why. The innocent ones might think I was justified in talking to the police about their private business, but I wouldn’t count on it. If they disliked me to start with, can you imagine how they’d feel then? They could make a lot of trouble for me.”
“Trouble?” echoed Deacon. “More trouble than firebombing your car, you mean?”
“Oh yes,” said Brodie with conviction.
The policeman had had to make victims accept his help before now but he hadn’t anticipated having a problem with Brodie. He regarded her in disbelief. “So you’re going to sit on a list of suspects until one of them burns your house down?”
“No,” she said evenly. “I’m going to speak to them myself. If one of them’s involved, I’ll tell you.”
“If he lets you!” shouted Deacon.
Brodie squinted along her nose at him. “Don’t take me for a fool, Jack. I won’t meet them on the beach at midnight. I’ll see them in public places with people all around, and I’ll be perfectly safe with most of them because they never meant me any harm, and with the guilty party – if there is a guilty party – because this time I’ll be expecting him and he won’t be expecting me. He’ll be flustered and angry, and I’ll know. And you’ll know soon afterwards.”
Deacon still thought she was risking her safety for a quixotic principle. A man with powerful principles of his own, he was never able to see why other people felt as
strongly about theirs. He was like a zealot who thought his beliefs were religion and all others superstition. But he was marginally reassured that she wasn’t going to put her head on the block in order to satisfy her curiosity as to who was swinging the axe.
Still, he couldn’t resist one more try. “You need someone to watch your back. I’ll come with you. I’ll stay in the background – unless you need help no one will know I’m there.”
Brodie laughed out loud. “Jack, the background hasn’t been invented against which you’d disappear! You go into a room, you fill it; you go into a city and the seams start creaking. You were cut out for undercover work the way octopuses were made to roller-skate!”
She had a point. “How about Charlie Voss? He wouldn’t look like a policeman if you put him back in uniform and made him direct the traffic. Take him with you. For my peace of mind?”
It wouldn’t have been a huge concession. Voss was good at blending. He could sit in the corner of a bar and the barmaid would take him for a regular; he could sit on a park bench and only the pigeons would notice. If she asked him to stay out of sight, none of those she met would see him.
But she’d still be breaking a confidence, and Brodie would know if no one else did. It felt wrong. She didn’t think that being scared was a good enough reason to default on the contract she had with all her clients, past and present.
She shook her head. “I don’t want anyone there. I don’t need anyone there. I’m going to cause enough offence as it is, approaching five men who hoped they’d seen the back of me. I’m not going to risk them spotting Charlie, or you, or anyone else. I’m not going to get hurt, Jack, I’m not
going to give them the chance. But I’m not going in mob-handed either. I can do my job without police protection.”
Deacon knew he wasn’t going to persuade her. But it was hard for him to watch her make a bad decision. He headed for the door, his boots all outraged dignity.
Brodie let him go. In this mood he couldn’t be talked to: when he calmed down he’d come back.
With his hand on the door ready to slam it he delivered his parting shot. “I know one thing about your precious list. There should be six names on it.”
Brodie was confused. “You don’t know who’s on it.”
“No. But I know who isn’t.”
Six names. It was so absurd she wasn’t going to dignify it with consideration. The five she’d listed were improbable enough: the sixth was downright ludicrous.
“Trouble?” echoed Deacon. “More trouble than firebombing your car, you mean?”
“Oh yes,” said Brodie with conviction.
The policeman had had to make victims accept his help before now but he hadn’t anticipated having a problem with Brodie. He regarded her in disbelief. “So you’re going to sit on a list of suspects until one of them burns your house down?”
“No,” she said evenly. “I’m going to speak to them myself. If one of them’s involved, I’ll tell you.”
“If he lets you!” shouted Deacon.
Brodie squinted along her nose at him. “Don’t take me for a fool, Jack. I won’t meet them on the beach at midnight. I’ll see them in public places with people all around, and I’ll be perfectly safe with most of them because they never meant me any harm, and with the guilty party – if there is a guilty party – because this time I’ll be expecting him and he won’t be expecting me. He’ll be flustered and angry, and I’ll know. And you’ll know soon afterwards.”
Deacon still thought she was risking her safety for a quixotic principle. A man with powerful principles of his own, he was never able to see why other people felt as
strongly about theirs. He was like a zealot who thought his beliefs were religion and all others superstition. But he was marginally reassured that she wasn’t going to put her head on the block in order to satisfy her curiosity as to who was swinging the axe.
Still, he couldn’t resist one more try. “You need someone to watch your back. I’ll come with you. I’ll stay in the background – unless you need help no one will know I’m there.”
Brodie laughed out loud. “Jack, the background hasn’t been invented against which you’d disappear! You go into a room, you fill it; you go into a city and the seams start creaking. You were cut out for undercover work the way octopuses were made to roller-skate!”
She had a point. “How about Charlie Voss? He wouldn’t look like a policeman if you put him back in uniform and made him direct the traffic. Take him with you. For my peace of mind?”
It wouldn’t have been a huge concession. Voss was good at blending. He could sit in the corner of a bar and the barmaid would take him for a regular; he could sit on a park bench and only the pigeons would notice. If she asked him to stay out of sight, none of those she met would see him.
But she’d still be breaking a confidence, and Brodie would know if no one else did. It felt wrong. She didn’t think that being scared was a good enough reason to default on the contract she had with all her clients, past and present.
She shook her head. “I don’t want anyone there. I don’t need anyone there. I’m going to cause enough offence as it is, approaching five men who hoped they’d seen the back of me. I’m not going to risk them spotting Charlie, or you, or anyone else. I’m not going to get hurt, Jack, I’m not
going to give them the chance. But I’m not going in mob-handed either. I can do my job without police protection.”
Deacon knew he wasn’t going to persuade her. But it was hard for him to watch her make a bad decision. He headed for the door, his boots all outraged dignity.
Brodie let him go. In this mood he couldn’t be talked to: when he calmed down he’d come back.
With his hand on the door ready to slam it he delivered his parting shot. “I know one thing about your precious list. There should be six names on it.”
Brodie was confused. “You don’t know who’s on it.”
“No. But I know who isn’t.”
Six names. It was so absurd she wasn’t going to dignify it with consideration. The five she’d listed were improbable enough: the sixth was downright ludicrous.
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