A Banquet of Consequences by Elizabeth George Read Free Book Online Page A

sign that’s keeping her from doing her best work, and I’d think you would have known that would be the consequence when you had her sign it.”
    “We define ‘her best work’ differently, then, as I don’t see ‘her best work’ as becoming a filthy tabloid’s snout—”
    “Guv, she intended—”
    “Don’t take me for a fool. You know as well as I that Barbara provided
The Source
with information, that she used her rank as an officer of the Met to set up and pursue a completely unauthorised investigation of her own, that she defied orders and left without leave—left the bloody
country
, for God’s sake—and involved herself in a foreign incident.”
    “I don’t deny she did all of that. But you of all people know what it’s like to try to work while under constant scrutiny from the higher-ups. When you’re under the magnifying glass, when you believe that the least little unguarded moment can result in your being taken to task or given the sack—”
    “Sergeant Havers should have thought of that before she headed off to Italy without leave to do so, before she leaked details of an investigation to that loathsome journalist pal of hers, and before she forced me to transfer another DI simply because she and he could no longer coexist in the same department.”
    “I think you know he’s not her ‘pal.’”
    “Who?”
    “The journalist. And as to your transferring John Stewart, wouldn’t you agree that he hanged himself?”
    “She’s taken a baker’s dozen of fully mad actions that have alienated me and every officer above me in rank. You
know
this.”
    “A bit of an exaggeration, I daresay,” he pointed out.
    “Do
not
go public school on me, Tommy. It’s unbecoming.”
    “Sorry,” he said.
    “You’ll have to be satisfied with the way things are and so will she. If Barbara can’t find it in herself to work not only as a member of a team but also as an individual whose responsibilities carry the weight of certain behavioural requirements, then she needs to find another line of employment. Frankly, I can come up with several but most of them have to do with sheep and the Falkland Islands and my guess is that lacks a certain appeal. Now.” She rose, and he knew what this meant. “Are we finished here? I’ve work to do and so do you and so does Barbara, who, I hope, has arrived on time, well dressed, and well adjusted.”
    Lynley didn’t know. He hadn’t yet seen Havers that morning. But he blithely lied and told Ardery that well dressed and well adjusted appeared to be exactly Barbara Havers’ state.
    VICTORIA
    LONDON
    He was in the corridor heading to his own office when he heard Dorothea Harriman behind him, her identity telegraphed by the snapping of her stiletto heels on the lino as well as her typical style of greeting anyone at the Met: by full title only, no initials allowed. She said, “Detective Inspector Lynley?” When he turned, she was casting a glance back over her shoulder.
    He waited for her to catch him up. That glance she’d tossed in the direction of Isabelle’s office told him that Dorothea—the department’s civilian secretary—had probably helped herself to an earful of what had gone on between the superintendent and him, a not unusual behaviour on her part. Information, Dee knew, was paramount when it came to police work, even at the secretarial level.
    She said when she reached him, “Could I have a word?” and she indicated one of the stairwells in the centre of the building, a frequent hideaway of Met smokers hoping to get away with a few drags to sustain them until they had time to duck outside and pace the requisite distance from the entrance. Lynley followed her through the door. Two uniformed constables were on the landing applying coins to a vending machine while having a conversation about “the bloody bastard deserving what he got, you ask me.” Dorothea waited till they’d made their purchases and clomped down to the floor below. She