On the Carpet

Temple arrived at the police station early on Monday morning. He hadn't bothered with breakfast in his flat, mainly because there was nothing to eat. He had forgotten to go shopping on Saturday morning and by the time he remembered, the shops were shut. He made do with a pie from the fish and chip shop for Sunday lunch. So, he was pleased to have a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich in his office.

Cantwell arrived and reported the events of Saturday evening several times. Each time he became more expansive. Temple eyed him closely:
"Just you watch it, Cantwell, you're getting too bloody involved with these bets. It was work, damn it, not a game." He regretted his tone when he saw Cantwell's face fall. "Look, gambling is nothing more nor less than a mug's game. How do you think Redbourne and his ilk have made their money? There's only one winner in gambling and that's the bookie."

"But ..."

"There are no 'buts', Cantwell. Think about it. You only won because you bet on dodgy dogs. The races were fixed, man! If you don't remember that you'll be as lost as Eager Beaver."

Cantwell sat down:
"You're right, Gov. But Debbie really enjoyed it and so did I."

"Well that's fine! But were you enjoying it because it was a bit of fun or was it because you were winning?"

"Bit of both, I suppose."

"Well remember what it was like when you lost! Remember also that you didn't win, it was that Soper chap who told you which dog would win. If he hadn't, you'd have probably lost on those races, as well. You'll need to go to the races again, so just try to keep a hold of your senses."

There was a knock on the door.

"Gov!" Constable Truscott peered round the door. "Sorry to bother you. But the Super wants to have a word with you and Sergeant Cantwell."

"Know what it's about?" Temple raised an eyebrow.

"No, Gov, he didn't say."

"In a good mood, was he?"

Truscott pondered the question as if his answer might be of great significance.
"Neither good nor bad really."

"Ah!" Temple exclaimed, "a veritable scholar, Truscott. What do you think of that, Cantwell?" Cantwell nodded. "Well then?" Temple asked.

"Well what, Gov?" A perplexed Cantwell looked first at Truscott then Temple.

"Surely, you recognised it as a quotation from Shakespeare? From 'Hamlet', in fact. A very useful quotation for a policeman, Cantwell. Or don't they teach 'Hamlet' in Devon?"

Cantwell flushed, he hated Temple's jibes about Devon and the Devonians.

"Anyway, Truscott," Temple got up, "we will obey our master's command and go to see whether it is more good or bad."

As their paths crossed Cantwell's and Truscott's eyes met. Cantwell could read the sympathy and he was furious. He didn't want sympathy from anybody.

Baker had Brylcreemed his hair so that it gleamed thick and sleek. He was like a Dennis Compton clone. When Temple and Cantwell entered his office, he straightened his tie and stared at them both for a few seconds. He looked them up and down as if they were on parade. Temple was amused and Baker saw the slightest flicker of a smile cross his face.

"So, Temple," he said irritably, "what progress, if any, is there in the Beaver murder and this Ellacott business?"

"We're following up several leads."

"What sort of leads?"

"Sergeant Cantwell has established some excellent contacts with greyhound racing punters and ..."

"So," Baker interrupted, "you are still trying to implicate Mr Redbourne, are you?"

"Not implicate, Sir, just trying to unravel some curious goings on at the races."

"You'd do well to remember that Mr Redbourne and several of his associates are generous benefactors of specific police charities. He is also closely associated with, at least, two County Councillors."

Temple did not respond. Instead he looked over Superintendent Baker's head and through the window, as if he had heard nothing. Cantwell muttered what might have been construed as a 'Yes'.

Baker leaned forward at his desk:
"You did hear what I said, Inspector."

"I did, Sir," Temple nodded. "I'll bear in mind what you said, Sir. However," he paused, "I'm sure that you would not want us to overlook anything or not to uncover every possible lead, would you, Sir?"

Forgetting the Brylcreem, Baker ran a hand though his hair. He messed up the sleekness and covered his hand with grease. However, his anger was such that he did not notice:
"I expect all my officers to do what is right. I do expect results and quick results. But, I'm sure you will find that the answer to solving both these cases, if indeed they are linked, lies with Beaver and Ellacott alone. No one else was involved. Do I make myself clear, Inspector Temple?"

"Sir!" Temple said turning to go.

Cantwell followed quickly at his heels, not wishing to catch Baker's eye.

"Come on, Cantwell, let's get out of here. The stink is getting up my nose." Temple said as they walked down the corridor.

They headed for the car park and to an unmarked car for which they had the keys. Temple handed the keys to Cantwell.

"You'd better drive, Cantwell. I don't trust myself not to ram the car into the Super's shining black saloon."

"Where are we going?"

"Let's go back to your place. Maybe Brenda Ellacott has phoned. Anywhere we can get away from Baker."

Cantwell drove slowly through the streets, he was mulling over the events of the morning:
"Gov? Do you really think I'm stupid?" He eventually summoned up the courage to ask.

"What are you on about?"

"That comment about quotes from Shakespeare."

"Oh for God's sake, Cantwell, that was a joke. Of course I don't think you're bloody stupid! I wouldn't work with you, if I thought that!" He looked at him. "Look, I'm just an irritable sod who enjoys riling people. You should know that, by now."

"So you think I'm quite bright then?"

Temple grinned as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut:
"Did I say that?"