The Cassandra Complex - Brian Stableford [109]
The police force was not a happy organization in 2005. For ten years and more, it had been bruised and battered by attempts to root out corruption, institutional racism, and institutional sexism, and its officers were all too well aware of the fact that one of the most widely publicized effects of the introduction of new methods of scientific analysis had been to expose numerous cases of wrongful conviction in which police evidence had been shown to be manufactured. The siege mentality adopted by the police in response to seemingly never-ending criticism of their attitudes and methods ensured that a large minority among them—perhaps even a majority—saw the arrival in their staff operations of a legion of laboratory workers as an invasion of potential fifth columnists. Everyone recognized the necessity of working together, and everyone recognized that the new partnership was capable of delivering considerable rewards, but the necessity was tinged with bitterness and the rewards seemed, in the beginning, to be the rations of Tantalus.
In spite of her own best intentions, Lisa found that she had to cling hard to the relationships she had formed at the university in order to provide some relief from the constant stress of her new workplace. She continued to seek what solace she could in the arms of Morgan Miller, but exposing her new troubles to the commentary of his abrasive mind made her feel as if she were trapped “between the devil and the deep blue sea.” She often found it more restful to see Ed Burdillon or Chan Kwai Keung on a purely platonic basis. Their advice was worthless—Burdillon suggested she immerse herself more fully in her work and focus her attention on the quest for promotion, while Chan wondered whether she might not be a great deal happier if she returned to the groves of academe in order to climb the postdoctoral ladder to tenure—but they were unfailingly sympathetic.
Unfortunately, Lisa was well aware that her continued reliance on old friends was part of her problem rather than any kind of solution. She had to form new relationships within the station, not merely with the laboratory staff alongside whom she had been set to work, but with the officers whose Herculean labors she was supposed to be supporting. She certainly did not want to embark upon any new sexual relationship—within the police force, such liaisons were generally considered to be unhealthily incestuous—but she did need to set up productive and satisfying professional alliances.
It was in this context that her acquaintance with Mike Grundy was forged and tempered.
When she first met him, in 2006, Grundy was a detective constable who had relocated after a sideways move from the uniformed branch. He was hardworking, cheerful, and laid-back. He was not particularly handsome, but he made up for this with a natural charm that made him easy to like. He enjoyed his work enough to be un worried about the necessity of making upward progress through the ranks. Having had no education in science to speak of, he was fascinated by the apparent miracles that the lab workers could perform in regard to fibers and stains, and fascinated by the lab itself, which seemed to him to be a kind of wizard’s cave. He loved to be invited to look down a microscope or to inspect some intricate pattern inscribed in gray gel by patient electrophoresis. And he laughed