Chris drank and smoked, replaying and freezing the tape each time the VCR switched back to standby. He swallowed and sucked until his mouth felt sour and his eyes ached. When he stood to go upstairs he stumbled and knocked the bottle and glass to the floor; they both smashed. He left them there.
Upstairs he peed but didn’t bother to wash or clean his teeth. He went into Ann-Marie’s room. The dog, lying on the lower bunk, lifted his head, looking wary, expecting to be banished.
Chris kicked off his trainers and pulled off his top and jeans. He lay down beside the dog and tugged at the purple ‘groovy chick’ duvet cover until it covered him and shut out the flat, grey light from the afternoon outside.
Butchers stood in front of Janine, eyes averted, hands clasped.
‘Did you want to see Chris Chinley charged with murder? Does that make anything better? For them? For you?’ There was a pause, his face remained impassive.
‘You should have told me. You should never have been assigned to this case. Why didn’t you say anything?’ He didn’t answer her, just stood there rocking ever so slightly on his heels. ‘If people can’t trust us then we might as well all go home now. This is a disciplinary matter. If you hadn’t the wit to think about the damage you could do to Chris Chinley – or Jeremy Gleason for that matter – you could at least have thought of what it might do to you. Didn’t you consider what it might mean? Kicked out or demoted. After all the years you’ve put in. The work you’ve done. Good work.’
Butchers gripped his hands tighter; his face was set and gloomy. She saw any hope die in his eyes. She paused, deliberately letting him think the worst. Then she spoke quietly. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are. Chris Chinley is clear on the gun residue test, his clothes are fine.’
His shoulders fell, his clenched hands slackened, his eyes shot up to scan her face then away again.
‘I’ll have to note an error of judgement in your records. You’ll keep your stripes. Pull another stunt like this, ever,’ she stressed the word, ‘and you’ll be suspended.’
‘Thank you, boss. I know it was wrong, whatever my reasons. I just… thanks.’ He nodded to express his gratitude, his face suffused with pink.
Richard knocked at her door and opened it, took the situation in with a glance. Looked at her questioningly – bad time? She beckoned him in.
‘We’re getting calls about Stone,’ Richard said. ‘Several from round Warrington way. We’ve asked the local force to give it their special attention.’
