happened. I couldn’t handle
it.’
‘That’s
it exactly,’ Lucky said with sudden sharpness. ‘You’re meant to be tough, not
feel like that. That’s the victim’s prerogative.’
Nina
looked at her in surprise.
They got back to
the office just as Zoltan Schneider said into the phone, ‘Right, guv. Yep. I’ll
get it sorted.’ He hung up and called across the room, ‘OK. One volunteer for
obbo tonight. Don’t all leap up at once.’
Nina,
who’d just finished booking in, raised her arm and walked over to her desk
without looking at him. She sat down and glanced up to find the DI smiling at
her like a crocodile.
He
said, ‘You feeling all right, Nina?’
‘I
said I’d do it.’
‘It’s
only for a couple of hours.’
‘Fine.’
He
waited. Nina wiggled her mouse, waited for the screensaver to disappear and
started typing in her password.
‘Don’t
you want to know what it is?’ Zoltan enquired.
A taxi’s clattering
diesel engine woke her and she sat up with a start, cursing under her breath.
She looked at the dashboard clock. Twenty to midnight. ‘Shit!’ she said aloud.
How many times? How often had she been told, had it hammered home again and
again by the instructors at Hendon and every guv’nor since, never, never fall
asleep on obbo? She scrabbled around for the log, peered out through the
windscreen into Ballards Way, and said again, helplessly, ‘Shit!’
Then
she stopped, and sat back. Her short-term memory had just kicked in, reminding
her that she had not, after all, committed the cardinal sin. The rostered two
hours had finished at half past nine and she’d spent some time unwinding,
wondering about the prospects as regarded going home. She must have unwound too
far. Heaving a sigh, she peered across the street to the Clarkes’ house, roof
tiles thrown into sharp relief by the light of an almost full moon. The house
itself was in darkness and the two cars were both in the drive, Mrs Clarke’s
Golf in front. Halfway up the side wall a red pinpoint of light showed that the
burglar alarm was on. No-one was coming in or going out tonight.
She drove home to
Addiscombe. The house was still; presumably everyone was asleep. She let
herself in and crept upstairs, closing the bathroom door before switching on
the light to take out her contacts, remove what remained of her makeup and
brush her teeth. This done, she tiptoed across the landing to the bedroom.
In
the moonlight she could make out a shape under the bedclothes. The painful knot
that had been drawing ever tighter about her stomach loosened. She stood for a
moment in the darkness, listening to the slow, even rhythm of breathing.
Satisfied, she undressed, found her pyjamas folded on the chair by the window,
put them on and climbed gingerly into bed.
‘Mmm?’
a voice muttered.
Nina
said, ‘You awake?’
‘You’ve
just got in.’ There was a stirring, and an arm extended to encircle her waist.
She was kissed, the prickle of encroaching beard growth stinging her lips.
‘Yeah,’
she answered, belatedly. ‘Just this minute.’
‘Where’ve
you been?’
‘Obbo,’
she yawned. ‘Tell you about it in the morning.’
‘Tell
me about it now,’ came the affectionate wheedle. A twinge of irritation stabbed
through her before she could stop it. Hard to believe she’d once found that
wheedle endearing.
She
sighed.
‘I
just need to know you’re all right.’
Nina
said, ‘What time were Mum and Dad home?’
‘Dunno.’
‘What
d’you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I
didn’t hear them.’
‘I
tried to ring, let you know where I was.’
‘When?’
‘Couple
of times. Went to voicemail.’
‘Must’ve
left my phone when I went out.’
‘You
went out?’
‘Yeah.’
Nina
frowned in the dark. ‘Well, if you went out you won’t have heard them come in.’
‘No,
s’pose not.’
‘Why’d
you go out, anyway?’
‘I
got bored, rosebud. Rang Terry and went up the
it.’
‘That’s
it exactly,’ Lucky said with sudden sharpness. ‘You’re meant to be tough, not
feel like that. That’s the victim’s prerogative.’
Nina
looked at her in surprise.
They got back to
the office just as Zoltan Schneider said into the phone, ‘Right, guv. Yep. I’ll
get it sorted.’ He hung up and called across the room, ‘OK. One volunteer for
obbo tonight. Don’t all leap up at once.’
Nina,
who’d just finished booking in, raised her arm and walked over to her desk
without looking at him. She sat down and glanced up to find the DI smiling at
her like a crocodile.
He
said, ‘You feeling all right, Nina?’
‘I
said I’d do it.’
‘It’s
only for a couple of hours.’
‘Fine.’
He
waited. Nina wiggled her mouse, waited for the screensaver to disappear and
started typing in her password.
‘Don’t
you want to know what it is?’ Zoltan enquired.
A taxi’s clattering
diesel engine woke her and she sat up with a start, cursing under her breath.
She looked at the dashboard clock. Twenty to midnight. ‘Shit!’ she said aloud.
How many times? How often had she been told, had it hammered home again and
again by the instructors at Hendon and every guv’nor since, never, never fall
asleep on obbo? She scrabbled around for the log, peered out through the
windscreen into Ballards Way, and said again, helplessly, ‘Shit!’
Then
she stopped, and sat back. Her short-term memory had just kicked in, reminding
her that she had not, after all, committed the cardinal sin. The rostered two
hours had finished at half past nine and she’d spent some time unwinding,
wondering about the prospects as regarded going home. She must have unwound too
far. Heaving a sigh, she peered across the street to the Clarkes’ house, roof
tiles thrown into sharp relief by the light of an almost full moon. The house
itself was in darkness and the two cars were both in the drive, Mrs Clarke’s
Golf in front. Halfway up the side wall a red pinpoint of light showed that the
burglar alarm was on. No-one was coming in or going out tonight.
She drove home to
Addiscombe. The house was still; presumably everyone was asleep. She let
herself in and crept upstairs, closing the bathroom door before switching on
the light to take out her contacts, remove what remained of her makeup and
brush her teeth. This done, she tiptoed across the landing to the bedroom.
In
the moonlight she could make out a shape under the bedclothes. The painful knot
that had been drawing ever tighter about her stomach loosened. She stood for a
moment in the darkness, listening to the slow, even rhythm of breathing.
Satisfied, she undressed, found her pyjamas folded on the chair by the window,
put them on and climbed gingerly into bed.
‘Mmm?’
a voice muttered.
Nina
said, ‘You awake?’
‘You’ve
just got in.’ There was a stirring, and an arm extended to encircle her waist.
She was kissed, the prickle of encroaching beard growth stinging her lips.
‘Yeah,’
she answered, belatedly. ‘Just this minute.’
‘Where’ve
you been?’
‘Obbo,’
she yawned. ‘Tell you about it in the morning.’
‘Tell
me about it now,’ came the affectionate wheedle. A twinge of irritation stabbed
through her before she could stop it. Hard to believe she’d once found that
wheedle endearing.
She
sighed.
‘I
just need to know you’re all right.’
Nina
said, ‘What time were Mum and Dad home?’
‘Dunno.’
‘What
d’you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I
didn’t hear them.’
‘I
tried to ring, let you know where I was.’
‘When?’
‘Couple
of times. Went to voicemail.’
‘Must’ve
left my phone when I went out.’
‘You
went out?’
‘Yeah.’
Nina
frowned in the dark. ‘Well, if you went out you won’t have heard them come in.’
‘No,
s’pose not.’
‘Why’d
you go out, anyway?’
‘I
got bored, rosebud. Rang Terry and went up the
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