Page 3 of First Blood
Except of course for Head Office at Lloyd House, in Birmingham. From what she’d seen it was furnished very nicely and was the benefactor of the hand-me-downs to the smaller stations.
She knocked on the door with the brass nameplate and forced herself to wait for instruction. Hating time-wasting she was always tempted to announce her arrival with a single knock and enter immediately. After all, he was expecting her and how many other meetings did he have planned for 7a.m.?
She heard the instruction to enter and did so. It was her first day after all.
DCI Woodward stood and offered his hand.
She approached and shook it. His grip was dry and firm.
‘Welcome to Halesowen,’ he said, taking a seat and indicating she do the same.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, taking a moment to appreciate the brilliant whiteness of his shirt against the smooth, dark brown skin. Rimless reading glasses were perched on his nose.
A memorial photograph of a young man closely resembling the man behind the desk graced the wall.
She hadn’t heard a great deal about DCI Woodward before she’d been seconded and she hadn’t known if that was a good or bad thing. Was he lazy, unremarkable, perhaps treading water until retirement? She’d met all of the above. A bit of digging into his performance as a DCI had told her that his team satisfaction percentage rate was in the high seventies and his successful prosecution rate was in the mid-nineties. There were more statistics available but it was these two that interested her the most. He ran a decent team and put bad people behind bars. And yet she’d never seen this man on press conferences hogging the spotlight.
‘I thought it prudent to have a brief chat before putting you to work,’ he said, lacing his fingers together and resting them on the desk.
Here it comes, she thought, preparing to adopt the correct expression. It was time for the chat. If true to form of every other DCI there was very little chatting involved. It was a one-sided conversation where he laid down the law, told her how it was going to be and what he expected, a bit like how she remembered her first day at school. There would be no questions and no response required from her until the end when she would be expected to offer total acquiescence. There you go. Job done. She could get up and leave right now. She knew the drill. She’d listen, nod in the right places and then follow the rules she agreed with.
‘So, Stone, why is it that practically no one wants to work with you?’ he asked, surprising her from the off.
Firstly, because it was a question that required an answer. Secondly because it was direct and thirdly because he hadn’t launched into an immediate lecture.
‘Sir, in all honesty, I’m probably not all that easy to get along with,’ she answered and saw the hint of a smile tug at his lips.
‘And why is that?’ he asked.
‘I’m not good with people. I don’t like them very much.’
‘All people?’
‘Most, so it’s safer to assume all and generalise.’
‘I see, so you take full responsibility for the fact that this is pretty much the last station that will take you?’
She thought for a moment and then recalled his own directness.
‘No, sir. I work hard and like to do a good job. I am direct and not everyone likes that, but I will not stop until I’ve exhausted every opportunity open to me. Not everyone likes my style, and I just didn’t feel it prudent to detail some of the knobs that I’ve worked for who also happen to be your contemporaries. Not on our first meeting anyway.’
He surprised her by throwing back his head and roaring with laughter.
‘There may be some I actually agree about but clearly that stays in this room.’
And she hadn’t expected that.
‘Talking of which, what exactly happened with you and DCI Worthington?’
She said nothing.
‘Some kind of communication issue, he cited as your reason for transfer?’ he pushed.
Kim thought back to the night of the celebration in The Dog. Her sudden movement of standing up at the table had sent a pint of bitter and half a bag of pork scratchings hurtling into his lap. He’d caught her outside and asked what the hell that had been about. She had told him that if she saw him patting one more female officer on the behind she’d put in a formal complaint against him herself. He had claimed it was just ‘banter’. Tipsy or not it wasn’t acceptable and the detective constable being pawed hadn’t looked like she was enjoying the ‘banter’ all that much.
‘Yes, sir. A communication issue is exactly what it was.’
‘So,’ he said, removing his glasses. ‘No big speeches but just to say I don’t judge you and you don’t judge me. And we’ll take it from there.’
