Chapter 30

Resign or be Damned!

Thurstan didn’t recall leaving the room or his journey to the car park. He remembered standing next to his car, a slight tremble resonating through his entire body, his legs weak, his brain slowly stabilising from the tight spin which had felt like he was tumbling from the sky.

His dislike for the man, together with the opportunity presented to him by circumstance, had clouded his judgement, luring him into taking a chance; an unprepared and ill-thought-out gamble, a bluff.

Had he kept his mouth shut, he’d have been able to play the game on his terms – perhaps purchased and worn a miniature recording device then engineered a conversation in which Devilliers would lose his cool and at least make some incriminating statement. But no, he’d let impatience and the occasion get the better of him. His late understanding of the real purpose of the bugged smoke alarm at Sutton Box had hit him so hard he’d almost shut down completely. The fact Devilliers was clearly enjoying his discomfort didn’t make things any better.

Now, in the quiet confines of his office, he stared up at his own smoke alarm. Quickly dragging his desk into position, he clambered up and opened it. He couldn’t see anything compromising yet it seemed different. It was shiny new. He wandered into the main office and sidled up to Stanley.

“Has someone changed the smoke alarm in my office recently?”

“Yes, Boss. A bloke from Building Services came over while you were out yesterday, said you’d asked for a replacement,” Stan replied.

He knew he’d never done that, so asked, “When was the last time they changed them?”

His colleague didn’t need to think about it. “The end of March to use up any money left in the budget. They must have forgotten your office back then. Just as well you let them know.”

Thurstan knew they hadn’t forgotten. He’d had a listening device on his office ceiling for over a year. What had triggered it? The only thing he could think of was maybe someone had brought the Chief’s attention to the Lennie Turner article on the internet.

But now, it wasn’t needed. He wondered why and reassessed his options. Well, resigning wasn’t one of them. He’d wait it out, see what Devilliers would do to make his life more difficult.

Meanwhile, he had work to do, staff appraisals to conduct, forms to complete and submit to those who must have them, statistical returns to approve. He found it hard to concentrate fully but it had to be done.

Two days later, he arrived home at his usual hour to find a reception committee had followed him into the close. Professional Standards officers slipped from their unmarked cars and presented him with a warrant to search the house and garage. They said they had information he was dealing in drugs and were looking for the evidence. He’d laughed at the mere thought of it.

There were four of them. Three men and the woman he’d previously spoken to at Sutton Box, the one who’d investigated Gandalph. Two began to search, the female completed the search log whilst the man in charge said he’d left his phone in the car and needed it because he was expecting an important call. It wasn’t too long before he returned and explained the delay – he’d spoken to his caller. They were all quite affable, given the circumstances. The three forming the search team were apologetic; they were just doing their job, he knew the score etc.

The atmosphere changed after they moved to the garage and discovered a bag of cocaine, which they tested there, sizeable enough to indicate more than personal use and £1,000 in cash stashed behind a toolbox.

In retrospect, Thurstan realised he should have been more switched on, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. Before entering the house, the boss man had insisted they take a quick look at the back garden, which was accessed by paving laid between the garage and the main building. He wanted to assess what would still need to be done when they’d finished in the house, he’d said.

Thurstan had thought nothing of it, but now ... he knew the man had been looking for somewhere he could leave what he’d obviously brought with him. He’d even commented on the rear door to the garage. “Garage door, key in lock. That’s good, in a lot of places people can’t find the right keys and we have to force it to get in, so we’re OK there,” he’d said, with a pleasant, matter of fact smile.

Told he was being arrested, Thurstan was searched as standard procedure and told there was no need for handcuffs as they wanted to keep things low key for his sake with the neighbours.

The house secured, the consequences of being taken to a custody suite in Merseyside flashed through his head as they drove out of the street. When being booked in, there would be people there who knew him: no smoke without fire was a default position amongst many police officers. At some point, he’d find himself sitting in a cell, door open, staring back at some young bobby on a chair outside, on suicide watch.

When he saw the route they took, a sense of relief flooded through him. They took him to Cheshire, a small, out of the way station with a decommissioned custody office, re-opened especially for him.

In interview, he waived the right to a solicitor, lodged the complaint the drugs were planted and replied ‘no comment’ to all other questions. Bailed to re-appear when forensics had examined everything found, he waited for Lizzie to come and collect him.

The female PSD officer was speaking to another at the front desk. The look she gave him, a hint of an apologetic smile, told him she was not completely on board with what was going on.

Despite the long journey from Manchester, when she arrived, Lizzie was still incandescent at the allegations being made and was ready to fight with her fists for her husband. In comparison, Muhammad Ali was just a butterfly. Thurstan managed to calm her down and mentioned the female PSD officer. When she caught a glimpse, Liz declared, “I know her. We did a course together once. She came across as a decent person.”

Her husband was still talking, but she wasn’t listening anymore. She kept looking over at the officer until eye contact and an almost imperceptible inclination of the head was made, then she announced she was going to the toilets.

On her return, she told him, “We just had a little chat in the loo. She told me she’s not happy with the way they did the search and she’s not convinced the allegations are true, but she can’t say more.”

Thurstan didn’t tell her that during her absence, whilst he stood outside taking in some much-needed fresh air, the man in charge of the proceedings had sidled up to him and surreptitiously said, “You’ve got twenty-four hours to get your resignation on the Chief’s desk and it’ll all go away. He guarantees it, and so do I because I’ll be the one doing it. If you make the wrong decision, you’ll be going down, no safe job in the library or kitchens for you, Thurstan. I’ll give you a tip though – keep your boxers on in the showers.”