before. ‘She also tells me you’ve had a difficult six months,’ she went on, her eyes not leaving the desk. ‘I have a habit of asking too much of people, Laura. Don’t let me do that to you.’
THE PARTRIDGE MAY have seen the shadow of the predator hovering overhead. It may have felt the rush of wind as the falcon dived. It may even have had a split second to look death in the eyes and say how-do-you-do before strong talons crushed the life out of it. The falconer doubted it. He’d rarely seen a swifter kill.
The two birds, hunter and prey, fell from sight behind a hedge and the falconer stepped up his pace. Merry, the older and more reliable of his two pointers, trotted ahead, leading him right to the spot where the falcon’s strong, curved beak was already tearing the partridge apart. The man bent and lifted the falcon before taking out a knife and cutting the partridge’s head off. He gave it to the victor.
Whilst the falcon ate, the man who was sometimes foolish enough to tell himself that he owned the bird looked at the swirling grey sky, the upper clouds just turning the rich, deep peach of winter sunsets. The weak January sun was little more than an echo on the horizon and there was less than an hour of light left. As he fastened the falcon back on to the perch he ran his hand over its head, whispering praise.
The partridge joined the others in his bag and the falconer walked on. When his phone rang he cursed softly but pulled it from deep inside his oilskin coat.
‘Nick Bell,’ he said. Then, after a second, ‘How bad do they say she is?’
A few more seconds passed while he listened. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll head over there now.’
‘SO HOW HAVE you been this week, Jessica?’
‘Fine.’
Evi smiled. There couldn’t be more than five years between the girl sitting in the chair opposite and the policewoman who’d just vacated it, but Evi couldn’t imagine two more different faces. The police officer had been close to classically beautiful, but with a face as silent as stone. She gave nothing away. This girl, on the other hand, with her large brown eyes and coffee-coloured skin, couldn’t hide a thing. Flickering eyelashes, the gleam of a tear, eyes unable to maintain contact and so fidgety she could have just rolled in itching powder. This girl might say she was fine; her body language said she was anything but.
‘I’m glad you came today,’ said Evi. ‘I was worried last week, when we didn’t hear from you.’
Jessica Calloway looked down at the hands in her lap, then up again, to the large window. She raised one hand and rubbed the side of her face. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I phoned, the next day. Maybe a couple of days later.’
‘Yes, you did, thank you,’ said Evi. ‘The message I got was that you’d been ill, is that right?’
Jessica nodded. She pushed a finger into her hair and started twisting a tight blonde curl around it.
‘Nothing serious, I hope,’ said Evi. She already knew Jessica hadn’t been to her GP. If she had, Evi’s clinic would have been notified.
‘Just a bug, I think,’ said Jessica. ‘To be honest, I can’t remember much about it. I just crashed. Slept through a day, a night and another day. Woke up feeling like shit. Sorry.’
‘No problem. I feel like that myself sometimes,’ said Evi. ‘How’s your appetite?’
Jessica sighed, like a teenager whose mother was on her case again. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Pretty good.’
Evi let her eyes travel down Jessica’s body to the fur-lined boots that swamped her lower legs. Jessica’s jeans were loose on her and the shoulder seam of her top dropped halfway down her upper arms. She looked as though she’d lost even more weight in the two weeks since Evi had seen her.
‘Have you had any more trouble with practical jokes?’ Evi asked.
The glint in the girl’s eyes became brighter.
‘Anything you can tell me about?’ Evi pressed.
Jessica shook her head. ‘I don’t know what
THE PARTRIDGE MAY have seen the shadow of the predator hovering overhead. It may have felt the rush of wind as the falcon dived. It may even have had a split second to look death in the eyes and say how-do-you-do before strong talons crushed the life out of it. The falconer doubted it. He’d rarely seen a swifter kill.
The two birds, hunter and prey, fell from sight behind a hedge and the falconer stepped up his pace. Merry, the older and more reliable of his two pointers, trotted ahead, leading him right to the spot where the falcon’s strong, curved beak was already tearing the partridge apart. The man bent and lifted the falcon before taking out a knife and cutting the partridge’s head off. He gave it to the victor.
Whilst the falcon ate, the man who was sometimes foolish enough to tell himself that he owned the bird looked at the swirling grey sky, the upper clouds just turning the rich, deep peach of winter sunsets. The weak January sun was little more than an echo on the horizon and there was less than an hour of light left. As he fastened the falcon back on to the perch he ran his hand over its head, whispering praise.
The partridge joined the others in his bag and the falconer walked on. When his phone rang he cursed softly but pulled it from deep inside his oilskin coat.
‘Nick Bell,’ he said. Then, after a second, ‘How bad do they say she is?’
A few more seconds passed while he listened. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll head over there now.’
‘SO HOW HAVE you been this week, Jessica?’
‘Fine.’
Evi smiled. There couldn’t be more than five years between the girl sitting in the chair opposite and the policewoman who’d just vacated it, but Evi couldn’t imagine two more different faces. The police officer had been close to classically beautiful, but with a face as silent as stone. She gave nothing away. This girl, on the other hand, with her large brown eyes and coffee-coloured skin, couldn’t hide a thing. Flickering eyelashes, the gleam of a tear, eyes unable to maintain contact and so fidgety she could have just rolled in itching powder. This girl might say she was fine; her body language said she was anything but.
‘I’m glad you came today,’ said Evi. ‘I was worried last week, when we didn’t hear from you.’
Jessica Calloway looked down at the hands in her lap, then up again, to the large window. She raised one hand and rubbed the side of her face. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I phoned, the next day. Maybe a couple of days later.’
‘Yes, you did, thank you,’ said Evi. ‘The message I got was that you’d been ill, is that right?’
Jessica nodded. She pushed a finger into her hair and started twisting a tight blonde curl around it.
‘Nothing serious, I hope,’ said Evi. She already knew Jessica hadn’t been to her GP. If she had, Evi’s clinic would have been notified.
‘Just a bug, I think,’ said Jessica. ‘To be honest, I can’t remember much about it. I just crashed. Slept through a day, a night and another day. Woke up feeling like shit. Sorry.’
‘No problem. I feel like that myself sometimes,’ said Evi. ‘How’s your appetite?’
Jessica sighed, like a teenager whose mother was on her case again. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Pretty good.’
Evi let her eyes travel down Jessica’s body to the fur-lined boots that swamped her lower legs. Jessica’s jeans were loose on her and the shoulder seam of her top dropped halfway down her upper arms. She looked as though she’d lost even more weight in the two weeks since Evi had seen her.
‘Have you had any more trouble with practical jokes?’ Evi asked.
The glint in the girl’s eyes became brighter.
‘Anything you can tell me about?’ Evi pressed.
Jessica shook her head. ‘I don’t know what
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