As she hung up, Izzy came into the room, grinning evilly and tapping her watch. ‘Two and a half minutes,’ she gloated. ‘Counting from “What do they call you, lover?” to “Ohgodohgodohgod!” I wish talking dirty was an Olympic event. I could make my country proud.’
Kennedy lowered her phone. ‘Don’t you get paid by the minute?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. Of course I do.’
‘Then the quicker you get the guy where he wants to go, the less you get paid.’
Izzy threw herself on the bed next to Kennedy and snuggled in close. ‘It’s not about the money, babe,’ she said. ‘I’m a professional.’
‘Of course.’
‘And my standards are very high.’
‘I know that.’
‘It’s like you wouldn’t respect a bullfighter who left a bull hanging on in agony instead of finishing it off.’
‘Right. Because that would be inhumane.’
‘Exactly. Or in a cockfight, if you got the cock all psyched up for the fight, and then—’
‘Could we,’ Kennedy asked, ‘move away from the animal comparisons?’
Izzy rolled over on top of her and then sat up, smiling down at her, straddling her waist. ‘But I didn’t get to the bucking bronco.’
Kennedy raised the phone, like a barrister presenting evidence in court. ‘I’m working,’ she said.
‘Uh-uh.’ Izzy shook her head, still playful. ‘When I’m on the phone, I’m working. When you’re on the phone, you’re getting other people to work for you.’
‘Like you get other people to come for you,’ Kennedy said. Once it was said, it sounded a lot colder than when it was inside her head.
‘Well, that’s the name of the game, babe.’ Izzy took one last shot at salvaging the mood: ‘You want to help me beat my record?’
Kennedy felt claustrophobic, trapped not by Izzy’s weight on top of her (which she could bear very easily; had often rejoiced in bearing) but by the invitation to pretend an easy intimacy that she couldn’t feel right then. She hesitated. Words assembled themselves on her tongue that her mind refused to parse. She was about to say something horribly hurtful and destructive.
The phone saved her. It vibrated in her hand, giving off a sound like a hornet trapped under a glass. Kennedy shrugged a half-hearted apology to Izzy, who climbed off her and sat back.
‘That was fast,’ Kennedy said, after seeing the caller display.
‘What can I do for you, ex-sergeant?’ John Partridge asked.
She made a show of hesitation. ‘Well, it’s a big favour, John.’ She let the words hang in the air for a moment, to see whether he’d stop her or encourage her.
‘Go on, Heather. Coyness doesn’t become you.’
That was all the encouragement she needed. She gave him a thumbnail sketch of the case, then came right to the point. ‘You used to work at Swansea, didn’t you, John?’
‘I was in charge of their post-grad physics programme for three halcyon years. Before the Tories, when they still had funding. Why do you ask?’
‘Do you think they’d let you borrow the Kelvin probe?’
Partridge laughed — a short, incredulous bark. ‘It’s not a case of borrowing the Kelvin, ex-sergeant. It’s just a big barcode scanner with a computer attached. But there’s no point having the Kelvin without an operator. And those ladies and gentlemen are like the saints of a new religion. Generally whatever time they take off from research is booked six months in advance.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘No harm in asking.’
‘I didn’t say no,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ll see what I can do. But they’ll laugh their legs off when I tell them they’re investigating a break-in. Mass murders are more their style.’
‘Thanks so much, John. You’re an angel.’
‘Fallen. Say hello to your lady love for me.’
‘I will.’ Kennedy hesitated. ‘How’s Leo these days?’
‘Quiet.’
‘That’s good, right?’
‘No, that’s just Leo. He’s quiet when he’s bad, too. But in this instance, I think he’s quiet because he’s working. So perhaps “non-existent” would have been a better word. I haven’t heard from him in months. If you need to get a message to him, though, there’s a café in Clerkenwell that he uses as a poste restante. You’re one of the three people I’m officially allowed to give the address to.’
‘No need, thanks. But send him my love, next time you see him.’
‘I will. And I’ll let you know about the probe.’ The line went dead: Partridge considered the formalities of leave-taking a waste of time.
‘So what’s the job?’ Izzy asked. Kennedy looked up to see her leaning against the door frame, arms folded. The earlier flirtatiousness was gone. Izzy had had time to disengage and she clearly wasn’t going to risk rejection a second time.
‘It’s hard to say,’ Kennedy admitted. ‘Investigating a crime that may not have happened.’
‘I love it already. Tell me over a drink?’
They went to the Cask, on Charlwood Street. It was a fairly pricey pub, but it was close, and this early in the evening, it would still be possible to find a seat.
The conversation was desultory. After telling Izzy the basics, Kennedy stonewalled on all her questions. If she’d had the energy or the imagination to come up with another topic, she would have, but nothing occurred to her: Izzy tried to keep the conversation going on her own, but eventually they just wound down.
A few minutes into the silence, Izzy put out a hand and touched Kennedy’s forearm.
‘We’re breaking up, aren’t we?’ she said. Her voice was calm, even resigned.
Kennedy stared at her. ‘I don’t know what we’re doing,’ she answered.
Izzy shook her head. ‘Oh babe, you’ve got ninja lying skills, but not with me. You can’t even look me in the eye any more. I’m talking to you and you’re planning your getaway, right here.’
‘I’m not planning anything, Izzy.’
‘Okay, then do something for me.’
‘What?’
‘Kiss me.’
Kennedy looked around at the other tables, about half of which were occupied. ‘We kind of stand out,’ she said.
‘Since when did you care? Kiss me or piss off, Heather. Don’t hang around my place making me pay, day in and day out, because you’re too lazy to pack a bag.’
To pack a bag? Kennedy’s clothes, CDs and personal accoutrements had migrated slowly up the stairs to Izzy’s place over a period of months. The point at which she’d moved in hadn’t been formally marked. She’d assumed that her exit would be similarly protracted: storming out and slamming the door so gradually that you’d need a stop-motion camera to catch it.
As soon as she realised that, she was ashamed, because everything that Izzy was saying was true. On the other hand, she reflected, it was also true that Izzy had been playing away — and with a man. So it was hard to sit there and take the lecture as though she had it coming.
‘I don’t know what we’re doing,’ she said again. ‘Seriously, Izzy, I’ve been too busy trying to scrape together some work. But if I’d found the time, I guess I’d have thought that you might be prepared to give me the space, since it was you that was sleeping around.’
Izzy grimaced. ‘Sleeping around? It was one guy. I was drunk, and I was horny, and I let one guy pick me up. I was alone for the best part of two years before you came along. I got pretty casual about stuff like that.’
Kennedy said nothing, but she let her feelings about this statement show on her face.