Edward stared at him in surprise. He remembered how a younger Callintree had been the first cop to take seriously the death of his son and promise a real investigation. He would always be grateful. There must have been something personal in his expression, because the policeman was prompted to say more. He bent low and close to Edward’s ear as the sermon began.
‘Met stiffed me. Took advantage of me isolating. Did it all without me, cut me out, humiliating. Before that presser in the church, they even gave me wrong info to check I wasn’t leaking. Never been so angry.’
Edward whispered, ‘Looks like London has gone, though.’
Callintree said quietly into his ear, ‘London has gone so fast they left skid marks. Now it’s not terrorism …’ He made a cutting motion with his hand. ‘Basically “Goodbye and good luck”. I get out of isolation and I have to motivate my people to investigate. I don’t even know what I’m investigating.’
‘This,’ said Edward, gesturing towards the front of the church where the little girl’s coffin had now appeared.
Callintree sat up stiffly as if stung. They watched the progress of the coffin. Edward wondered if he had heard right. He had filed reports on the church press conference, and he had seen the strange way Callintree had attended – on a remote TV link, with the monitor almost buried out of sight – but he never imagined there had been this level of anger within Devon Police. He wondered if part of the reason for Callintree’s anger was because his rapid promotion had caused resentment among his colleagues, so they wanted him to fail; and he had no cover in a wider row. He wondered if he and Callintree were actually more friendly than Edward realized.The policeman’s tone was of a mate sharing a desperate confidence, not a police officer briefing a reporter.
‘We are both here in our official roles,’ whispered Edward. ‘Let’s talk outside.’
Callintree moved his shoulders and, as if remembering his peaked cap was still on his head, removed it. The funeral continued. The conversation had meant Edward missed much of the sermon, but he found his eyes drawn constantly to Andrea Lopez. She was pregnant and drawn, her cheeks gaunt and dark smudges beneath both eyes, as though she hadn’t slept since she’d last held Nina. Edward remembered that hollowed-gut feeling so well, and he bowed his head in a shared grief.
The service ended. Edward was glad to have come. He was honoured to have been asked personally. Afterwards the close family withdrew. They would follow the coffin to a crematorium.
The vicar recognized him on the steps of the church. He spoke softly. ‘It was a private ceremony, Mr Temmis, but the Lopezes wanted you to know how grateful they have been for your work. I see the chief of police came too. An important gesture.’
It struck him that Gabriel and Andrea Lopez, and their entire family, had probably listened to his every broadcast because the police had been so sparing with their information. Shaking the vicar’s hand, and seeing the man’s eyes blaze green in the bright daylight drenching the church entrance, Edward said: ‘I know this is private, but may I use a few of your words on the radio this afternoon?’
The vicar seemed almost to enlarge, like a pumped tyre. ‘You may. You may. They understand this part of the day cannot be completely private. If I may suggest—’
Luckily he was interrupted by the person behind Edward. He walked briskly to his moped, conscious he was now running late for Stevie. His bike was hidden between two SUVs in the church car park. But as he turned the key in it, Jordan Callintree arrived in the space between the SUVs as if borne on a sharp gust of wind. ‘This is mine,’ he said, pointing at the carnearest Edward. ‘Leave your bike here and we can talk on the way.’ Callintree, now hatless and tieless, opened the side door for Edward. ‘Where to?’
‘You know Stevie Mason? She’s getting married. But there’s a twist.’ Edward thought Callintree would be interested in the strangeness of the occasion – ‘marrying herself’ – yet the police officer seemed barely to listen as he drove them away from the church. When the explanation was over, Callintree immediately changed the subject.
‘I may need your help, Mr Temmis.’
Edward looked over at Jordan Callintree and felt the tension and misery radiate. The clean-cut young officer looked beaten.
‘What can I do?’ Edward was struck by his disarray. ‘You don’t seem yourself.’
‘I’m broken, mate, to be frank.’ Callintree was indicating at a busy intersection, where the single-track road opened into a 50-mph carriageway with a bend. ‘If I can … whoooar!’
He had pulled out, seeing the road clear to his right, but in the instant he nosed past the hedgerow and engaged the clutch, a van shot past the front of his car, horn blaring.
‘Bloody weekend drivers.’ Callintree suddenly pulled the car in. ‘Can I just ask you for something?’
Edward looked at his watch. Kim would not be impressed. Jordan Callintree cut the car engine.
‘It’s been a nightmare,’ said the officer, ‘and my wife is sick of hearing me go on about it. The crime happens, my force messes up, Thorne goes, I get elevated – which is just a joke, a bloodyjoke, just a way of putting me in the firing line – and then London arrive with the army and choppers and dogs and all sorts in tow. At which point I’m literally isolated and I can’t even get someone to bring me a cup of tea. My officers blame me for everything, even the leak.’
‘The leak?’ Edward’s mind had gone to radiation, but he soon realized they were at cross-purposes.
‘All the stuff about chopsticks and the professor being given dangerous nuclear material without any warning. They think I’m a careerist shit and I put that stuff out. Someone tweeted “The new Thief Constable” with a photo of me, and I’m sure it’s internal.’
‘You didn’t put the stuff out. I did. I only found it because I went to Veitch’s house.’
‘Thorne got the blame. I got promoted. Then London arrive and my officers blame me for that as well.’
‘I worry this is on me.’
The remark seemed to hang in the vehicle interior. They stared out of the windscreen. Edward was stunned.
‘Mr Temmis. I don’t have the patience for bullshit. So take this’ – Callintree moved his hips and fished a small USB fob from his trouser pocket – ‘sign of my goodwill. Not as easy to get hold of these as you might imagine.’
‘What’s on it?’ Edward took the memory stick, white plastic with a lime trim.
