CHAPTER 11
Sarah was falling apart, slowly but inexorably. I had watched her as she exploded into life at university, then pushed her to make her life real. Her style would never be mine, but she had become the archetype of a hard-rocking biker girl. Not the cliché I had once heard described as a 'back warmer' by a certain type of male motorcycling sexist, but a rider in her own right. She had grown into exactly the right type of woman for that, long and lean, and the short skirts she liked worked well combined with her rather stunning legs.

Me, jealous? Confused, a little, though. I was looking at what had been my brother, and seeing a woman I would have fancied under different circumstances. She had grown remarkably in confidence, and the more I thought about Joe, the more I realised that she would most likely have come out the other side intact, but for one thing. Rather, but for two complete arseholes.

She was losing it, losing that swagger she had learnt. The papers had had a field day, and Dad's letter to the editor, and later the Press Complaints people, had brought nothing more than replies which made lofty comments about press freedom but actually meant that freaks should expect to be stared at. All of that correspondence was kept from my little sister, of course, but we couldn't hide the rags.

That was one silver lining, as Kev had predicted: the greed and haste of our dynamic duo to get money from the press had resulted in a lack of enthusiasm from the nationals, as the story was already old news in Llais y Sais and the Herald.

Kev was with me the first time, with Evans. I watched him enter the gents', which Kev had checked was clear. As my friend waited outside the door to block any interference, I entered.

“What the fuck you doing in here? This the men's!”

“Then what the fuck is a shit like you doing here? You listen--”

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking to?”

“The arsehole who shat all over my sister, that's who, and the arsehole who is due some shit of his own”

“Sister?”

That was a reaction that nearly sent me over the edge. It wasn't that he clearly didn't consider Sarah to be anybody's 'sister', it was more that he seemed to be asking himself “which one?”, as if there were too many to remember. It clicked: bully, habitual, casual and vicious. I gave him a flat, cold smile.

“Yes, my sister. I hear your nephew had an accident. Not badly hurt enough, aye?”

He paled. “You bitch, you did that?”

I held the eyes, held what I offered as a smile. “No, not me. Do they know where YOU live, yet? I will be watching you, Sergeant Evans, you and that other turd. I will be watching you very, very carefully. Oh, so is the Inspector. But I have far more patience, and so have my friends”

He tried a laugh, and moved towards me. I put one hand on my baton.

“Witness outside, aye? You want ordinary assault, or shall we make it indecent? After all, you are a real man, AYE? BACK OFF!”

He stepped back, frowning. “What the fuck do you imagine you are doing, girl? Walk in and threaten a superior? Are you really that thick?”

“Na, I know better. I'm not threatening you at all. I am simply letting you know that me, my mates, rather a lot of coppers, we have been pissed off by what you did, and the Boss is really pissed off, so here's how it is going to work. From now on, if any of us is in the area when it kicks off, you might find back-up a little slow in arriving. That's just a start, butt, because we are going to work on this, and we are going to work on you. Fucking canteen culture, aye? Stitch my sis up? Well, you are now going to eat a packed fucking lunch outside, cause the canteen is shut. And when you see that cunt Pritchard, tell him the same. I hope your neck is flexible, because you will be looking over your shoulder till I am done”

Out of the door and collect Kev, and keep moving. Shoulder numbers back on before the exit, round to the car, and breathe, breathe, as Kev drove us away. I sighed.

“Empty threats, butt, empty words. Why am I doing this?”

He stayed silent for a long while, until we came to a truckers' café. Unspeaking, he parked up out of sight round the back, and led the way in.

“Two teas, love. Lainey, want a bacon roll? Aye? Two, please”

We took our seats, and my stomach nearly recoiled at the grease. The smell still drew me, and I forced it down. Kev drew a long breath.

“Why are you doing this, Lainey? Because you have to. He attacked your family. Just... Look, don't take this wrong, aye? But I came with you today just to watch your back, because I knew you had to do it, as I said. But here's my advice, for what it's worth: leave him alone now, leave Pritchard. Let them do the worrying, let them take precautions against their imagination. Look, you're into bikes. Remember Ogri?”

“What the hell has a cartoon got to do with this?”

“Bear with me, girl. There was one strip where he had a pompous git on a Goldwing, all pristine and shiny, so he sneaks into his garage--”

“What? Wrecks the bike?”

He grinned. “No, that was the clever thing. He just put a bolt on the floor underneath it. Mr Gitty wheels his bike out, sees the bolt, spends all day stripping the bike down to see where it came from, innit? Same with those two: leave them alone now, aye? Let their own fear do the work, but just one thing: we watch Sar's back”

“Fear, Kev?”

He laughed, and now it was a happy sound. “Lainey, cariad, sweet girl; you really don't want to see yourself when you lose it! You frighten most blokes we work with, innit!”

He turned serious again. “Bolt is under the bike, now, so we step back, And, well, I hate to suggest this, but you have the advantage, even though he is a sergeant. He seemed to me to be a little free with where he was putting his hands when he passed you in the station, aye?”

I stared at him. I had suggested almost the same thing to Evans, of course, when he moved towards me, but this was planning a false accusation in advance. I mean, all the years of listening to idiots, not all of them men, tell me how rape never happened, how so many women were vindictive fantasists, and now my closest male friend was proposing exactly that. He read my face, and held up both hands.

“No, Lainey, not a load of crap to get him taken down, not that. We just keep it back if he starts to play hard, innit. Just in case”

“Perjury, butt?”

“Safety net, Lainey. And just this once, justice, aye?”

That thought stayed with me for months, as Sar went downhill in a steady, predictable way. Kev had kept digging, and more relatives had popped our of the woodwork, more members of the Evans clan, a councillor, a Justice of the Peace. It was like turning over a rock, and some of the crawling vermin had clearly complained as I was called in to see the Boss. He looked down at a piece of paper after locking the door.

“PC Powell, perhaps you might want to think about a few things before diving in”

I started at that, and he held up a calming hand. “No, Elaine, no. I am fully aware of what you and your family have been through. I have seen the statement from Nurse Vaughan, and I have received little bird reports of your visit to a male toilet. That stops, it stops now, all right?”

I sat silent as he paused for very obvious thoughts.

“Elaine, I have hopes for you. You are somebody I see as going well past Sergeant, but you need to learn to pause and think”

A fleeting memory of Rebecca on 'pause'--no. Concentrate.

He smiled. “Oddly, I rather suspect you have succeeded on that score. Thinking and planning, that is. You didn't actually touch him, did you? I will make it clear, if it isn't clear already: this conversation is not taking place. And he didn't touch you, did he? Neither decently nor indecently?”

“No, sir.”

“Wyn, just for today, Elaine. It would appear that his attitude to women is a family thing, so if he ever DID grab you, back or front, well, there is a principle in management. An officer may never have a complaint proven against him, but, well, if all the complaints received say the same thing, then we have what is called a pattern of behaviour. That can be addressed”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Elaine, you should be aware that Sergeant Evans' family is somewhat entrenched around here. They are making noises. On the other hand, he has been rather free with the press, so we have him if we want him. Learn this lesson, Elaine: those above you can also be pissed off when someone acts not only like an arsehole, but also beyond what their profession, indeed the law itself, allows. The lesson is to let us do the poking of monkeys. Oh yes...”

He smiled. “I believe that Joe Evans met with a rather serious accident, and the messages I have been inundated with are mostly concerned with the odd fear that such misfortune may continue to fall on that family. Do not say anything, for I am not going to ask, as I do not wish an answer truthful or otherwise. Just listen.

“For some reason, Detective Sergeant Evans is looking for a move out of the area. It will look like a promotion. It isn't. I happen to know that the station he is hoping to join is of short life expectancy, so he will be made surplus rather more quickly than he expects. Pensioned off early, in other words, but away from your machinations”

“Does he know about the closure?”

A truly feral grin. “No, and neither do his relatives. They see themselves as clever, but all they are is mouth and money. Different force. Oh sod it, Elaine, I spoke to the other lot at length because nobody actually wanted Bob Evans, as he is rapidly gaining even more of a reputation than he already had. I did a deal with Heddlu Gogledd Cymru. They take him, but he's gone as soon as. God knows what they will want in return, but, well...”

He shuffled the papers again. “Thank you, PC Powell, please unlock the door on your way out”

I stood and went to leave, and as I put my hand to the door he coughed.

“Oh yes, and forget about DC Pritchard. He has an occupational health referral tomorrow. Issues will be found, and medical retirement will be the option offered”

I felt the anger rising again. “And that is it? After what they did?”

His voice hardened. “That, PC Powell, is indeed it. We will not tolerate vigilante work here. I have done my best, and two rotten coppers will soon be away from the good ones. You will go home and look after your sister, and she will heal, and that will be all. Leave it open on your way out”

I walked away, the words held down before I said what I would not be able to take back. I knew one thing, though.

At some point, some day in the future, however distant that might be, Bob Evans and Dai Pritchard would meet me again.