Superintendent Baker exerts his authority

Temple drove back to the station and returned the squad car to the pool. He grabbed a coffee from the canteen and went straight to his office and began thumbing his way through the growing pile of files. Recently they had grown even more. Sam Walters had sent most of his paperwork from the Met dealing with Redbourne's past activities. They ranged from protection with menaces to GBH and race fixing. The whole gamut of crime was there, plain to see on his file. Everything that is except murder. The striking fact, however, was that not one single charge had stuck to Redbourne himself. Some of his henchmen had been convicted, but each time he emerged unscathed. Every case had been stamped 'Insufficient Evidence'.

Temple pulled a face. He recalled how he and Walters had sweated blood to get a conviction for GBH on him in Camberwell. But instead of Redbourne, a very junior member of his 'gang' had done three years. All the time he was in jail, Redbourne took care of the man's family financially. In that way, he built up a loyal bunch of thugs who were prepared to take the rap, if caught, because Redbourne would look after things.

'Like the bloody mafia' Temple thought. 'But I'll get you this time, sunshine."

There was a knock at the door. Constable Truscott timidly peeped his head round:
"The Super wants a word with you in his office, Gov."

"Any idea what for?"

"No. He just said to fetch you 'pretty damn sharpish'."

"Thanks, Truscott, I'll be along shortly."

"Gov," Truscott looked sheepish, "I think he meant now - as of yesterday."

"I'm sure he did," Temple grinned. "I'm sure that's exactly what he meant - and don't worry I'll make it clear you told me just that. But I'll go when I'm good and ready. Not a minute earlier."

Some quarter of an hour later, Temple sauntered down the corridor, up the stairs and stood outside Superintendent Clive Baker's imposing brass name plate. He knocked loudly.

"Enter!" came from inside.

Temple knocked again, even more loudly. This time the voice from within was obviously irritated:

"I said enter. So enter!" The shout was more like a strangled bark.

Temple opened the door and looked round:
"All right to come in, Sir?"

"Are you deaf, man? I said 'enter' two or three times." He looked up at his large wall clock. "Anyway, what took you so long? I told Truscott ..."

"Yes, Sir, I know what you told Constable Truscott. He did say I should hurry."

"Then why this delay?"

"I was filing my case notes, Sir."

"And that took precedence over coming here?"

"I'm sure you would not wish me to leave incriminating files lying about, would you, Sir? You've always made it plain that all officers ..."

"Yes, Temple! I know what I expect my officers to do. Just make sure that, next time, you're quick about it. I don't expect to be kept waiting when I requested them to come at once."

There was a prolonged silence while Baker studied Temple's face. He was not sure whether the man was lacking in insight or just plain insubordinate. He knew that he'd served throughout the war as an officer in the Eighth Army and had a distinguished record. So he wasn't stupid. Baker tapped his desk in irritation, not knowing quite how to handle the situation.

"I had a call, this morning, from the owner of the Blandford Hotel. I gather that you were there today." He looked closely to see Temple's reaction.

"Just having my lunch break there, Sir."

"Your lunch break!" Baker almost exploded out of his chair. "Lunch at the Blandford! Canteen not good enough for you?"

"I was told they had good sandwiches, Sir."

Baker tried to discern whether this was pure insolence or genuine. He did not like the man, he knew that much. The sooner he moved on to another force, the better.

"Was there an issue about my being there?" Temple enquired.

"Did you make your presence known?"

"To whom, Sir?"

"To anybody?"

"The owner's wife, Mrs Jackson, asked my name. I told her. I didn't want to deceive her."

"Anyone else?"

"No, Sir."

"Well, Temple, I don't want you to go there again."

"I didn't know my contract stipulated where I could or could not eat and drink. Could you show me where it states that? I'm sure my contract is in my office."

"Don't be bloody smart with me, Temple. I'm not asking you, I am telling you not to go there again."

"Why would that be, Sir?"

"Because Wing Commander Jackson does not like police officers scaring off his patrons."

"Is that what I was doing, Sir?"

Baker slammed his fist on the desk:
"Don't play silly buggers with me, Temple! You just watch your step or you'll be back in uniform, before you know it! Now get back to your work."

Temple stood up, nodded, then left the office. As the door closed, Baker wondered whether Temple had actually agreed or not.

"Damn the man!" He said. "Damn you for your insolence, Temple."