Chapters (49)
- Cover
- Table of Contents
- Also by Graham Hurley
- LIMELIGHT
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- AFTERWARDS
‘Total nightmare. Bullivant’s still SIO. The man can’t help himself. He has no off switch. With Frank it’s all or nothing. After he scooped you all up, and then released you, the management were getting very worried. And that’s before last night.’
‘Worried how? Why?’
‘Harassment? Waste of resources? Aggressive interview tactics? No feel for the public mood? You want the whole list?’
‘So, what happened?’
‘We had a Gold Group meet yesterday afternoon. Twenty bodies round the table on the senior management corridor. Everyone from the ACC who chaired it to little me. Legal services. Head of Media. CID and uniform at Superintendent rank. Coroner. Everyone with an ear to the ground. Everyone who knew anything about where Bulldog was headed. You talk for a couple of hours, then there’s another meeting, just the key players, just the four of them, and that’s where the real decision is made.’
‘And Bullivant? He was there?’
‘No. Bullivant was transferred off Bulldog yesterday morning. He’s been given a project. Aligning our IT systems with the Dorset force. Kiss of death, believe me. The guy’s gutted. He may even try and fight it, but if that happens, they’ll take a look at his disclosure record and hang him out to dry. He knows that so my guess is he’ll take it on the chin. In any case, he retires in a couple of months. Keeping the pension intact trumps everything else.’
I nod. Am I pleased? Very.
‘And Bulldog?’ I query.
Brett looks at me for a moment or two, then smiles.
‘They sent me over to that meeting of yours last night. I was told to take a look, gauge the mood, and report back in person. By the time I got to headquarters, they’d all been watching the news.’
‘They?’
‘ACC. Deputy. Chief.’
‘And?’
‘Their biggest worry is risk to the organization. Putting it bluntly, you’ve put the shits up them.’
‘They took a decision?’
‘They did. Which is why I’m here.’
‘And?’
‘NFA.’ He leans across and gives me a hug. ‘No further action.’
FORTY
Christmas has come and gone. We’re a week into the New Year when, back in London, I get the message in person from Nathan Kline. No email. No text. No WhatsApp. Not even a phone call. He appears on my video entry phone in Holland Park early on a Wednesday afternoon. He’d appreciate a cup of tea, but he won’t be staying long.
I buzz him in and put the kettle on. He says he’s come up for some lawyerly get together, which may or may not be true. He has ten minutes to kill and a message to deliver.
‘From?’
‘Andy McFaul.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I’m not. He’s in Lisbon for the next couple of days. He’d appreciate a chat.’
‘Face-to-face? He wants me to go down there?’