The two friends chatted a bit longer and Spence took his reluctant leave. This reborn friendship had been the highlight of recent times for him, along with his surprising evening with Susannah Pearson, of course.
Goddard Ave was icy. The salt trucks had not been round yet and he was glad to find an ample parking spot outside his flat. The lights were on and as he opened the door, the smell of a thick boscaiola sauce was wafting through. Pavarotti was singing his heart out, an aria from Andrea Chernier. Spence walked into the kitchen and Laura immediately gave him a big hug.
“I’m so sorry about the mess and everything the other night dad. So to make up for it, fettuccine boscaiola. And if you check the fridge, you might find a rather nice Tuscan Chianti.”
Spence said nothing; he just held his daughter close to him and kissed her forehead. He opened the fridge, and examined the bottle. Chianti Classico DOCG. Spence knew he was going to enjoy this and his little girl had not scrimped, which meant of course she was probably after something. He poured himself a glass.
“Dad, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited Joel round.”
“How could I mind? The man who has so recently caused my only daughter so much grief is soon to arrive. After I have given him a good thrashing and thrown him back out into the cold, and have warned him never to go near you again, and advised him that every cop in Wiltshire will be looking out for his number plate, we shall eat.”
“Ah, thanks dad, I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
Spence savoured his wine; Laura gently stirred her sauce while Pavarotti headed to the guillotine.
“Laura can I ask you something personal?”
She looked at him with that “Oh god no, what now?” sort of look.
“You and Joel, do you ever get into B and D?”
“Oh dad, that’s gross, you can’t ask me things like that.”
“No, I’m serious. Is it what people do nowadays?”
“Are you looking for something to help you keep going during your advancing years?”
Spence said nothing and took another sip of the Chianti.
“Look we fool around a little bit with bondage, I might tie him to the bed or he might tie me up, and we – and, no dad, I can’t do this.”
“What about discipline, things like spanking, caning?”
“Dad! What do you think I am? No, that’s horrible. We could never hurt each other.”
She gave the sauce another stir and turned round.
“This has got something to do with the case hasn’t it?”
“You know I can’t answer that. Yes. I just wanted to get a handle on what younger people might be getting up to nowadays. You see it in the movies, in the papers and god knows what’s on the internet. When I was younger, I barely knew it existed. Toffs and Tory MPs did it, but not ordinary people. So in your circles, nothing?”
Laura smiled and shook her head.
“Do you want me to ask Millicent if she’ll…”
At that they both cracked up. The doorbell rang. Spence put his wine down and in an elaborate change of character sombrely announced:
“I’ll get that.”
He walked to the front door, and all Laura could hear was:
“Joel! Get into the kitchen, now!”
Joel hastened in and looked at Laura, ashen-faced. She had no choice but to turn back to her sauce for fear of bursting into laughter. Spence pointed to a chair and said:
“Sit down Joel.”
He sat down close to the nervous young man and looked him straight in the eye.
“Now about the other night….. Was it really as bad a match as the papers said? I hear the Town played absolutely crap. Glass of Chianti?”
CHAPTER TEN
Early December
Superintendent Barbara Marks had recently turned fifty and dared anyone to make a big deal of it. She was tall, five feet ten and had taken care of herself. Barbara Marks was a realist. She knew she was smart, she knew she was better than any male officer she knew, but she also knew that it did her no harm to look good. She was an impressive woman.
For all his old world political incorrectness, Spence had always dealt with women as equals. As far as he was concerned, if a woman was the best person for the job, she should get it. He had always taught Laura to strive high and to never let a guy treat her poorly, Joel notwithstanding. In her turn, Barbara Marks knew Spence’s flaws but she trusted him implicitly. However, implicit trust was not going to count for much as Spence wandered into the Superintendent’s office.
“Good morning Spence, sit down.”
“Ma’am.”
“I had the Chief Constable on the phone this morning.”
Spence’s mind drifted to Brandis, but no, he had handled that well.
“This Davidson case is still getting a lot of coverage and questions are being asked about our performance. So let me have it Spence.”
Spence and Barbara Marks understood each other. No beating about the bush, no bullshit, straight to the point.
“We are getting nowhere ma’am. I can tell you what we have eliminated – almost certainly not the wife, not the jilted lover, looks like there is no financial motive, and almost certainly not a jealous colleague. The only thing of interest is that Roger Davidson was into kinky stuff.”
“He’d have fitted well in this place then, wouldn’t he?”
Barbara Marks’ humour was sharp, precise and needed no laughter. Another reason why Spence liked her. Spence filled the superintendent in on the details of the case.
“All right Spence, let me know when you have something. Oh, we have some of our Oxford colleagues here today. As you probably know, Swindon Town are playing away at Oxford in the FA Cup this Saturday, so there is sure to be some crowd trouble. They are liaising with our uniform people to limit any mischief. I suggested they have a word with you because I know you’ve worked on football violence in the past. Meanwhile I will try to mollify the Chief Constable.”
Spence smiled and headed to his office. There was a fresh-faced uniformed Sergeant waiting for him.
“My god,” thought Spence, “they keep getting younger.”
The last thing Spence wanted to do was to waste time having to think about football matches, especially as the Town were on for a hiding. Oxford United was having a good season. Spence’s expertise related not to crowd logistics but to the undercover work he had been involved in, investigating the smart thugs who coordinated the football violence but who were too clever to ever get caught up in it.
The Oxford sergeant held out his hand.
“Sergeant Tom Hammond. Thank you for your time Inspector. I know you must be really busy.”
“That’s all right Sergeant. What can I do for you?”
“We’re expecting some trouble this weekend sir. It would appear that there are likely to be a few hundred Bristol