Free The Cambridge Theorem by Tony Cape Page B

casualness of Dearnley’s manner that he knew exactly why Smailes had asked the question, and that the connection between himself and the boy’s father was awkward for him. Smailes felt as if he had played a mean trick.
    Both men looked away as the silence extended. The problem was the expectations they had for each other. Smailes thought to himself that he couldn’t have it both ways. If George had an undeclared interest in this Crowe School case, what about his own undeclared interest in George? It was never acknowledged by the two men, but they both knew it keenly, as did most of the CID detectives. He had known George Dearnley since boyhood, and had only stopped calling him Uncle George after he had joined the force. The advantages he had enjoyed at the station were subtle, but real. As she had done moments ago, Gloria usually nodded him through without an appointment when he wanted a word in private. And Dearnley, although he carefully avoided any overt favoritism, always managed to let Smailes know which way the wind was blowing from Hinchingbrooke, so he was prepared when the brass came through with policy changes. Smailes had not won his sergeant’s stripes in any record time, but he was fairly sure Dearnley went to bat for him whenever doors were closed. He was an unconventional cop, and was under no illusion that he owed some measure of his success to this unstated patronage.
    Smailes had joined the police force because it had seemed inevitable, but had stayed because there was something fundamentally satisfying to him in its simple duties. He found himself confused on many issues, particularly those involving freedom and responsibility, and equity and power in general. But he was not confused about the necessity of the laws of the land, or about the desirability of enforcing them. Crooks were crooks, whether they were bullion thieves or neurotic shoplifting housewives. He felt good about catching them, about his small contribution to things being orderly and safe. Let someone else decide the bigger issues. He couldn’t even decide which way to vote.
    Still, he could not claim to be at ease in the policeman’s domain. He had never understood his colleagues’ boorish preoccupation with “villains,” and their small-minded bigotries and occasional brutalities troubled him. But in his eyes, Dearnley was different, and Smailes knew he felt awkward about anything that appeared to stain the Chief Super’s motives in his eyes. He trusted Dearnley the way he trusted no one else on the force. Dearnley understood him intuitively, had known him all his life, and particularly understood his complex relationship with his father, and the mechanism of guilt and resentment that was its hinge. And Dearnley was discreet. Smailes loved to watch George in action in tight situations, the way he could accomplish awkward tasks with few words. Since Smailes’ divorce, George would occasionally ask questions about his mother, or Tracy, and even probe a little about his amorous liaisons. But mostly the two men guarded their privacy, and maintained the conventions of the junior and senior officer relationship. But Smailes was grateful he finally had a more evenhanded authority to appease, and Dearnley knew it.
    He kept his voice even and looked George directly in the eye. “He did a good job, Swedenbank, for a first try. He’s going to be good,” he said.
    â€œGood Sergeant, keep me posted,” said Dearnley, returning to the fat computer print out he had been studying when Smailes had entered.
    George Dearnley waited until the Smailes’ footsteps had retreated well down the hall before looking up. “Bloody impertinence,” he said under his breath.

    It was shortly after one forty-five when Smailes drew up outside St. Margaret’s, and the scene had returned to normal, bereft of bystanders and emergency vehicles. He parked his car in the space reserved for The Master,