‘Hippity, hoppity.’
Tufty thumped his hand down, making the sausage-roll swords jump. ‘Sambucas! We should do... should do flaming Sambucas!’
‘Oops.’ Every time they tried to pour Lund into the taxi, she poured right back out again.
Didn’t seem to bother her though, she just kept on singing as Harmsworth and Barrett scooped her up off the car park tarmac:
The sun was slouching its way down to the rooftops, making everything all brown and yellow and orange — like an ancient photograph from the seventies.
They bundled her into the back. ‘Stay. Stay...’
She started to slump doorwards:
‘OK.’ Barrett clambered into Lund’s taxi. ‘Wait, we come too... Come on... come on, Owen.’
Harmsworth climbed in too. ‘Whee!’
Owen thumped the door closed, cutting her off.
The taxi pulled away, the three of them waving out of the back window as it drove off, leaving Tufty and Steel all alone in the car park.
Steel patted him on the shoulder, the other hand out, palm up in front of him. Wobbling on her wobbly feet. ‘No. Come on, gimme your keys.’
He squinted one eye shut. ‘But—’
‘No. Keys!’ She patted him again, harder this time. ‘Friends don’t let friends drive... drive drunked.’
That made sense.
‘Oh. OK.’ He dug the keys out of his pocket and dropped them into her palm. Lurched a little to the side and back again. Was OK, though: no one noticed. No one, no one, no one. Tufty reached out and patted her on the shoulder. Cos it was only polite. ‘Owen’s a miserable poohead.’
‘He is indeed.’
‘But!’ Tufty held up a finger. ‘But he’s right. He is. You’re a very lovely defective sergeant. You are. Yes you are.’
A solemn nod. ‘I am.’ She wobbled a bit more. ‘And you... you are a lovely defective connsable.’
‘That’s why... That’s why we’re gonna catch Jack Wallace.’
‘DAMN RIGHT!’
‘Shhhh!’ Tufty had a quick check to make sure no one was eavesdropping. ‘We gonna... gonna come up with a plan and... and nab him red-handed.’
‘Right up the arse!’
‘Right up the...’ Tufty frowned. ‘Wait, wait.’ He pointed a finger at her clenched fist. ‘I don’t has a car here! Those... Those are your keys.’
‘Oh...’ She handed them back. ‘Maybe we should taxi?’
‘And... and I will see you to... to your door, because... is gentleman.’
Steel smiled, nodded, then let loose a window-rattling belch.
The taxi parked outside a big granitey house on a tree-lined granitey street. The sort of place investment bankers and hedge-fund doodahs probably lived. Up above, the sky faded from dark purple to wishy-washy blue, streetlights glimmering between the trees.
The taxi driver looked back over his shoulder. ‘That’ll be fifteen quid.’
Steel fumbled with the door and staggered out, sticking Tufty with the bill.
Which was typical.
He dug his wallet free and handed over the cash. Doing it nice and careful so everyone would know he wasn’t drunk at all. ‘Is fifteen.’
The driver took it. Counted it. Then gave him a good hard stare. ‘Here, Min, I hope you’re no’ planning on taking advantage of that poor drunk auld wifie.’
‘Oh God, no.’ Tufty clambered out into the warm evening sun.
Steel whirled around on the pavement. ‘Am not auld wifie: am LESBIAN!’ She threw her arms out, crucifix-style, probably copying Tommy Shand. Then stood there, wobbling, in her dungarees and flouncy red chiffon top.
The taxi driver rolled his eyes. ‘Police officers are the worst drunks...’ He did a neat three-point turn and headed back towards town.
Bye, bye.
Tufty squinted up at the big granitey building. Something wasn’t right. ‘Do I live here?’
‘No... No...’ She lurched over to him, stiff-legged like a robotic chicken. ‘My house. But... but we’ve got whisky.’
He held up a finger. ‘Say it proper.’
‘We does has a whisky?’
‘Yay!’
‘Shhhhh!’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Secret. Now gimme... gimme keys.’
He dug them out and Steel took a while skittering a brass Yale one around and around the lock, before finally clicking it home.
She eased the door open and crept inside. ‘Shhhhh!’
Dark in here. No lights.
But the orangey glow filtering in from outside was enough to lift the gloom a teeny bit. It was a highfalutin hallway with a big wooden staircase on one side and lots of holiday photos all over the other. Steel and a pretty blonde woman in swimsuits and shorts and flip-flops and... Oh dear. That one was Steel in a bikini, pulling some sort of Marilyn Monroe pose — all pouty and suggestive.
Shudder.
Bad enough this afternoon, when she’d stripped off for the communal hosing down, but at least she wasn’t trying to act all sexy and you couldn’t really see any...
Oh, complete and utter shudder.
It was like catching your granny in stockings and suspenders trying to seduce the milkman.
Tufty slapped a hand over his mouth. Didn’t say that out loud, did he?
Steel lowered her keys into a bowl by the coat rack, then turned and grinned at him.
Oh thank God for that: he hadn’t.
‘And... and Tufty said, “Let there be light.”’ He reached for the switch, but she slapped his hand away.
‘No!’ Her voice rasped out in a smoky whisper: ‘Is... secret and quiet! Unnerstand? No telling Susan. Shhhh...’
Ah. He nodded. ‘Shhhh...’
‘Good.’ She patted him on the cheek. ‘You go kitchen and... and get glasses. I go kiss Jasmine and Naomi goodnight. And... maybe have a pee...?’
Peeing was good. But before he could ask where the room was for peeing in she was lurching upstairs, clutching onto the wooden handrail like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Have to pee later, Tufty. Glasses now. Pee later.
Okeydoke.
He took a deep breath and crept deeper into the house.
Kitchen? Where are you little kitchen? Come to Uncle Tufty...
Oh, there it was: at the end of the hall and left a bit. Down a couple of stairs.
And it wasn’t a little kitchen at all, it was Godzilla massive. Big shiny work surfaces gleaming in the light that filtered through the French doors and kitchen windows. A garden lurking in the twilight outside, complete with swings and a climbing frame. Ooh, that’d be fun. Hadn’t... hadn’t been on a climbing frame in ages.
No. Don’t get distracted. Find the whisky glasses.
Right.
He reached for the light switch, then snatched his hand back.
Naughty Tufty. Secret, remember?
Stealthy time. He dug into his jacket pocket and came out with his LED torch — long as a finger but much, much brighter. The narrow white beam swept the tiled floor and oak kitchen units. A breakfast bar and a table with six chairs. A dishwasher whooshing and buzzing away to itself. A great big American-style fridge freezer covered in truly terrible kids’ drawings.