Chapter Three
Sidney Buckmaster preferred to be called Buck, for obvious reasons. The old fashioned name, carried by generations of Buckmaster men before him, had never sat well with his self-image as a modern man and a street-wise cop. He was black haired, blue eyed and average height, with the toned physique of the international rower that he had previously been.
Not that he worked the street so much anymore, having bounced around various posts before ending up as the Community Constable for Ellerslie. It gave him an office in the main street, the flexibility of setting his own hours, and less stress than he’d had previously. The downside was that he had endless meetings of well-meaning-but-decidedly-boring groups and committees, head-pounding calls from old ladies complaining about the music next door, and the local councillor moaning about the hooligans speeding down his street but failing to mention his own son who had been on the needle for years.
All in all it wasn’t a bad job, and it gave him time to continue with his studies-half way through a law degree and counting. Maybe when he finished he could work for the Crown. Or maybe not. Another mixed blessing of the job was that his old partner Dan Crowley had his office just up the road. The upside was that they got to hang out a bit and Molly would bring down baking for him. The downside was that Dan continually asked for favours, just as he was doing right now.
‘I don’t know of anyone,’ Buck told him, rocking back in his chair.
The office was the size of a large broom cupboard, and the walls were covered with Wanted posters and community notices. Dan frowned across the crowded desk at him.
‘Come on Bucko, don’t gimme that. There must be someone wanting to get out of the job.’
‘Maybe there is,’ Buck replied, ‘but nobody that I know of. I got your message, I made some calls, and nobody bit.’ He hiked his shoulders helplessly. ‘It’s not my fault!’
‘What about old Grayson? He must be nearly retired now? Or what about Jamie Dodds, he was always talking about getting out and going private. Did you speak to him?’
‘Grayson retired already, he’s gone to work for WINZ. Fifty grand plus a car.’
Dan pulled a face.
‘Doddsy’s going to the Solomons for six months, leaves next week.’
‘Huh.’ Dan pulled another face, thinking hard. ‘What about Sonya Stocks? She was keen a while back, what about her?’
‘Taken promotion. She’s a DS now in Avondale.’ Buck looked apologetic. ‘Sorry mate, but there’s nobody around that I know of. Besides, not every ex-cop wants to be a PI. It’s got that image.’
Dan shot him a look.
‘What image?’ he demanded.
‘You know….kind of sleazy.’
‘Sleazy?’ Dan looked shocked. ‘You wash your mouth out, young man! I won’t have you slandering my profession like that!’
A new voice broke in from behind them, one that they both knew only too well. It made Dan’s skin crawl.
‘Why not? It’s a sleazy industry, and you fit right in.’
Dan turned in his chair and looked up at the newcomer. Detective Inspector Hugh Kennedy. He was a small man, wiry and no-chested, with a long sharp nose and beady green eyes. His rapidly receding dark hair was styled in a particularly bad comb-over and left a dusting of dry scalp on the shoulders of his suit jacket. Dan had met sex offenders he liked more than this high flier.
‘Well if it’s not the Monty Burns of the Police,’ he returned, his lip curling in disgust, ‘what an unexpected disappointment to see you.’
‘What’re you doing here Dan?’ Kennedy asked, entering the office and putting a pile of files on Buck’s desk. ‘Wasting Police time with some trivial complaint, or are you trying to get Constable Buckmaster to illegally pass on information to you?’
‘Neither of the above, Roll-on,’ Dan replied, deliberately referring to Kennedy’s body odour problem, ‘just passing the time of day with a fellow professional. Of course I won’t extend the same courtesy to you, for obvious reasons.’
‘What, me being professional and you not?’
‘No.’ Dan rolled his eyes. ‘More like you being a twat.’
‘Oh good one,’ Kennedy smirked, ‘that one cut me to the bone. Excellent effort.’
He jerked a thumb at the door. ‘Now take a hike, we’ve got Police business to discuss.’
Dan took his time getting to his feet. Kennedy waited patiently, a smug smirk on his weasel face.
‘Cheers Buck,’ Dan said, ‘catch ya later.’
Kennedy blocked his way to the door and tilted his head to eye-ball him.
‘You know the most important thing about an ex-cop?’ he asked.
Dan eye-balled him back.
‘The ex,’ Kennedy answered his own question with a self-satisfied smirk.
Dan was sorely tempted to smash a fist into his smug face and even felt his arm twitch involuntarily. Kennedy sensed it too, and rocked back on his heels as if expecting a blow.
‘Spot ya later, Danno,’ Buck intervened, breaking the tension.
Dan held the stare down, not looking at his old friend.
‘Yeah,’ he rasped through gritted teeth, ‘see ya round.’
Kennedy moved half-aside and Dan brushed past him, ignoring the old guy at the front desk and letting himself out. He paused at the front entrance and said loudly to the volunteer,
‘I’d leave the door open for a bit if I was you mate; it’ll let the smell out.’
The old guy looked confused and Dan immediately felt bad about using him as a prop for a shot at Kennedy. He gave the guy a thumbs up and left him to it.