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‘Wasn’t Clegg Lib Dem?’ said Max, opening the car door, but turning to look at Janie, one eyebrow raised.
‘Well, possibly but he chased the power with the coalition of 2010. Total sell-out,’ she said, getting out of the car.
They both began the short walk across the parade ground car park towards the hulking castle that housed the small, poky and depressing office of the Policing Standards Reassurance Team, which had been formed by Chief Constable Chris Macdonald to tackle the corruption that others couldn’t. The name itself was covert, being so tedious that no one would want to know anything else about it.
‘Weren’t you about fourteen in 2010?’ said Max, falling into step alongside Janie as they crossed a grassy patch towards the main entrance of the castle.
‘Thirteen, actually.’
‘And you were interested in politics?’
‘Always. Weren’t you?’
‘At thirteen? No chance, I was too busy drinking cider in the forest, or boxing. Isn’t that Barney’s van parked in the disabled bay?’ said Max, pointing at a blue VW camper van that was sitting inert in front of the sprawling building, a long orange cable snaking towards a window where it disappeared inside.
‘Looks like our elderly ex-spy is abstracting electricity from the Chief Constable,’ said Janie.
‘Doesn’t he ever go home to Leeds?’
‘Not recently, as far as I’m aware. He’s an odd bugger.’
‘I know, but he’s been in that van for months now. I don’t think he’s been home for ages, I mean, where does he shower or wash his clothes?’
‘He’s the product of fifty years being secret all the time, living in the shadows and smoking consistently.’
Max knocked on the side of the van, the sheet metal rattling as he did.
‘Morning, troops. Brew?’ came a cheery Yorkshire-accented voice from within the van. There was a clunk as the door slid open and Barney appeared, a broad smile stretched across his lean, weathered face as he sat on the reversed driver’s seat that butted up to a folding table, a chipped tin mug in his hand. Typically, there was an unlit roll-up pursed between his lips, which he applied a flame to from an old, battered Zippo. He inhaled with deep satisfaction, the smoke wisping out of his nose. Barney was an ex-MI5 technical specialist who after retirement had found himself bored and frustrated, so had set up as a freelance technical consultant. He had been amongst electronic surveillance his whole life, and there wasn’t a premises, car, hotel, home or computer that he couldn’t bug, hack or put a camera in.
‘Is that a brew made using the Chief Constable’s electricity?’ asked Max.
‘And it’s all the more refreshing for it,’ Barney said. He was still dressed in striped pyjamas, one of the legs of which was tied up below where his lower leg should have been. Despite working together for some time, they’d only just learned that Barney had lost his leg below the knee during the Iraq conflict in the 1990s and wore a prosthesis. He’d never bothered to tell them as he didn’t want to make a fuss. This was typical for Barney, he never showed a great deal of emotion, beyond a wry chuckle, and certainly had never been seen to panic, or get flustered under even the most intense operational stress.
‘Typical Yorkshireman, short arms, deep pockets,’ said Max.
‘Coming from a Scot, I’ll take that as a compliment, lad. Now do you two want a brew, or not?’
‘Not with you smoking in there, my clothes will stink for the day,’ said Janie, wrinkling her nose.
‘Stop moaning, not like you’ve paid for it, is it?’
‘Well in that case, I’ll say no,’ Max replied. ‘In any case, I want a decent coffee, and there’s a machine in the office, and you only have instant pish. See you inside. Our bumptious and irascible leader wanted an early meet about something and he’s waiting impatiently. The Chief’saway, and I think he’s hoping that we could have a short day, followed by a few days “working from home”.’ Max waggled his fingers.
‘Where’s the Chief?’ said Barney.
‘Holiday. New DCC who’s recently transferred from the Met has the reins, and I don’t think she’s overly keen on our existence, as she’s lead for professional standards. I think there’s some chest-beating going on as she tries to assert herself.’
‘Do you know her?’ said Janie.
‘Only by reputation.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Efficient, ruthlessly ambitious and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. In fact, don’t look now, she’s coming this way. A skipper in Strathclyde before she headed south on the promotion trail, wants to be commissioner, I hear.’ Max nodded towards the car park, and at the neat form of DCC Campbell walking across the car park towards the entrance of the Castle. Barney, half pulled himself out of the open van door and stared at the approaching figure.
‘Barney, I saiddon’tlook now, not obviously stare at her. You’re supposed to be an expert in being covert,’ said Max, shaking his head.
As they stood there a post office van drove up and parked next to Barney’s van. A short, uniformed man with a shock of red hair jumped out, went to the back of the van and opened it, whistling tunelessly.
