friendship as family.
It came of doing hard time together, of seeing each other at their best and their worst; of having to depend on one another, occasionally for their very lives. People whose idea of a work crisis is a downturn in the sales figures, a new-broom boss or a tax on office car-parking cannot be expected to understand how frustration, exhaustion and occasional deep terror combine to forge relationships that can shatter like glass or endure like iron but nothing in between.
âIt may have to be,â she said quietly.
Shapiro nodded slowly. He hadnât meant to criticize, just wanted to be sure she recognized the problem as he had not. Almost the first he knew that he had been a failure as a husband and father was
Angela coming downstairs with a suitcase. âHave you thought any more about going for your promotion?â
âYes. I want it. Iâve earned it, and I want it.â When theyâd first discussed this she had sounded uncertain; now she was sure. âNot right now, but soon. Somewhere in the next four years.â
âIt would be the ideal solution,â agreed Shapiro. âThey wonât let me go on doing this for ever, and thereâs nobody Iâd sooner see in this office after Iâve gone. But it wonât be my decision.â
âI know. All the same, itâs pretty obviously a good idea. Unless the powers-that-be decide Iâm not up to it.â
He shook his head firmly. âThatâs not what Iâve heard. Theyâre under pressure to promote good women officers: it would solve a lot of problems to move you in here.â For a moment he said nothing more, considering. âI know you wonât ask, so hereâs my position. I can retire any time in the next four years. Iâll stay on as long as itâs helpful to you, and leave as soon as you need me to. Donât think of it as a favour. I want to leave the place in safe hands. If I can do that by careful timing, Iâll be happy whenever it comes.â
Her hand reached across the desk and folded over his. âYouâre the most generous man Iâve ever known.â
He smiled and squeezed her fingers before releasing them. âIt isnât generosity. If you like, itâs the last really useful thing Iâll be able to do for this town. Iâd like to get it right.â
Liz said, âIâll try to justify your confidence, Frank. Assuming it works out the way we hope.â
âIt will,â promised Shapiro. âOr Iâll damn well stay where I am, and visit crime scenes in my bath chair.â
Â
Â
Nothing happened overnight. But at ten fifteen on Wednesday Sergeant Bolsover phoned from the front desk in a state of panic. He had a young woman and a baby in reception, both of them were screaming, he gathered one of them was hurt and it was something to do with a bottle of baby lotion, and that was the most sense heâd been able to extract from the situation.
Liz went down to sort it out.
The mother was not much more than a child herself. She might have been seventeen, she could have been less. She was angry and tearful, and at first Liz too had trouble making out what had brought her to Queenâs Street. âTry to calm down and tell me whatâs happened. First, are you all right? And is the baby?â
âNo thanks to that!â She picked up the plastic bottle sheâd placed on the desk in order to slam it down again, emphatically. Then she whined in pain and held out her hands like a boxer waiting to be gloved. âLook at them!â
The palms were bright pink. Scalded? âWhat did that?â
âCaustic soda.â
Liz frowned. âWhat happened?â
The girl picked up the bottle once again, this time upended it. An address label was attached to the
bottom. In large, regular black letters it said, âThis was caustic soda.â
Liz deferred any further questioning while she sent for