Page 7 of Between the Lies
Dickheadson sighed, then reached for a slim file on his desk. He opened it up and flipped through the pages. ‘Anne Muller was your wife.’
Robert resisted rolling his eyes.
His boss continued. ‘She worked as a receptionist for a lawyer. Nine to five?’
At Dickheadson’s raised eyebrow, Robert shook his head. ‘Eight to four. Then she went to the gym.’
Dickheadson nodded. ‘Aye, and returned home at half six. That’s a long time to be at the gym.’
What the hell was the man trying to get at? ‘My wife and I had a good marriage, as I’ve said multiple times to the inspectors and to you.’
‘It’s in your statement, aye.’ Dickheadson shut the file then leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘And you worked a lot of nights. Requested the night shift, in fact. That means you’d have barely seen her.’
Robert swallowed the guilt that sad truth presented to him. At the start, theirs had been a good marriage, but the last two years had been complicated.
Dickheadson wasn’t done driving his point home. ‘You began asking for night shifts two years ago, after your wife had her first miscarriage. What started as a temp change turned into two years because you wanted to avoid your late wife. You weren’t there when she needed you. Why bother now?’
Fuck this man! Robert slammed his hands on the desk. ‘Because someone killed her. And I willnotsit by and let the perp walk away.’
For the first time since they’d started this hellish conversation, a light gleamed in Dickheadson’s grey eyes. It sent goosebumps erupting on Robert’s arms.
‘You, Constable, are not a member of the CID as far as I’m aware. You have no training in investigations, nor the discipline and dedication it takes to be a detective. As much as TV shows and movies would like you to believe it, you can’t sit in your cosy little house and solve crimes.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. Anne was my wife. I love her. I will move heaven and earth to find the real perp. She wasn’t in that wretched building of her own volition. My wife did not like nightclubs. We might not have been spending a lot of time together, but we knew each other. And I know in my heart’ – Robert thumped his chest – ‘she was killed.’
Dickheadson rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve exemplified perfectly why you aren’t cut out for this. You have too many emotions.’
‘Emotions get things done! They connect with people.’ On a deep, subconscious level, Robert knew he’d raised his voice. But he couldn’t censor his tone. He’d bowed his head too many times to this dick. ‘Tell me, how many people do you actually know out of those whose files go across your desk on a daily basis?’
‘Get out.’
Robert barked out a laugh. ‘No, I’m not leaving – not unless you reopen the investigation.’
‘Piss off.’
‘I will not!’ Robert shouted. ‘My wife was murdered. You have to?—’
‘Do nothing, Constable, except warn you that you’re crossing a line.’
‘Fuck you, Dickheadson. You’ve done nothing but bully me the entire time you’ve been my boss. I worked nights because I couldn’t bear to see my wife’s tears. Well, you wouldn’t know what that feels like, would you, when you never actually see your own wife?’
‘Constable!’ Dickheadson roared. ‘You have never made a formal complaint against me. And we are not talking about my wife.’
‘Sure, let’s talk about your twenty-year-old mistress at the Premier Inn on George Street. Tell me, does she know about the child you have in Stirling with the other woman you fucked during the TRNSMT festival two years ago?’
Dickheadson blinked at that last statement.
Robert shot him a smirk. ‘How’s that for an investigator?’
‘Get out!’
The door to the office burst open, and Robert’s best pal PC Joshua MacLeod rushed in. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m sure Robert didn’t mean?—’
Still leaning on the desk, Robert cut him off. ‘Oh no, I meant every single word. You, Dickheadson, are a spineless, cheating bastard who’s a waste of space in that chair. It’s time someone said that to your face.’
Dickheadson too scrambled up from his chair, nostrils flaring. ‘You forget, Constable, that I can take your job.’
Robert had dreamed of being a police officer ever since his neighbour had let him try on his Strathclyde Police hat. Robert had been a wee boy, but with that hat on, he’d felt a surge of power run through him. His mother had laughed it off as a boyhood fancy, spurred on by a healthy dose of superhero movies and a child’s imagination.
