opportunists, after all – no point making life hard for themselves.
And no point me jumping at shadows.
But I kept looking out – and listening too. The back street remained empty; the world stayed silent. When that happens – when you’re an adult, anyway – it’s easy for your nerves to settle, and for you to start down-playing how odd something was. Growing up turns your fears inside out.
It took a while though. When I finally lowered the slat in the blind and went over to make myself that coffee, I touched the plastic on the side of the kettle and needed to put it on again.
Nothing to worry about
, I was telling myself as it boiled.
Nothing at all
.
That morning the weather was blustery and indecisive, the clouds vague white swirls on grey steel. Overcast and drab. Ally and I pottered around, drinking coffee and lazing in bed watching television – or trying to in my case, as my thoughts kept wandering. In the afternoon, we walked down the road to the supermarket in town, then trailed back up lugging plasticbags, with leaves skittering across the pavements and whirling through the air overhead like birds.
I’d almost forgotten about the van by then; the incident in the night, whatever else it was, felt a long time ago now, the way things do when you’ve not slept since they happened but probably should have. Regardless, Ally and I didn’t talk much. My mind kept returning to my father, and every time it did my chest grew tight. Inside, I could tell, I was building to a crescendo. My heart had already decided what I was going to do, and it was just a matter of my head catching up; the longer it took, the more impatient my subconscious was becoming. Eventually, after we’d unpacked the shopping, the emotions reached fever pitch, and I said:
‘I think I’m going to go out for a while, if that’s okay.’
‘Of course.’
Ally sounded like she’d expected it. She didn’t even ask where, and probably already knew, but I said it anyway, as much to myself as to her.
‘To my father’s house.’
Chapter Six
The CCTV monitoring suite for Whitkirk was based in a small room at the back of the station. The room itself was old and in need of refurbishment. There was paint flaking on one wall, and a number of the polystyrene tiles in the ceiling were cracked. One, in the corner, was missing entirely, revealing a network of pipes in the gloomy space under the floor above. When the radiators came on, they clanked and thunked, and the dusty grilles on top made the air smell of slowly simmering rust.
At least, the surveillance equipment was state of the art. A bank of monitors, six across, four down, was built into a wooden casing that curled slightly back against one wall and then out again as it reached the ceiling. Each screen showed a static image of a street or junction. On the desk in front, which was built into the wall unit, there were further screens where on-duty officers could bring an image down for sharper focus, manoeuvring the live camera itself with a joypad, zooming in and out.
Hannah was viewing a separate monitor, sitting at a desk on the other side of the room. Going through older footage. The archives.
‘No joy so far?’
‘Nope.’
She didn’t turn around to look at Ketterick. He was the only officer on duty, a broad-backed Sergeant. Whitkirk was a touristtown, so most of its crime was shoplifting, bag-snatching, pick pocketing, and there wasn’t much of that to cope with. Later on, as the pubs got busy, another officer would probably come on to help. She hoped so, if she was still here then.
Ketterick chuckled.
‘Well, you’re determined. I’ll give you that.’
And that’s all you’ll give me
. He’d already said it to her twice; she wished he’d just shut up and leave her alone. There was nothing worse than people talking for the sake of it. And, apart from anything else, the footage she was watching was running at one-oh-five speed, and turning round for small
And no point me jumping at shadows.
But I kept looking out – and listening too. The back street remained empty; the world stayed silent. When that happens – when you’re an adult, anyway – it’s easy for your nerves to settle, and for you to start down-playing how odd something was. Growing up turns your fears inside out.
It took a while though. When I finally lowered the slat in the blind and went over to make myself that coffee, I touched the plastic on the side of the kettle and needed to put it on again.
Nothing to worry about
, I was telling myself as it boiled.
Nothing at all
.
That morning the weather was blustery and indecisive, the clouds vague white swirls on grey steel. Overcast and drab. Ally and I pottered around, drinking coffee and lazing in bed watching television – or trying to in my case, as my thoughts kept wandering. In the afternoon, we walked down the road to the supermarket in town, then trailed back up lugging plasticbags, with leaves skittering across the pavements and whirling through the air overhead like birds.
I’d almost forgotten about the van by then; the incident in the night, whatever else it was, felt a long time ago now, the way things do when you’ve not slept since they happened but probably should have. Regardless, Ally and I didn’t talk much. My mind kept returning to my father, and every time it did my chest grew tight. Inside, I could tell, I was building to a crescendo. My heart had already decided what I was going to do, and it was just a matter of my head catching up; the longer it took, the more impatient my subconscious was becoming. Eventually, after we’d unpacked the shopping, the emotions reached fever pitch, and I said:
‘I think I’m going to go out for a while, if that’s okay.’
‘Of course.’
Ally sounded like she’d expected it. She didn’t even ask where, and probably already knew, but I said it anyway, as much to myself as to her.
‘To my father’s house.’
Chapter Six
The CCTV monitoring suite for Whitkirk was based in a small room at the back of the station. The room itself was old and in need of refurbishment. There was paint flaking on one wall, and a number of the polystyrene tiles in the ceiling were cracked. One, in the corner, was missing entirely, revealing a network of pipes in the gloomy space under the floor above. When the radiators came on, they clanked and thunked, and the dusty grilles on top made the air smell of slowly simmering rust.
At least, the surveillance equipment was state of the art. A bank of monitors, six across, four down, was built into a wooden casing that curled slightly back against one wall and then out again as it reached the ceiling. Each screen showed a static image of a street or junction. On the desk in front, which was built into the wall unit, there were further screens where on-duty officers could bring an image down for sharper focus, manoeuvring the live camera itself with a joypad, zooming in and out.
Hannah was viewing a separate monitor, sitting at a desk on the other side of the room. Going through older footage. The archives.
‘No joy so far?’
‘Nope.’
She didn’t turn around to look at Ketterick. He was the only officer on duty, a broad-backed Sergeant. Whitkirk was a touristtown, so most of its crime was shoplifting, bag-snatching, pick pocketing, and there wasn’t much of that to cope with. Later on, as the pubs got busy, another officer would probably come on to help. She hoped so, if she was still here then.
Ketterick chuckled.
‘Well, you’re determined. I’ll give you that.’
And that’s all you’ll give me
. He’d already said it to her twice; she wished he’d just shut up and leave her alone. There was nothing worse than people talking for the sake of it. And, apart from anything else, the footage she was watching was running at one-oh-five speed, and turning round for small
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