Ruthless - [13]

‘And mine,’ he said with his mouth full.

‘Lot easier to join then.’

‘You keep saying that, like you want to put me off,’ he said.

‘No, I don’t. But it is important you know how tough it will be.’

‘I do know. I’ve got to get more experience. I’ve applied to join the special constabulary, so I can start that as soon as the exams are done, and I’ve got my driving licence. Once I’ve done some time volunteering with them I can try for the police community support officers and the police proper after that.’

‘Yes, but who knows how long there’ll be a freeze on police recruitment,’ she said.

‘You still think I should have gone to university.’

She chose her words carefully. ‘I think it might have given you more options. You’d have a degree, which is a valuable qualification, in the police as much as anywhere else. If there aren’t any openings in the police, if you don’t get in, then what?’

‘Go abroad, Australia or somewhere.’

‘Seriously!’ She had never imagined him emigrating. Felt a squirt of panic but then thought about his future, his life. ‘That would be amazing,’ she said. ‘I could come and visit.’

‘How? You’re always at work.’

‘When I retire. Not all that long now.’ She could barely imagine it. Work, the job, had shaped her life over twenty-eight years. What on earth would she do without it? Maybe there’d be space as an adviser, a specialist. Retired officers did sometimes keep their hand in, working as consultants.

The force had changed almost beyond recognition in Gill’s time. Advances in science and technology had perhaps made the biggest impact. Everything from DNA profiling and CCTV coverage to mobile phones, the internet and a plethora of software systems provided tools for the detection of crime. There had been improvements in prevention as well: the police advised on secure building design, for example, features that reduced the opportunities for crime, neighbourhood watch schemes. Crime was falling as a result. How much more would change in Sammy’s lifetime?

But beyond all those tools, the most important resource was the staff themselves. Trained, monitored, mentored, assessed. There was no space for slackers or the mediocre in the service. God knows how Kevin Lumb had got through selection. Officers had to be highly motivated, intelligent and personable, able to work with others and show initiative. Sammy was all those and then some, but she was biased, she was his mother and there’d be another hundred kids like him all vying for the same sweet spot.

Gill caught the local television news, saw a picture of the blackened chapel with the briefest of reports. She cleared up and emptied the kitchen bin. Outside it was a clear night, cool, with pinprick stars over the moors.

She wondered about their victim. Was someone missing him tonight? Would DNA lead them to find him or his killer on the police database?

Gill noticed the top of the blue wheelie bin was open. Drawing closer, she could see Sammy had just stuffed the pizza box in without squashing it down, so the lid wouldn’t shut.

As she went to remedy the situation, a dark shape slithered from the bin and shot off into the dark. ‘Jesus!’ Gill started, felt the hairs on her forearms prickle.

She went back to the door and called out, ‘Sammy?’

‘What?’

‘Here. Now.’ He could bloody well sort out the bin himself. She should have called him in the first place. Perhaps an encounter with a rat would be more effective than any amount of nagging from his mother.

‘Test me, Mum.’ Taisie burst into the sitting room, script in hand. She’d obviously heard Janet arriving home. Janet stifled the impulse to groan and said, ‘Two minutes, let me get my breath back.’

‘Where?’ Taisie said. ‘Dad’s watching TV.’

‘Here then.’ Janet found half a bottle of white in the fridge and poured herself a glass. Cut some cheese. In the breadbin she found the heel of a French stick, not quite stale. She sat down, ate a few mouthfuls and drank some wine.

Taisie chattered on, a few mmms and yeses the only input required from Janet.

‘Genevieve missed three rehearsals, right, three and so Miss said Polly could do her part and then Genevieve came back and she said she’d had flu, right, and so Miss said Polly would be stand-in again and Polly burst into tears and Genevieve was all like, “I’m so sorry,” all gushy, yeah? And Miss said if Genevieve was off any more then she’d lose the part but we think they should take turns. And ’cos we said that, right, now Genevieve isn’t talking to us. Except in the play.’

‘Mmm,’ said Janet.

‘But Miss said no, and that is so tight. Polly was bare good too.’

Bare, Janet knew, was the current slang for very.

‘And if you want tickets, I need the slip and money by Friday.’

‘Tomorrow!’ said Janet.

‘Duh,’ said Taisie.

‘Where’s the slip?’

‘I gave you it,’ Taisie said.

‘No,’ said Janet.

‘I did – I left it on here.’ She rapped her knuckles against the table.

‘Well, I didn’t see it.’

Taisie gave a huge sigh.

‘Look, can’t you just get the tickets if I give you the money?’ Janet said.

‘OK.’ Crisis averted as quickly as it had erupted. Taisie was all drama. ‘Go on,’ she said, nodding at the script.