Late the following morning Charlotte went down to breakfast. Lola was sitting, eating a thick wedge of home-baked bread. The coffee was steaming, the kitchen smelled of fresh-ground coffee. Maria was singing somewhere in the villa. There was the aroma of fresh beeswax and the gentle perfume of the hanging blossoms on the verandah. The dogs barked lazily. Lola turned, her face smeared with Maria’s homemade jam. She looked at Charlotte, threw her bread aside, and held out her arms. Charlotte felt the sweet, sticky kisses on her cheeks, and then Lola drew her to the table and pulled out a chair.
Charlotte could not remember a time when she had felt more complete, happier, and above all safe. The villa was so strong, like a fortress, and it was... for the first time it felt like her home. Beneath the table Lola’s bare feet rested against Charlotte’s, and she smiled...
“He’s swimming, and then we are going to the boat. He is going to take you fishing.”
There was no jealousy between the two girls. They both loved him, both felt loved. It was enough. What might have happened at a later date they would never discover, because the following week Philip Von Joel was arrested.
Charlotte eased herself into the bed beside Lola, and lay on her side. Lola cuddled up close, slipping an arm around Charlotte, drawing her into the curve of her body.
“It’ll be all right, we’ll find a way to see him. If he was able to get messages to us here, then we’ll be able to help him, I know it.”
“I hope so,” whispered Charlotte. “I don’t think I can live without him.”
When Larry got home it was well after one. He was standing in the darkened bedroom, taking off his jacket, when Susan snapped on the bedside lamp. She peered at him through puffy slits.
“McKinnes called,” she said. “It was urgent. He’s left his home number. Where’ve you been? It’s after one...”
“I had some reports to finish,” Larry said, pulling off his tie, hating being there.
Susan threw back the bedclothes and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She stood up, reaching for her dressing gown. Confrontation time, he thought. Again. He went to the door.
“Where have you been?” Susan demanded.
He paused. “I just told you.”
“But McKinnes couldn’t find you!” Larry walked out, leaving his jacket over a chair where he had dumped it. Susan picked it up and took it to the | wardrobe. She smoothed the collar, disturbing something in the fabric. Perfume. She sniffed. Her brows tightened. She felt the pockets and pulled out three ticket stubs. She could hear Larry down in the hall talking on the phone. She stared at the flimsy slips of paper. Her mind i raced, but it had no direction. She was mystified. The door opened and she jumped. She hadn’t heard Larry put down the phone.
“Something happened?” she said, pocketing the stubs.
“It must have,” Larry said. “He wants me.”
She put her arms around him so swiftly and tightly that she surprised herself.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” she told him.
He looked at her awkwardly. She stood on her toes, lips puckered to kiss him on the mouth. He turned his head aside; it happened, he couldn’t avoid it. Susan released him and stood back.
“I’ll check on the boys,” he said.
Susan watched him walk out of the room again. She sighed, though it was hardly a sigh of resignation — she would never resign herself to being kept in the dark. She I slid back into bed and pulled the bedclothes up tight under her chin. She was careful to stay well over on her own side.
Next morning at eight-thirty McKinnes took Larry to the new safe house. Although it was clear that Larry had been reinstated, McKinnes had not actually said so, and he had not hinted at any reason. Larry thought it best, for the time being, to let events unroll without asking questions.
They sat in the unmarked patrol car for a minute, looking out at the sordid apartment block. Larry couldn’t believe it.
“Are we here?” he said, knowing they must be.
McKinnes sniffed. “What do you expect? A five-star hotel?”
Larry turned sharply, his defenses up, then realized it was only McKinnes’s baleful humor. The chief, fortunately, was hung over and didn’t notice the little flare of paranoia.
They got out of the car and entered the building. McKinnes used two keys to open the door of the apartment where Von Joel was being held, then he stood aside. He said he would be in touch later.
Larry went in and closed the door behind him. He found DI Shrapnel in a room that had obviously been designed for occupation by a child. A folded, forlorn-looking cot stood by the window; a tiny gas fire was built into the begrimed wall opposite. The two men nodded at each other. Their relationship, still profoundly basic, precluded the need for introductory daintiness. Shrapnel dangled a key.
“We keep him locked up when we’re off duty. This one’s for you, I keep the other. There’s two blokes out front, one at the back and another near the main entrance.”
Larry took the key. “How is he?”
“Same as ever.” Shrapnel shut the door. “I want to ask you something,” he said, his eyes hooded.
“What?”
“This herbal stuff, is it all for real?”
Larry made a face that didn’t say yes or no.
“You see” — Shrapnel moved closer, as if somebody might overhear — “I’ve had this problem, for years...” He broke off, cleared his throat. “This is personal, Jackson.”
“I appreciate that.”
“The thing is, I can’t get it up, know what I mean? And he...” He jerked his thumb at the wall. “Well, have you ever heard of this — he said I can get them from this guy he knows.” He fished a slip of paper from his pocket. “Patches. Put them on my dick. Tet... tetzozerone or something.”
Larry looked at the paper. “Testosterone,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s it.” Shrapnel took back the paper. He looked embarrassed. “They all know I’ve got the droop.” He shrugged. “Fact of life, nothing to be ashamed of. It’s overrated anyway.”
“Sorry?” Larry turned. He had been looking out the window. “What did you say?”
“Sex. I said it’s overrated.”
“No, it isn’t, Frank. Get the patches.”
After a hurried cup of coffee, which Larry promptly wished he had never drunk, he went along the passage and unlocked the door to Von Joel’s room. Von Joel was standing on his head against the wall. He came down, smiling. Larry went in and closed the door.
“Good to see you!” Von Joel punched Larry’s arm lightly. “I got you back on the case.”
“It’s not yours,” Larry said flatly. “You don’t give the orders, you don’t make the rules.”
Von Joel continued to smile, but there was a hardening in his eyes.
“Did you tell McKinnes about my girls?”
Larry stiffened. How could he possibly know...?