A Face in the Crowd by Lynda La Plante Page B

arranged his transfer without consulting her, which put Oswalde in a spot he knew he shouldn’t be in. Especially after what had occurred at the conference. Had he been paranoid, Oswalde reflected, he might have suspected that Kernan had deliberately thrown the two of them together, part of a gleeful, devious plot so he could sit back and watch the pair of them squirm.
    No, Kernan would never stoop to that. Would he?
    Oswalde had other eyes on him. Burkin was slumped in his chair, long legs splayed out, chewing a matchstick. He muttered to Rosper at the next desk, “It’s bad enough having to police the buggers, let alone work with them.”
    “You’re only saying that ’cos he’s taller than you,” Rosper quipped, always the easygoing one.
    Burkin was stung. “No he ain’t.”
    The door swung open and Tennison breezed in, raincoat flapping around her. Halfway to her desk she caught sight of Oswalde and stopped dead in her tracks. Oswalde was attempting the impossible, hoping not to draw attention to them both by not looking at her, at the same time trying to convey to her by some mysterious telepathic process that he was as blameless as she was, just another innocent pawn in the game.
    “Tony. Can I have a word, please?”
    Tennison turned about-face and went out.
    Muddyman left his desk and went into the corridor, where he found her pacing up and down, hands deep in her raincoat pockets.
    “Guv?”
    “What’s Bob Oswalde doing here?”
    “You know him?”
    “Answer the question, Tony.”
    “He’s part of the team. Kernan brought him in.”
    “Thank you.”
    With that she marched off to Kernan’s office, leaving Muddyman standing there, wondering what the fuck this was all about.
    Kernan was dictating letters to a clerk when Tennison walked in. He seemed very pleased with himself about something, leaning back with a smug grin on his pouchy, pockmarked face. Tennison’s mind was racing ten to the dozen. It was all a jumble; she wasn’t sure which emotion came first, nor which one to trust. She knew she had to be careful how she handled this.
    “Jane?” Kernan said, which showed he was in a good mood, because normally he would have said with a sigh, Well, what is it?
    “I want a word with you, Guv. Now.”
    “Thank you, Sharon.”
    Immediately after the WPC had gone and the door had closed, Tennison said, “Why did you co-opt someone onto my team without telling me?” She was holding herself in check, her voice reasonably calm, her temper under control—for the moment.
    Kernan lit a cigarette. “It seemed to me that a black officer would be a—how can I put it?—a useful addition.”
    “Why didn’t you consult with me?”
    “Actually, I consulted the Community Liaison Officer, who thought it was an excellent idea.” Kernan gestured with the cigarette. “A black face prominent in this inquiry. An antidote to the Burkins of this world. You’re saying you can’t use an extra man?”
    “No.”
    “Well, what are you saying?”
    “You’ve called in this officer as backup,” Tennison said questioningly, making sure she understood, “because he’s black?”
    Now Kernan did sigh, and rolled his eyes a little. “Jane, I’m not looking for a political argument . . .”
    “It would have been different if he’d been part of the team from the beginning, but now every time I ask him to do something, it’s open to misinterpretation.”
    Kernan gazed blankly up at her. “I don’t understand.”
    Tennison came nearer the desk, her hands clutching the air. “It smacks of tokenism. It’s political maneuvering.”
    Kernan didn’t want to listen to this claptrap, and didn’t see why he should. But Tennison had pumped herself up and wasn’t about to stop. She said heatedly, “You should have asked me first. Pulling rank just undermines me.”
    It was Kernan’s turn to get annoyed. “I wasn’t pulling rank. I was trying to help you out . . .”
    “Oh, bollocks,” Tennison said. Then