The hair’s being tested as we speak. Should be something new on the details later today. I’ll make sure forensics give you a shout.’
‘Make sure it’s not too late,’ Foster said. ‘My action plan says bedsocks and cocoa by nine.’
Heather was waiting for him in her car outside the charity shop on Chamberlayne Road, a drab traffic-choked street that bisected Kensal Rise, a suburb that still carried a crackle of danger despite gentrification.
He parked up and walked to her new Saab, battling
great gusts of wind that transformed the fine rain into
blasting hoses of cold water. He got in the passenger seat and looked around. ‘Very nice,’ he said, inhaling the heady scent of a new car. ‘Came with the promotion, did it?’
She smiled. ‘Felt like treating myself
‘Yeah, I heard about your mum’s death. Why didn’t you
tell me?’
‘You were off work, recovering. I didn’t want to bother
you with personal stuff.’
Well, you should have. Anyway, I was sorry to hear
about it. How’ve you been?’
“I won’t pretend it’s been easy,’ she said.
He paused, looked out of the window and watched the
rain spatter against it in the breeze. ‘I happen to think the death of your mum is the one that feels the most profound.
The body that carried you, brought you into the
world, reduced to dust. You never get over that one — you just learn to live with it.’ He turned back to face her.
She nodded. “I know what you mean.’
Her face was pale, severe even. The eyes, usually lined
with kohl and dancing with energy, anger, humour were
hollow and lined with stress.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked.
She smiled again but he could see there was little genuine about it. ‘Just not feeling great. Loads of stress, loads of grief, loads of stuff to mull over. I didn’t think it would hit me this hard. I seem to have lost a bit of faith in my judgements and myself. I’m all over the place, to be honest with you.’
He looked at her for a while. It had been his plan to
moan about Harris and being sidelined on this case, rant about the absurd amount of cotton wool he was being wrapped in. In light of Heather’s woes, it didn’t seem that important any more. Her life was a mess and she was working through it. He’d been doing that for years. Look where he was. Part of him felt he should try to persuade her to get herself signed off sick, go somewhere warm where she could get away from it and recharge. ‘Look at
me,’ he might say, ‘this is what happens when you close
yourself down.’ But there would be little point. The job had pulled her in and then tightened its tentacles. It was like that. You tried to make the world a safer place; you poured your life into your work, even if it meant your own went to the wall.
What happened between you and Barnes? Didn’t that
work out?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Not really. No fault of his. When
my mum died, I didn’t fancy the idea of a new relationship.
An ex got in touch to express his condolences and,
you know, the familiar, the devil I knew, seemed preferable to …’
Her voice trailed away.
Foster sensed some regret, as if she wasn’t convinced.
Wish I hadn’t sent you along to see him yesterday. Must
have been awkward.’
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you did. It was nice seeing him. I wasn’t very fair but I think he understands.’ She paused, looked out of the window. ‘He’s a nice bloke.’
That’s enough Agony Aunt crap, Foster thought. ‘Come
on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get cracking’
They climbed out and hurried the short distance to the
shop. As Foster pushed the door, a bell rang inside. The place was empty of customers but teeming with bric-a brac: books, CDs, a few toys and racks of unwanted
clothes. At the counter two women, one elderly, the other in her thirties, stood talking in hushed voices. One of them glanced irritably at Foster and Heather as they
entered, before
‘Make sure it’s not too late,’ Foster said. ‘My action plan says bedsocks and cocoa by nine.’
Heather was waiting for him in her car outside the charity shop on Chamberlayne Road, a drab traffic-choked street that bisected Kensal Rise, a suburb that still carried a crackle of danger despite gentrification.
He parked up and walked to her new Saab, battling
great gusts of wind that transformed the fine rain into
blasting hoses of cold water. He got in the passenger seat and looked around. ‘Very nice,’ he said, inhaling the heady scent of a new car. ‘Came with the promotion, did it?’
She smiled. ‘Felt like treating myself
‘Yeah, I heard about your mum’s death. Why didn’t you
tell me?’
‘You were off work, recovering. I didn’t want to bother
you with personal stuff.’
Well, you should have. Anyway, I was sorry to hear
about it. How’ve you been?’
“I won’t pretend it’s been easy,’ she said.
He paused, looked out of the window and watched the
rain spatter against it in the breeze. ‘I happen to think the death of your mum is the one that feels the most profound.
The body that carried you, brought you into the
world, reduced to dust. You never get over that one — you just learn to live with it.’ He turned back to face her.
She nodded. “I know what you mean.’
Her face was pale, severe even. The eyes, usually lined
with kohl and dancing with energy, anger, humour were
hollow and lined with stress.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked.
She smiled again but he could see there was little genuine about it. ‘Just not feeling great. Loads of stress, loads of grief, loads of stuff to mull over. I didn’t think it would hit me this hard. I seem to have lost a bit of faith in my judgements and myself. I’m all over the place, to be honest with you.’
He looked at her for a while. It had been his plan to
moan about Harris and being sidelined on this case, rant about the absurd amount of cotton wool he was being wrapped in. In light of Heather’s woes, it didn’t seem that important any more. Her life was a mess and she was working through it. He’d been doing that for years. Look where he was. Part of him felt he should try to persuade her to get herself signed off sick, go somewhere warm where she could get away from it and recharge. ‘Look at
me,’ he might say, ‘this is what happens when you close
yourself down.’ But there would be little point. The job had pulled her in and then tightened its tentacles. It was like that. You tried to make the world a safer place; you poured your life into your work, even if it meant your own went to the wall.
What happened between you and Barnes? Didn’t that
work out?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Not really. No fault of his. When
my mum died, I didn’t fancy the idea of a new relationship.
An ex got in touch to express his condolences and,
you know, the familiar, the devil I knew, seemed preferable to …’
Her voice trailed away.
Foster sensed some regret, as if she wasn’t convinced.
Wish I hadn’t sent you along to see him yesterday. Must
have been awkward.’
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you did. It was nice seeing him. I wasn’t very fair but I think he understands.’ She paused, looked out of the window. ‘He’s a nice bloke.’
That’s enough Agony Aunt crap, Foster thought. ‘Come
on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get cracking’
They climbed out and hurried the short distance to the
shop. As Foster pushed the door, a bell rang inside. The place was empty of customers but teeming with bric-a brac: books, CDs, a few toys and racks of unwanted
clothes. At the counter two women, one elderly, the other in her thirties, stood talking in hushed voices. One of them glanced irritably at Foster and Heather as they
entered, before
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