The Trail Killer

Sixteen

Six days later,

Thursday, 3rd April

The three faces on the other side of the table were all male. To varying degrees, all wilted and drooped by age. A mish-mash of loosely hanging jowls, of deeply scored wrinkles, differing shades of grey.

Seated to Shields' left was Detective Chief Superintendent Rogers - a man she'd come face to face with only once before and then very briefly, but who nonetheless had confirmed his reputation for arrogance and haughtiness, was doing again so now.

Dressed in civilian clothes to her right, meanwhile, was the retired chief constable, Harold Wilks - a frail-looking figure with a bald, liver-spotted dome whose occasional interventions were heralded by the raising of a jittering index finger.

And there at the centre of the trio was the current chief constable, Lionel Grayson - his the most aquiline of the three faces, the gaze the most menacing. Once the facts of the matter had been elicited and examined, it was he who first offered his conclusions.

"Tone. It's all a question of tone, sergeant. It is of course natural - one might say professionally healthy even - that a subordinate officer may occasionally have differing ideas to their superior, but it is essential at all times that the subordinate officer express his or her alternative hypothesis in a polite and constructive tone."

Particularly if said subordinate officer happened to be a mere female, Shields could only surmise.

"There's a reason DCI Gooch is of a higher rank than yourself," Grayson continued.

Principally because he was a man, Shields reflected, but once again decided it wise to leave her thoughts unvoiced.

"Other than his numerous other qualities, the inspector has a much greater level of experience than yourself. It is your duty as a subordinate to not only learn from him but also to value the added wisdom he can bestow upon you."

The chief constable then twisted his head to either side, as if inviting his colleagues to take up the discourse. DCS Rogers duly obliged.

"Just as much as personal respect, what I expect from my subordinates is total discretion."

A comment to which Wilks raised his jerky index finger.

"Confidentiality, sergeant."

The focus then returned to Grayson. "I believe what my colleagues are referring to, sergeant, is the unauthorised sharing of information with the media which is... shall we say, somewhat delicate of nature."

Wilks' index finger once more jittered into a vertical position. "Potentially damaging to the good name of the constabulary."

"Being a complete and utter blabbermouth," added Rogers, in case the concept wasn't yet quite clear.

Grayson observed her with his brows lowered to either side of his protruding nose. "We have reason to believe that it may have been you who divulged certain inside information to the Echo concerning the Gupta case."

He waited as if in expectation that she would launch into some vain denial. She didn't want to give him or his two colleagues the pleasure however. Much like Gupta's ID parade, the whole thing was a charade, a simple case of going through the motions. She had absolutely no doubt at all that they'd already made up their minds. Whatever words were to come out of her mouth would make no difference at all, so it was better just to stay silent. Observe those three faces before her with the same cold disdain they observed her.

She then pushed back her chair.

Stepped wordlessly out through the door.

*