The Whisper of Stars by Nick Jones Page B

her run when she was interrupted by a call.
    The name ‘Peter Callaghan’ flashed up on her retinal display. She berated herself for forgetting to call him, took a breath, smiled and answered.
    ‘Peter. I meant to call you today.’ Her attempt to appear upbeat combined with breathlessness made her sound slightly manic. ‘How is Mrs Harvey?’
    ‘She’s stable now,’ he said. ‘I did my best to contain the splintering, but she doesn’t remember much about the incident.’
    Hearing the train murder called an incident sent a shiver through her. His emphasis of the word made it sound like an unfortunate thing, an embarrassment even. Whilst it was typical of Peter to be clinical, there followed a long silence, and that was unlike him. Richards was right, Callaghan was not his usual self; normally she wouldn’t get a word in.
    ‘The boss thinks you might be asked to testify,’ she offered, hoping the chance of a court appearance might improve his mood. He did love an audience.
    Another pause, this time with rustling in the background.
    ‘Are you okay, Peter?’
    A new alert appeared. < Secure line request. >
    She accepted and switched to the encrypted channel.
    Callaghan spoke quickly. ‘Where are you? You sound out of breath.’
    ‘Sorry, I was running home,’ she replied. ‘Peter, what’s wrong? Why the secure channel?’
    ‘Are you recording this?’ he said shakily.
    ‘No, Why?’
    ‘Jen, you need to trust me.’ His voice was trembling. ‘You could be in danger. We could both be in danger.’
    His obvious panic forced her to make a couple of quick calculations.
    Home. Fifteen minutes run, about five in a taxi.
    ‘Can you come to the house, tonight?’ he asked.
    ‘You need to tell me what’s going on first.’
    ‘Come to the house. I will tell you everything. Just trust me.’
    He disconnected.
    Jen didn’t like that call one bit, it was clear this day wasn’t getting better any time soon. She looked around and instantly wanted out of the Hibernation block. She started running, her pace faster than before, her mind racing.

    * * *

    An hour later, Jen arrived at Callaghan’s house, the low rumble of her bike cutting through the silence of the leafy suburban street. She dismounted and looked up to see him standing just inside the front door. The wait had obviously been agonising for him.
    ‘Thank you for coming,’ he whispered nervously, peering up and down the street. ‘Your augmentation and comms – they’re turned off, right?’ He tapped his head.
    ‘Yes, I’m off-duty and offline.’ She did her best to hide a shiver of nervousness bursting over her back. He looked gaunt, almost skeletal, and his fear seemed to be catching. Callaghan stole one more look outside before shuffling inside, gesturing for her to follow. Jen hadn’t visited the house since his divorce, over two years ago. Back then it had seemed warm and homey; now it smelt stale, a bittersweet smell she associated with a lack of attention. In the hallway a cluster of family photographs still clung to the walls. Jen paused and studied them. Peter looked impossibly young and confident, taller even, and she realised how much he had changed over the last few years.
    ‘I do miss her.’ He was smiling, trying to conceal his obvious sadness.
    Jen smelled the faint odour of whiskey on his breath and noted his growth of pepper-white stubble. She remembered the split: Callaghan always working, his wife leaving him for a man who showed her some attention. After the Harveys’ depressing tales of doomed marriage and infidelity, it appeared to be this month’s theme. All very predictable and sadly poignant, with Christmas just around the corner. During the silence that hung between them, Jen noticed the layers of dust covering most surfaces. She probably could have done more, checked in on him maybe.
    ‘At times I hate her for leaving.’ He stared blankly at the wall representing his past, eyes glassy, tone defeated. ‘But I don’t