‘You must be aware of the murder in March that was in all the headlines and the subsequent arrest of a serving officer. How would you deal with a case like that involving a member of your team?’

  Greg thought quickly, vaguely conscious of the multiple procedural shortcomings in the appointment of the officer in question and very mindful of the likely sensitivities of some of the panel members. In seconds he considered and rejected a diplomatic reply, deciding that if he couldn’t do the job his way, he didn’t want to do it at all. If they don’t like my answer, they can stuff the job.

  ‘I think I can best answer that by describing how I dealt with a similar case,’ he said slowly. ‘It wasn’t as serious as murder, thank God, but it was bad enough. I was sent a transferee from the Met as a new team member. I had cause to pull him up for poor behaviour in his first few days. Specifically, misogynistic attitudes and a failure to respect both female colleagues and members of the public. Then his negligence led directly to violence against a member of the public and the abduction of a serving officer. On top of that, I caught him sharing inappropriate images of the colleague who had been taken hostage via a WhatsApp group. I took immediate action to suspend the officer pending dismissal.

  ‘If I was to extrapolate from this case to the one currently being reported, I would argue that the failings started much further back in time than the recent tragic incident, and the solution is to ensure that the perfectly good procedures that are in place are followed robustly.’

  ‘So you would argue that the current procedures are adequate?’ asked the Chair with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, sir, I would,’ said Greg stoutly. ‘If they’re followed. I have always followed a policy of zero tolerance for the sort of behaviour that we are discussing. And I have never had a problem deploying the policies already in place. The problem, as I see it, is not the policies; it’s the failure to adhere to them.’

  ***

  Recounting the discussion to Jim, Greg said, ‘It’s in the lap of the gods. If they liked what I had to say, I’m in with a chance. If they didn’t…’ he shrugged. ‘But if they want a politician in the job, they don’t want me and I don’t want the job, so we’ll just wait and see.’

  Privately, Jim thought that the interviewer had probably provoked Greg deliberately, knowing that he held strong views about police behaviour and attitudes and his likely response. He wondered which of the panel members the Chair had particularly wanted to hear Greg’s speech.

  ‘Let’s forget about it for now,’ said Greg. ‘Back to the real world. Anything I need to know about?’

  ‘A couple of things,’ said Jim, rootling through the paper on his desk. ‘As you know, our homicidal tree surgeon, Warren Thorne, was transferred to the secure psychiatric unit at Rampton. Last week it seems he attempted an escape, but the Serco team took heed of our warnings and didn’t fall for his Oh dear, I’m having a heart attack routine. They had him checked out by medics and there was nothing materially wrong. Hopefully they’ll continue to keep him safe until he comes to court.

  ‘The county lines investigation has run into the buffers again, and we have a suspected murder attempt outside the Theatre Royal in Norwich yesterday.’

  ‘Who was the victim?’ asked Greg.

  ‘The intended victim,’ corrected Jim. ‘He survived, luckily. It was the leading man from an amateur dramatic society. They were apparently rehearsing Kiss Me, Kate in The Garage, just down the road from the theatre. The man in question, a Mr Leonard Ware, is playing Fred Graham and Petruchio. He was a bit late for the rehearsal and was rushing from the Chantry car park. When he crossed the road to The Garage, he was hit by a dark car heading towards the city centre. It didn’t stop.’

  ‘Anything on CCTV?’ asked Greg.

  ‘As luck would have it, the camera on Theatre Street was out of action, and without a better description than “a dark car”, it’s been a bit difficult to pick out one among the many in the city centre. That’s where we’re at so far.’

  ‘Why are we not regarding it as a simple hit and run?’ asked Greg.

  ‘Because the intended victim insists the car started up as he crossed the road and drove straight at him. He’s in the N&N with a dislocated shoulder and possible heart attack.’

  3

  Morning of 20 July 2021

  When Detective Sergeant Jill Hayes arrived at the bedside of their possible attempted murder victim, she found him holding court to two ladies and a gentleman – in blatant breach of the rules on visitor numbers. A staff nurse who had been trying to dismiss at least two of the entourage greeted Jill’s arrival with a sigh of relief.

  ‘If you can help me get rid of this lot,’ she said quietly, ‘I’ll make sure you have time for a quiet chat with our Sir Laurence.’

  ‘I thought his name was Leonard something,’ said Jill.

  ‘It is. Sorry. We christened him Sir Laurence after the famous actor. He’s been boasting of his dramatic triumphs ever since he got here. Mind you,’ she added, ‘personally, I think he could list his performance after the accident as one of his most convincing successful roles.’

  ‘You don’t buy the near-death-experience-and-heart-attack narrative then?’ asked Jill.

  ‘No idea about the first,’ replied the nurse cheerfully. ‘Glad to say sorting out fact from fiction on that is your problem, not mine. But the so-called heart attack wasn’t real. More panic attack, if you ask me. Right. Let’s get shot of the fandom.’

  She approached the bed and clapped her hands sharply. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘I insist on you leaving now. Mr Ware has to give a statement to the police and then he needs his rest. Moreover, you’re disturbing other patients. So say your goodbyes and be on your way.’

  Waving her arms as though herding a flock of sheep, she edged the trio away from the bed. The man, a middle-aged gent in red corduroys and sporting a cravat, went happily enough. The two ladies were more reluctant, mainly because neither wanted to leave the other in control of the field. Eventually they drifted away with much blowing of kisses and ‘darlings’, leaving Jill reviewing her interviewee.

  The man in the bed was florid and thickset, with a head of hair that seemed to have been expensively augmented by surgery at some point. He had been made victim of the health service’s obsession with overly revealing standard-issue nightwear but had covered the loosely tied gown with a tweedy jacket and silk scarf. As she approached, he lay back on his mounded pillows with a faint sigh intended, Jill surmised, to be redolent of major trauma bravely borne.

  ‘Mr Leonard Ware?’ she asked, taking out her notebook. ‘I’m DS Jill Hayes. We’re investigating last night’s events. Can you talk me through what happened to you after you left the Chantry car park?’

  ‘I already told a police officer last night,’ grumbled Ware.

  ‘Yes, I know and I’ve seen his report,’ Jill reassured him. ‘But you may have remembered more this morning. It’s amazing how often that happens. You presumably paid your car park fee and put the ticket inside your car. What time was that?’

  ‘About ten past seven,’ replied Ware, screwing his face up to assist his memory. ‘I was running a bit late. I had a phone call just as I was leaving home that held me up a bit.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I walked up the hill towards the Garage. We’re rehearsing Kiss Me, Kate there,’ he explained. ‘I’m playing the male lead.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Jill. ‘Which side of the road did you walk?’

  ‘The side next to the Theatre Royal,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t start to cross until I was past the theatre.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘As I started to cross the road, a car pulled out from the parking spaces on the other side. By the time I was in the middle of the road it had speeded up a lot, and I suddenly realised it was heading straight for me. I shouted something, I think, and jumped for the side of the road, but there were cars parked there too. I tried to get between two parked cars and just before I got there the car hit me and drove off.’

  ‘How did it hit you?’ asked Jill. ‘I mean, did it hit you head-on, or a glancing blow?’

  ‘I suppose it was what you’d call a glancing blow,’ Ware admitted. ‘I nearly got away, but the wing, or maybe the mirror, hit me. I have bruises,’ he added, and went to pull up his gown to show her.

  ‘You’re OK,’ said Jill hurriedly. ‘I’ll have a detailed report from the doctor, don’t worry, and we may send someone to take photos later today. Did you see the driver of the car?’

  ‘No. I had my back to it by the time it was close to me.’

  ‘And what about the car? I gather you described it as dark. Can you tell me anything about the make or colour?’

  ‘No idea about the make,’ said Ware. ‘As to colour, it must have been black or dark blue. Maybe dark green.’

  ‘Was it a normal saloon car, or a people carrier, or four-by-four?’ persisted Jill.

  ‘Just normal, I think,’ replied Ware. ‘It might have been a hatchback, I’m not certain.’

  ‘Did you get a look at the number plate?’

  ‘No, sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not doing very well, am I?’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ said Jill. ‘But it’s true, we don’t have much to go on. An ordinary car in a dark colour which may or may not be a hatchback doesn’t rule much out. What about other witnesses? At that time of night there must have been loads of people about, heading for the Theatre Royal.’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ replied Ware. ‘The theatre’s still dark at present, until the next big show starts in a few days. There was no one about except Pop sneaking a crafty fag outside the Garage, and he’s so shortsighted he needs a white stick to find his flies!’

  Jill suppressed a grin and paused for thought. ‘We’d better have a word with him anyway,’ she said. ‘Is there anyone you think might want to harm you? Anyone with a grudge, or reason to be resentful?’

  ‘No, no one,’ he replied with what she thought was his most genuine reaction of the morning. ‘I can’t think of any enemies, really I can’t.’

  ‘What about at work?’ she asked. ‘What do you do when you’re not acting?’

  ‘I’m an accountant,’ he replied. ‘I do pretty low-key company accounts. No involvement with anything dodgy. Most of my customers are sole traders, running restaurants or shops. Nothing there to paint a target on my back. And while there may be a little bit of jealousy from fellow thespians about how often I get cast in the lead, there’s nothing serious.’

  ‘And family?’

  ‘I’m single. My ex and I divorced nearly ten years ago, and, while I wouldn’t say we’re close friends, we are still polite. No issues left over there. No children.’

  ‘No one special in your life?’ she asked.

  ‘Just friends. No one like you mean. My closest friends are in the Northfolk. Louise, who’s playing Lilli, Myrtle Harris, who’s playing Hattie, and Dean Mason, who’s been cast as Bill. They’re probably my closest friends. We’ve played together in two productions a year for the past four years at least. You grow close to people like that.’

  ***

  Reporting to Greg later, Jill was, while not exactly dismissive, not particularly engaged with Mr Ware’s theories. ‘There’s no real evidence of anything other than an RTA,’ she explained. ‘And not much chance of catching up with the driver, to be honest. I think this is one to note and put on the back burner. I’m sure we have higher priorities at present.’

  ‘Too true,’ replied Greg. ‘Let’s get our heads together with Jim and review exactly what we’ve got on. I think—’ He was interrupted by a buzz from his phone and a message popped up on the screen. ‘Sorry, Jill, I’ll need to postpone,’ he said. ‘I have to go and see the All—’ He stopped himself. ‘…the Chief Constable, I mean.’

  ‘Good luck, Boss,’ said Jill. ‘I guess this is it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Greg. ‘Maybe.’ He was scrabbling in his desk drawer. ‘I’m sure I put my tie in here somewhere…’

  Greg paused in the corridor to get his breath back and straighten his tie. Then he went into the outer office. The PA looked up, gave him a warm smile and said, ‘Go straight through. He’s expecting you.’

  The tall man in pristine uniform got up from behind his desk and held a hand out as Greg came in. ‘I’m delighted to say that congratulations are in order, soon-to-be Detective Superintendent Geldard,’ he said. ‘Take a seat. Strictly speaking, I’m jumping the gun slightly,’ he added as Greg stuttered his thanks. ‘You won’t hear formally from the HR team for a day or so, but I wanted to be the one to tell you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Greg again. ‘I’m very pleased, of course. Especially as I thought my lack of diplomacy might have put the panel off.’

  ‘Your plain speaking did rock a couple of them back on their heels,’ agreed Thornfield. ‘But I liked it. A few people who think more like police and less like politicians would be a good thing. Anyway, you can leave the politics to me, and I’ll leave the detecting to you. Is that a deal?’

  ‘It certainly is a deal,’ said Greg with some relief.

  ‘Righto. To be plain, Geldard, I don’t mind bad news. Things can’t always go smoothly. Just make sure I always hear it from you first. Never blind-side me.

  ‘The other thing I need to tell you is that you’ll have a new DCI under you. It’s someone you know – DCI Ram Trent. One thing to be aware of, however, is that he too applied for the superintendent role.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Greg. ‘Tricky. Why didn’t he get it? If I might ask.’

  ‘Lack of experience in leadership. No fault of his, but he’s spent a lot of his career as a lone expert. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll cope. He’s too good a DCI to allow that sort of issue to get in the way, once he’s got over his disappointment. And he’ll complement you and the rest of your team. He has strengths in fraud and finance, where we’re weak at present. And perhaps you can teach him more about leading a team.’

  When Greg emerged from the CC’s office, he was met by another broad smile and this time ‘Congratulations,’ from the PA, who clearly was fully au fait with recent developments. He seized the opportunity of an empty stairwell to ring Chris, then headed down to the incident room and Jim’s office.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Jim before he’d fairly got through the door. ‘Did you get it?’ Then he read the expression on Greg’s face correctly and added, ‘Great. So pleased. You can buy me a pint this evening. No getting out of it now the pubs are open again.’

  ‘I’d be delighted to,’ said Greg. ‘How about the Kings Arms? But I have another piece of news and I’m not so sure you’re going to welcome it. I’m afraid there isn’t going to be a vacancy at DCI level, Jim. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Good Lord, don’t even think of it,’ interrupted Jim. ‘I’m not planning on promotion, not at this stage in my career. Who are they going to post in? Do you know?’

  ‘Ram Trent,’ replied Greg, keeping the rest of the CC’s news to himself.

  ‘That sounds OK,’ said Jim. ‘He knows us and we know him. He’s not you, but he’s a good detective. In fact, I thought he might have applied for the superintendent role himself.’

  Greg reflected that he might have known Jim would have had his ear to the ground. ‘He’ll bring some different skills to the team,’ he said evasively. ‘But I need to go and see Margaret before I do anything else. Can you pass the news on to the rest of the team please, Jim? I don’t take up the role for a couple of weeks, but the Chief was happy for people to know.’

  ‘I take it you’ve told Chris,’ said Jim.

  ‘Of course. She’ll join us at the Kings Arms this evening.’

  ***

  The impromptu party was in full swing by the time Margaret Tayler, retiring chief superintendent, arrived at the Kings Arms. Greg, mindful of the need for his team to work the following day, had had a quick word with the chef, resulting in an impromptu buffet of sausage rolls, slices of pie and quiche, chips and sausages, bread and cheeses. Pretty impressive, given they were only just returning to normal after all the government restrictions. If the locals were perturbed at their newly reopened local being taken over by a slightly raucous party of celebrating police, it didn’t show. A number of those present, including Chris, had taken the precaution of a chat with a local taxi firm, while others were hitting the low alcohol beers rather than risk retribution from the soon-to-be detective superintendent. Most of the core team were there, including the recently redeployed Jenny Warren. Chris was very rapidly relieved of Jamie by a queue of officers wishing to get to know the baby. She relinquished him to Jenny with only slightly mixed feelings, guessing that he’d be returned as soon as he got smelly.

  Margaret pushed her way to where Greg was perched on a stool by the bar, a sausage on a stick in one hand, and a pint of Wherry in the other.

  ‘Margaret, so glad you could come,’ he greeted her. ‘This is down to you after all.’

  ‘You mean, me shoving you into it?’ she asked with a grin.

  ‘Partly that. Partly the encouragement, the opportunities and the support when things have been tough,’ he said.

  She waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh please. Stop,’ she replied, ‘or we’ll be getting the violins out. Mine’s a large glass of red, then I’ll leave you to party in peace.’

  ‘I can run you home after, if you like,’ Greg offered. ‘I’m sticking to the half per cent stuff after this one, just in case—’ He was interrupted by a vibration in his breast pocket. He glanced at the phone screen with a word of apology, then added, ‘Damn. Might have known it. It’s the Control Room. I think we’ve got a callout.’ He headed for the door and the relative peace of the car park.

  Under the trees that divided the pub area from the neighbouring churchyard, Greg listened intently, one finger in the ear not pressed to the phone. ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘Leave it with me. I have most of the team here. We’ll deploy direct to North Walsham and take it from there. Is the doc on his way?’ Receiving an affirmative answer, he put his phone away, glancing round as a movement under the trees caught his eye. He smiled as he realised it was a black cat slinking homeward with a small rodent in its mouth. Then he headed back into the bar.