it.’

‘They allowed to do that?’

‘You must be new here. I’ll be tutoring you and we’ll be working out of Mavenswood nick. Want to know a fun fact? Mavenswood has recently become famous for attaining the highest number of suicides in the country.’

‘Nice. Short commute, though.’

‘I’m glad you can see the positives. So, what’s it going to be?’

She picked up her badge from the desk, placed it in her rear pocket and handed Dales the envelope.

‘I don’t want to read it.’ She’d done the right thing that day, she didn’t need any desk-bound jobsworth telling her otherwise. They walked to the car park and Dales lit a Marlboro red.

‘Couldn’t run me to the station? The wife’s had her cats in the car, keeps taking them to these moggy playdates at her sister’s. The hairs bring me out in a rash, so I’m reduced to using public transport.’

‘How terrible for you.’ She unlocked her car as he tried to finish his cigarette as quickly as possible.

‘Keeping you on wasn’t unanimous, you know. We argued them down to a written warning. Your news announcement caused a lot of embarrassment to some very important people. They’ll be keeping an eye on you. An eye on us.’

‘I doubt I’ll be in a situation like that again anytime soon. Surely it’s plain sailing from here on in, right?’

‘Only gets tougher I’m afraid.’ He flicked his cigarette butt on the floor. ‘So, after everything you’ve been through – the public embarrassment, smuggling dead bodies into strangers sheds, being kept away from your family for days at a time, being kicked in the head, spending half your time resisting punching most people you meet square in the gut, rolling around on lounge floors whilst spraying yourself in the face and having your entire investigation directed by a Yorkshire terrier’s nose – you still think you want to do this for a living?’

‘One hundred percent.’

‘Then get in the car, Detective.’

The End.

About the author

Darryl Donaghue is an ex-Detective from London, England. His short stories have been published in
The Pygmy Giant, Spinetinglers
and
Dreamcatcher
. In 2014, he moved to Seoul to teach and write novels.

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Dedication

For Imogen

Acknowledgements

Writing a book is a lonely pursuit; there’s no avoiding hour after solitary hour sat at a keyboard typing away. Despite this, independent publishing is anything but independent. So many people have been involved in the process – both directly and indirectly – and I’d like to thank a few of them here.

My literary running buddy, Joe Parker, who kept me focused throughout the year with weekly pep talks over cheap booze and kimchi fries. Elisha Odegard kept me sane through an often-maddening year through the powerful combination of friendship and fried chicken. Becca Wilson provided most of the character names when my mind was drawing blanks, as well as numerous sticker wars over social media (which, as I’m sure she’ll tell you, I consistently won). A special mention goes to the wonderful self-publishing community for providing advice and support at every stage of the process.

I was lucky to work with some dedicated professionals on the production of the book. I would like to thank Kit Foster, for designing an excellent cover; editor Jane Adams of the Literary Consultancy, for providing insightful feedback to help me greatly improve the novel and copy-editor Shannon Cook, for making the prose shine.

I couldn’t have done this without you. You’re a part of every page.