Stay Another Day Read online

  ‘On the job, more like.’

  ‘And some. He’s the bloody Assistant Commissioner,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘My my,’ I said. ‘He only looks about twelve.’

  ‘You are getting old Dad,’ she said with grin. ‘Policemen looking younger and all that.’

  ‘Very amusing. At least it’s a woman he’s doing the business with.’

  ‘But the wrong woman. He’s married with a young kid and another on the way. And this sure ain’t his wife. I’ve seen her at a do.’

  ‘Naughty, naughty,’ I said. ‘I wonder if he knows this photo exists.’

  ‘If he did,’ she said, ‘it’s a good motive for getting rid of Campbell.’

  ‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ I replied. ‘Seems like a lot of people might have a motive.’ I pointed to the screen, filled with the thumbnails of celebrities in compromising positions.

  ‘But he’s the only one who could put me in the frame so easily.’

  ‘Good point,’ I said.

  32

  ‘Well, before we get into all that, is there any chance of anything to eat? I’m starving,’ I asked, rubbing my rumbling stomach.

  ‘I’m good on booze, but not on food,’ she replied.

  ‘Another Sharman trait,’ I said.

  ‘I remember. But there’s a good Chinese round the corner.’ She looked at her watch. ‘And plenty of time for a late lunch. They never chase you out.’

  ‘A Chinky,’ I said. ‘Been a long time since I had a British Chinese.’

  ‘We don’t say Chinky any more Dad,’ she scolded. ‘I guess you only eat Caribbean, then?’ she said.

  ‘Fusion, the bloke who cooks at the bar calls it. I eat his food more than I eat my own.’

  ‘I’d like to visit sometime,’ she said.

  ‘You’re always welcome. You know that.’

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  ‘But I warn you, it’s a bit primitive.’

  ‘Dad, where you lived in London was always a bit primitive.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  We left the flat. The restaurant was less than ten minutes walk away, and still buzzing with the lunch crowd.

  We got a table upstairs on the mezzanine by the window and I ordered a bottle of white wine whilst we chose our food. As it had been a while Judith let me order all my old favourites. Crab meat and sweetcorn soup to start. Crispy chilli beef, sweet and sour pork, special fried rice, fried noodles, and mixed veg to follow. Just the job.

  It was great to sit down with Judith, even under the circumstances. ‘Funny,’ I said, after the waiter had poured two glasses of wine. ‘We haven’t had a chance to talk properly since I got back.’

  ‘Well it’s not exactly been old home week has it?’ she replied.

  ‘No. You’re right there. Even so, it’s been a long time since we had a sit down with a decent meal.’

  There was always the Ikea meatballs.’

  ‘Yeah. But somehow it didn’t have the ambience of this place.’

  ‘You always did love a Chinese lunch. I can remember you taking me for some real feasts in the old days.’

  ‘Good times.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So, no bloke in your life?’

  ‘Don’t beat around the bush Dad will you?’

  ‘It’s a simple enough question love.’

  ‘With a simple answer. No.’

  ‘But there must’ve been some.’

  ‘I’m a big girl Dad, I have had a few blokes in my life in the last seven years. There was one,’ she said almost wistfully.

  ‘Job?’

  ‘Course,’ she replied. ‘Inevitable. You know how it goes.’

  ‘Not married I hope?’

  ‘No, worse – divorced with two young kids. So when his ex called, he dropped everything and went to sort her problems out.’

  ‘Dropped everything – including you.’

  ‘Got it in one. It was as if she knew when we had something planned and one of the kids would get sick or the boiler would break down and off he’d go like a poodle. Can’t blame him really, but it just started to get on my nerves. Christ, if we’d moved in together or got married…’ She trailed off. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about. There were rows, he’d get guilty. Only thing, I never knew who made him more guilty. Me, or her.’

  ‘So just the one in all this time?’

  ‘Dad. You don’t know how difficult it is for a female cop these days to have a relationship. I mean, I dated one bloke. Went back to his flat and he only had soya milk in the fridge. And no sugar. And no booze.’

  ‘Tragic.’

  ‘You can say that again. And he was a member of CO 19. A real gung ho sharpshooter.’

  The soup arrived in steaming bowls and we dived in. Bloody good it was too. When the dishes had been cleared away and the main course served, juggling some mange tout with my chopsticks, I said, trying to be nonchalant, ‘I was thinking about your mum last night.’

  ‘Me too,’ replied Judith. ‘Time of the year I suppose.’

  ‘With me it’s the time of life too.’ I looked down at the table. ‘Delicate subject,’ I said.

  ‘Not really. Not any more. It’s history isn’t it Dad?’

  ‘You know what they say about history. Those that don’t learn from it are condemned to making the same mistakes over and over again. Or something like that.’

  ‘Still making mistakes Dad?’

  ‘Not as many as I did.’

  ‘That still leaves you a lot of leeway,’ Judith said pointedly.

  The mange tout dropped back into my bowl. ‘Should have got a spoon and fork,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I took a sip of my wine. ‘So where were you planning on spending Christmas? Not like you are I’m sure.’

  ‘You’re changing the subject again,’ said Judith, but with a smile. ‘Funnily enough with some friends of Mum’s and Louis’s.’

  Louis had been the man who my wife married after she divorced me. They both died in a plane crash in America years ago with their new son. Luckily Judith hadn’t been with them.

  ‘They lived in the next village,’ she went on. ‘They have a daughter my age. Married of course with kids. We’re still friends.’

  Louis had taken early retirement from his dental practice and bought a house in Kent. A converted oast house.

  ‘She was happy there with Louis and David and me,’ said Judith wistfully.

  David had been the son.

  I suddenly realised how lonely my daughter was and it almost broke my heart.

  ‘An oast house,’ I said, trying to break the mood. ‘That takes me back. We went to Hastings once for the day on the train before you were born. God knows why. Passed loads. She always said she’d love to live in one.’

  ‘And she did. For a few years. Living the quiet life. Making cakes for the village fete.’

  ‘She never made cakes for me.’

  ‘Always you Dad, eh?’ Judith was shaking her head.

  ‘Come on. I didn’t mean anything. It’s just not how I saw her ending up. The WI or whatever. Living the idyllic countryside dream.’

  ‘She enjoyed it. I think your old life changed her perspective. Sometimes the noisy life gets too noisy. Look at us now.’

  I reflected on that for a moment, thought about my Caribbean island and knew she was telling the truth.

  ‘You know I never meant to hurt her. Or you.’ I wondered if I looked as ashamed as I felt.

  ‘I know. It was just hard to deal with, that’s all.’

  ‘I was young then. Stupid. I know that now. Where I’ve been there’s a lot of time to think. Think about the past. The mistakes I made. The people I hurt.’

  ‘Oh Dad. Don’t get ma
udlin.’

  ‘I won’t. But I mean it. I treated her so badly. Sometimes like a piece of shit on my shoe. If you think I’m not ashamed you’ve got me wrong.’

  ‘But the other women? The drinking. The drugs?’

  ‘It was the times. Everyone did it. Especially in the CID as it was then. Lads culture. You must’ve seen it.’

  ‘Of course. Especially with my surname.’

  ‘I’m sorry for that too – like I keep saying. But then you could’ve used Louis’ name.’

  ‘I’m a Sharman for good or evil. It would all have come out sooner or later anyway. It always does.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose. But I’m proud you used my name. Prouder than you’ll ever know.’

  She touched my hand. ‘I’m glad,’ she said.

  ‘And I wish I’d not done what I did. Especially the other women. It was like a competition.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to hear any more.’

  She was right. She didn’t need any details. But it had been like a competition in the force in the eighties. Which of us could shag the most women, drink the most, snort the most cocaine. Even if you didn’t want to join in, you more or less had to, or take the flak. The last thing you wanted to be was an outsider. Otherwise one day the person you wanted watching your back just might not be there.

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘I just wish I’d had time to tell her how sorry I was.’

  ‘Perhaps in the next life,’ said Judith.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I replied. ‘But let’s not go there.’

  33

  ‘So tell me about your island,’ she said when the plates were empty and more wine was on its way.

  ‘Great place,’ I replied, looking out of the window at the freezing streets full of miserable looking people heading for the tube. ‘Not like here. Warm weather helps. And people know how to enjoy themselves without spending much money. Not racing to keep up with the neighbours.’

  ‘I will come and visit you know.’

  ‘You should’ve done years ago. Lots of eligible young men.’

  ‘And eligible older ones, like you?’ she teased.

  ‘Could be.’ I pictured Rita in my mind’s eye. ‘There was one woman. But it went nowhere. Now that I think about it, I may try and revive the flame when I get back.’

  ‘I hope it works for you. Wedding on the beach?’

  ‘Then you’d definitely have to come over. Walk me down the aisle in your best frock.’

  Judith laughed. ‘So what do you do there?’

  ‘Not much. Kick back. There’s a bar a few minutes walk from where I live. Two young guys, Clive and Cyril, run the place. Got an old Wurlie.’

  ‘A what?’ she asked.

  ‘Wurlie. Wurlitzer jukebox full of vinyl. Reggae, old rock and roll. Some Blue Note jazz singles I ordered from the mainland. Reminded me of Emerald. Remember him?’

  ‘The black guy that ran a dodgy bar in Clapham?’

  ‘The very same. He used to let you wear that ring of his.’

  ‘Emerald stone. I remember playing with it when I was little.’

  ‘Yeah. It was the size of a house. Great guy. Died couple of years ago now.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Yeah. Too many people have died. Anyhow, he used to play Flamingo by Earl Bostic down in that bar – I got a copy in memory. Sometimes late, me, Clive and Cyril, and some tourist birds they’ve pulled, we sit up all night watching the tide flow, and play that jukebox and get drunk.’

  ‘No tourists for you?’

  ‘No. They’re too young, or else too old and desperate. I want the quiet life.’

  ‘That’s not what you’re getting here,’ she looked concerned.

  ‘We’ll sort it out, then I’ll go back. I’m getting too old for this lark. This is Sharman’s last case. At least, I hope it is.’

  I was getting maudlin, and thankfully she changed the subject. ‘So what do we do about these photographs?’

  ‘Tricky. Your snout obviously had an alternative source of income.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘Well from what we’ve seen I doubt he was keeping them for personal use. Not the male on female action, anyway.’

  ‘Do you think Cedric was in on it?’

  ‘Doubtful,’ I said. ‘I think Mr Campbell had a lot of secrets. There was money, the gun and the computer thingy stashed away at the flat, but Cedric didn’t try and get to them. Cedric said he didn’t live with him, but he must’ve had a key, or even if he didn’t, it wasn’t exactly hard to bust into the place. He would have taken the opportunity to retrieve the pics if he was in on it. No, I don’t think he knew about the hiding place, or the photos for that matter. He gave up the password without a murmur, remember.’

  ‘We could always go and see him again. We know where he works.’

  ‘And that’s another thing,’ I said. ‘A poxy kebab shop. Those photos could be worth a fortune in the right hands but Cedric’s probably slaving away for the minimum wage. Anyway, I’ve got a feeling we put the fear of God into him this morning, poor little bugger. I reckon he’s flown the coop by now.’

  ‘I’m not surprised he was frightened. You threatening that barman with a bloody nail gun. A bit Jack Regan wasn’t it?’

  ‘Jack Regan. You remember him?’

  ‘You gave me the videos remember? Not really suitable viewing for an eleven-year-old, but never mind.’

  ‘Course. Bloody good copper. Then he turned into Inspector Morse. Saddest thing I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘So what do we do Dad?’

  ‘Find out who set you up for the murder of Campbell. Prime bloody suspect you. Bet you’re not the most popular girl in school are you?’

  ‘You got that right.’

  ‘Down to me again I’m afraid,’ I said.

  ‘You can’t blame yourself for everything.’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.’

  ‘Well, now you have. Let’s draw a line under it Dad.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. The most important thing is that we clear your name, then we’ll all get back to normal. One day we’ll chat about all this over a rum punch at the beach. Right now, we should get in touch with the Assistant Commissioner – see what he’s got to say for himself.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said.

  34

  ‘That’ll be fun,’ said Judith.

  ‘Got to be done,’ I insisted. I knew she would be worried, naturally, but confronting the Commissioner was our only option.

  ‘Of course. It’s just...’

  ‘Just what?’ I asked. ‘End of your career? You know we’re going to sort this. Have faith.’

  ‘Of course I have faith. You’re here. Frankly, I’m not much worried about my career just now.’

  ‘Whatever happens, we’ve got to get rid of this stupid murder charge,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Easier said than done. And that’s it. One person has been killed already – it must be about those photos. I don’t want us to be next on the list.’

  ‘We won’t. Not while we have them anyway.’

  ‘Campbell had them, remember. And it didn’t stop whoever did it.’

  ‘Good point,’ I said. ‘But let’s not look on the down side. Are you ready to make a call to Scotland Yard? Dig out the AC, and let him know that we know he’s been a very bad boy.’

  ‘Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.’

  ‘Then grasp the nettle love. The sooner the better.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘You remember Occam’s Razor?’ I said.

  ‘Of course. I did go to university you know.’

  ‘So did I, for a bit. Until they politely asked me to leave. Not so politely actually.’

  ‘I know that Dad. I finished my course and
got a degree – remember?’

  ‘All right clever clogs. And I didn’t mean to patronise you. Right, old William of Occam reckoned that the simplest explanation was often the correct one. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So let’s go with Occam’s plan. The simpler the better. Just tell the AC that you have information about Campbell’s murder, and you want to meet him. What’s his name by the way?’

  ‘Turner. Malcolm Turner, OBE, to be exact.’

  ‘Nice. Tell him you’ll meet him somewhere out of the office. You turn up. So do I. I have the pictures. We confront him, and we ask... no... demand his help. Otherwise the piccies go to his boss. Or the newspapers.’

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘Pure and simple. You got a problem with that?’

  ‘Not if it works. But maybe Campbell tried that – and look where he ended up.’

  ‘We’ll be better prepared than your squealer but I think you’d better make yourself scarce from your flat for a while. Just in case.’

  ‘I’ve nowhere to go.’

  ‘I think my mate Pierre can find you a crib at my hotel. He’s very fond of fifty pound notes, is our Pierre.’

  ‘Lucky you’ve got the money.’

  ‘Ain’t it just.’ I winked.

  ‘So when do we make the call?’

  ‘Sooner the better. Let’s finish up here, and do the deed.’

  ‘OK, Dad. Want some pudding first? They’ve got banana fritters. They always were your favourite.’

  35

  After lunch we went back to Judith’s flat to pick up her bits and pieces. While she packed a bag, I phoned the hotel and good old Pierre was most accommodating. I explained I needed another bed. His tone told me that he thought I’d pulled a mystery, but I didn’t bother to put him right. He informed me that a suite had become available after a late cancellation, and it was mine – for a mindboggling amount per night. The credit crunch obviously hadn’t reached the world of luxury hotels yet. Two bedrooms, two baths, sitting room, the works. I told him I’d take it for the foreseeable. He told me he’d have my stuff transferred again. I thanked him, said I’d see him all right. He replied that he knew that I would. I bet he didn’t even blush.