Sparks sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Don’t you have any pride?’ he asked.
‘I’ve ballsed up a lot, and I’m stuck in the backwaters. I care only about rank when it means I can get things done.’ She downed the second half of her lager in one.
Sparks grinned. It was an odd sight. He had small crooked teeth which gave his face a flash of childish mischief.
‘Bollocks!’ he said, not unkindly. ‘You could have killed me when I was promoted over you.’
‘Yeah. I could have.’
Sparks downed the rest of his pint, then sat back crossing his hands over his stomach. ‘I’m not sure it’s worth it…’
‘I’ll make sure it’s worth it. I will work with Melanie. I’ll keep my head down…’
He shook his head. ‘I’m talking about the rank. Superintendent. I’m not sure it’s worth it. I’m supervising eighteen cases right now. Top brass is cutting everything to the bone, and everything we do is public property.’
‘But we’re public servants…’
‘Servants? Don’t give me that shit!’ he said, slamming his hand down on the table. ‘You know the score. We have to get things done, and it’s not all rosy. We have to lean on people. We have to, or the job won’t get done, but now every scumbag out there has a mobile phone with a camera. Stuff gets posted online and then every armchair critic weighs in. Last month, one of my officers was attacked by a guy during a stop and search. This young guy had a kilo of heroin in his glove compartment. He hits my officer with a crowbar, breaking his arm, then goes to drive away, forgetting my officer with the broken arm has his keys. Realising he’s trapped, the young guy starts filming my officer as he saws open the front window with a cutting tool, and drags him out. The video of just that part gets uploaded to YouTube, and I’ve got top brass on my arse saying people online are posting messages to complain about police brutality! My officer is a good lad, always follows things to the letter, but his true account of what happened isn’t as important as the grainy mobile phone footage on YouTube! Do you know what the Assistant Commissioner said?’
Sparks was animated now, his fists clenched.
‘I can guess it wasn’t helpful?’ said Erika.
‘You’re fucking right it wasn’t helpful. “The video has been liked and commented on by fifty thousand people, and shared thousands of times on Twitter,’’’ he said, mimicking the Assistant Commissioner’s voice in falsetto. ‘What kind of a world do we live in where ordinary Joes, at home and one stop away from whacking off to porn, or shopping for shoes, are forming public opinion? Worse still, directing the opinion of our superiors! Distorting reality!’
Sparks sat back; he was shaking with anger. His face was still white, but two small circles of scarlet adorned each cheek. He coughed and winced, downing a last dribble of lager and wincing again.
Erika got up and bought another round. When she came back he was having another coughing fit.
‘Thanks,’ he said, taking a gulp of lager.
‘I want to say sorry,’ said Erika. He sat back and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, for everything that went down between us. I should have behaved better when I first came to London and took over the Andrea Douglas-Brown case. It was yours. I was a bitch.’
‘You were a bitch. I was a bastard.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘That’s how the world turns.’
‘I just want to catch this one, Andy. I have pride. Pride in bringing people to justice. It’s not about me. I’ll work in your team. We can have a trial period; I’ll work subordinate to Melanie on the enquiry, despite us being the same rank. I can’t stay working in the Projects Team, pushing paper.’
Sparks took another pull on his pint and watched two large guys engrossed in their darts match.
‘If I’m honest, I feel like I’ve fought my way to a prize that’s not worth it.’
‘The money’s good,’ said Erika.
‘And I’m about to see it all vanish. Divorce. Followed by custody battles…’ He downed the last of his pint.
‘Sorry.’
‘Not your fault. Look, I’ll sort something out with Melanie, Okay?’
Erika nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Now, I have to go home,’ he said.
* * *
When they came out onto the street, it had started to snow again. Sparks pulled up his collar against the wind.
‘Come to the morning briefing tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Although the ball is in your court. It’s up to her if she wants to work with you.’
‘I can make it work.’
A car drove slowly past, its mudguards thick with dirty snow. Sparks turned his head away, and didn’t turn back until it was far down the street.
‘What is it?’ asked Erika.
‘Did you see that car before?’
‘No.’
‘Earlier, just before we went to the pub?’
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
He squinted at the spot where the car had turned off the street. ‘I feel like… I’ve seen it three times now over the past few days.’
‘You think you’re being followed?’
He was even more pale and haggard than before they went into the pub. His eyes scanned the empty street. He saw she was watching him closely and changed the subject.
‘Can your nick spare you? I haven’t got time to go smoothing shit over with your superintendent.’
‘I don’t think my superintendent really cares either way,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Okay. West End Central tomorrow, nine a.m.’
‘Thanks, Andy.’
‘Steady on. I don’t want us to end up actually liking each other.’ He gave her a nod and walked away, towards his unhappy home. Erika watched him, feeling a mixture of anger and relief. She hadn’t got an apology in return from him, but she was pleased they were moving forward, and that she had a crack at working on the case.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, Erika took the train to Charing Cross and emerged with a throng of commuters into the cold air. The crowds thinned as she walked through Trafalgar Square, which had been cleared of snow, save for the giant bronze lions that wore little white toupees. By the time she reached Leicester Square, and then Chinatown, there was just a smattering of early bird tourists, blinking in the dull grey morning. She found West End Central Police Station. It was a post-war concrete square, tucked away in a side road at the edge of Soho amongst a street of offices under renovation. She showed her warrant card at the front desk, and then took a lift up to the fifth floor which came out opposite a set of doors marked: MURDER INVESTIGATION TEAM.