Death on the Eleventh Hole Read Online Free PDF Page B

was shut upon the world outside.
    ***
    Lambert was getting ready to leave the police station at Oldford when the call came.
    ‘Chief Constable here, John. Could you come up to my office for a moment, please?’ There was an odd diffidence in the usually confident voice, but what may be framed in the form of a polite request is a command when it comes from the CC, even to a superintendent.
    Douglas Gibson had known John Lambert for over twenty years, had indeed been instrumental in allowing him the freedom to operate like a superintendent from a previous age, one who attended the scenes of crimes and questioned suspects himself as investigations developed. Gibson was a silver-haired, handsome man, who preferred to keep his finger on the pulse of a small efficient country police force rather than move on to the larger city post he could undoubtedly have commanded.
    He was unusually constrained on this Tuesday afternoon, as the sun poured into his office on the top floor of the building. There was a tray with china cups and saucers and a tray of ginger nuts. ‘I’m elevated to VIP status today,’ said Lambert, as he sat down in front of the huge desk.
    Gibson smiled wanly as he came round the desk and sat in one of the armchairs beside the senior officer in his CID section. He was a man who was good with words, who could use the guarded phrases of diplomacy with the public as easily as he could fire bullets at officers who fell below the standards of efficiency or integrity which he demanded. Yet now, with a man he had known and respected for years, he did not know how to begin.
    ‘How are things at home, John?’ Gibson’s words sounded feeble in his own ears.
    ‘Not bad. Christine’s had no recurrence of the breast cancer, and the heart bypass seems to have given her a new lease of life. She’s teaching again, and enjoying it. A part-time post: five half-days a week.’
    ‘I’m glad to hear it!’ Gibson was relieved to be able to say something genuine. His own daughter had been taught by Christine Lambert, a quarter of a century ago, and still spoke of her with great affection. ‘She has a lot to give, your missus. How old is she now, John?’
    With that question, Lambert knew suddenly what this was all about, as clearly as if it had been written on the Chief Constable’s forehead. ‘You want to talk to me about retirement, don’t you?’
    Relief suffused Gibson’s features before he could stop it. ‘I should have known you’d be on to me before I could come out with it. Yes, I’m afraid that’s why I asked you up here.’
    Lambert didn’t know what he thought, could not even estimate his own reaction to the news, beyond a ridiculous pleasure that he had taken the initiative himself in raising the word. His tongue seemed to run on without any permission from his brain as it said, ‘Well, I’m fifty-eight already, as you no doubt know from the staff files: three years beyond the normal age of retirement.’
    ‘Yes, I do know that. It was I who made out the case for your service to be extended. Not that the authorities needed much persuasion, in your case, I’m happy to say.’
    ‘But now it’s time to go.’
    ‘Not as far as I’m concerned. You know I’d keep you on as long as you were prepared to stay, if I was allowed to. But our masters think they know better. They’re wrong in this case, as they so often are.’
    Lambert swallowed a bite of biscuit, forced himself to take a mouthful of his cooling tea. ‘I can’t grumble. I’ve had a good innings.’ He grinned sourly at the feeble metaphor.
    ‘If they extended service on the basis of results, you’d be here for another twenty years, John.’
    ‘Thank you for that. But sometimes the outsider’s view is the more objective. It’s probably time I went.’ He felt anaesthetized, as if he were listening to someone else making the appropriate modest responses.
    ‘Not from the standpoint of crime detection it isn’t, John. But maybe from