Shooting in the Dark

followed his instincts rather than his, usually, good sense. That was one of his problems. Another was that he could never deal adequately with officialdom, with authority figures, or with people in uniform. He didn’t seem to understand that people apply for a job that involves wearing a uniform when they have a low opinion of themselves. And that the only way to deal with them is to massage their egos. One to one with normal men, women or children, Sam could give and take, and would emerge from the encounter with some kudos. But whenever he came up against someone who assumed an air of superiority, he’d want to fight.
    And, Marie thought, being a bloody stupid man, he would fight. He’d never give in. That survival mechanism that allowed most people, after a period of pain or humiliation, to bow their heads and compromise just didn’t have a place in the make-up of Sam Turner. They could do what they liked with him down below in the cells: nail him to the wall or flay the skin off his back. He wouldn’t move an inch, call them all fools.
    Which was another reason to get him out of there quickly. While he was still breathing and in one piece.
    ‘Time,’ said George Forester next to her. He spoke the word under his breath, almost to himself. She watched him rise from the wooden bench and move across the floor to where the desk sergeant was speaking into the phone. Forester repeatedly tapped his fingers on the counter.
    ‘Found him,’ said the desk sergeant as he put down the phone. He made an attempt at a smile but it foundered on the stony response of the solicitor.
    ‘Where is he?’
    ‘Clifton, sir. The lads who were bringing him in had a bit of an accident. Their car was involved in a collision.
    They couldn’t get it moving again, had to sit tight until we could get a tow truck out there. Anyway, it ended up with your friend being taken to Clifton. If you go down there, you’ll be able to see him.’
    ‘I hope you aren’t trying to work another flanker on me, Sergeant.’ Forester fixed the desk sergeant with a stare and held it for several seconds, but the guy didn’t flinch. Either he was a good liar or he thought he was telling the truth.
    Marie went out into the wind with Forester and followed him to his new white Rover; she sunk into the soft leather seat. ‘I’m getting worried,’ she said. ‘It’s been too long.’
    ‘He’s at Clifton,’ Forester said. ‘It’s OK, they can’t keep us running around all night. This is the last stop.’
     
    The police station at Clifton was an older building. They were met at the door by a uniformed chief inspector with a nose like a light bulb. Fate had tried to conceal him by naming him Smith. He had been briefed and knew who they were and the nature of their business.
    ‘Mr Turner is with the doctor at the moment,’ he told them. ‘Just routine, no need to worry. We need to be sure he’s OK before releasing him.’
    ‘Chief Inspector,’ Forester said. ‘My client has been missing for more than five hours. I’m going to make sure there’s a full-scale inquiry into this whole shebang.’
    ‘You must do as you see fit, sir. But I can assure you there has been nothing sinister happening. A small motor accident and a series of misunderstandings, that’s all.’
    ‘We shall see.’
    Marie went outside to use her mobile. She rang Celia and JD to tell them that they’d found Sam and would be bringing him home soon.
    As she approached the steps to the front entrance of the police station, Chief Inspector Smith pushed the door open. George Forester, supporting Sam on his arm, was ushered out. The left side of Sam’s face was dark, his eye puffy and closed, crisp and brittle as a meringue. His right hand, the one already damaged by the police car door, was hanging uselessly by his side.
    ‘I hope you’ll be feeling better by the morning, sir,’ said Chief Inspector Smith.
    Sam twisted his head back to the man. ‘Go fuck yourself,’ he said.
    ‘Quite,’ replied the policeman, slipping back into the artificial warmth of his station.
    Marie went forward to help support Sam on his other side. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘Can you walk?’
    Sam grimaced. ‘Yeah, I’ll manage. They’ve done something to my knee.’ He hobbled towards Forester’s Rover and got in the back seat. Marie walked around to the other side and sat next to him.
    ‘What happened?’ Forester asked when he’d started up the car and was back on the