'Aye, I did,' he says.
'And?'
'Don't know. He was drunk.'
'You ask him about Crow?'
'Aye. Got nowhere. Just started muttering about him being a useless bastard. The usual drunken ravings.'
'And the Addison case. You mentioned we knew about that?'
'Told me to fuck off and mind my own business,' he says, shaking his head. 'Don't know what the hell we can do. Maybe bring him in, lock him up and deprive him of drink for a couple of days. But it's Jonah Bloonsbury, for God's sake. Don't think Miller would go for it.'
'You're in charge of the investigation.'
'I'm sure there's a line in the sand, Sergeant, and arresting Jonah Bloonsbury'll be some way on the other side. We're just going to have to get our information from other sources.' He rubs his hand across his forehead. Looks tired. 'Right, Hutton, away and take Charlotte across her desk, or whatever it is the two of you do in there.'
'Right,' I say. 'See what I can do.'
He smiles as I walk out the room. Across the office, nod at Morrow, knee deep in documents. Wonder what Taylor's got him looking at now. Knock on Miller's door, walk in. She looks up, doesn't offer me a seat.
'Just had Jonathan Montague on the phone,' she says. Tongue coiled. About to unleash. Make a snap decision.
'Why didn't you wake me up today?'
'What?' she says, surprised. Annoyed at me for talking back. Like I'm in primary school.
'You left me sleeping and came into work. Knew I'd be late. What the hell d'you do that for? And putting my phone on silent? What the fuck was that?'
Doesn't answer. Stares back across the office. See her look behind me to make sure the door's closed.
'You do not go into the offices of people like Jonathan Montague and start mouthing off,' she says eventually. Ignoring me. Daring me. 'Especially not on ridiculous charges like the one you took to him.'
Feel stupid, but have to fight anger at the same time.
'And what was all that about DCI Crow?' she says.
'It's still not right,' I say, choosing to employ her tactic of ignoring an awkward question. 'You may have put Taylor in charge, but you're not volunteering the information on you and Constable Bathurst…'
'You're not volunteering what makes you think that,' she fires back.
What can I say to that? That I drove down to her house on Friday night like a lovesick little puppy. It's bad enough feeling pathetic, never mind everyone else knowing about it.
'I thought so,' she says to my next bout of silence. 'Don't think you're getting any special favours, Sergeant,' she adds with bite, 'there's plenty more where you came from.'
Won't have to open the door when I leave. Just crawl under it.
Stare each other down for a few seconds more. Another binge of testosterone pumping — just this time there's a lot more of it in her than in me. Nothing else to be said. Turn to go. Wonder if she'll say something to my back, but she doesn't. Open the door and out into the freedom of the main office. Breathe the fresh air. Like stepping from a lift you've been trapped in for ten hours. Escaping a straitjacket.
Walk back to my desk wondering what other no-hope lead I can follow up, and why it is that Charlotte Miller has so quickly turned against me? Look at the watch. Less than twelve hours since she was glad I'd been around the past few days.
Part of the game. And if she called up tonight and ordered my attendance at her bedside, would I have the guts to refuse?
37
Tuesday evening, on my way out the office. Contemplate leaving without checking in with Taylor, but decide I'd better. Find him in the ops room, leaning back against a desk, staring at the photographs on the wall of Herrod, Ann Keller and Evelyn Bathurst.
There's nothing to say. I stand beside him for a while, looking at the pictures in companionable and grotesque silence. The door is closed, we can't hear anything of what is going on outside. Absurdly, it feels peaceful.
'I need to get some sleep,' I say eventually.
He nods. Still nothing to say. Engrossed, but acknowledging that it's all right for me to leave.
'You should too,' I say, and he doesn't reply.
I almost pat him on the shoulder, but then remember that it's not my place, then head towards the door.
'On your way home can you call in and see Sergeant Harrison?'
He turns to look at me as I'm at the door. He reads the look on my face.
'She phoned in this morning,' he says. 'It was definitely her, so I don't think there's anything happened to her.'
I give him the what the actual fuck? look.
'It's just a bit fucking weird,' he says, annoyance coming in to his voice, 'and I don't like it. So go round there, knock on her door, make sure there's nothing I should know about. Then you can go home and get some sleep.'
Holy fuck. Deep sigh and turn to head out into the night.
*
I stand at her door for more than five minutes. That's quite a long fucking time to be standing at someone's door. Five minutes. Just do nothing for five minutes, then imagine you're standing at someone's door. Almost give up, but then she finally answers. Not sure how long I'd have given it. All the time I'm wondering how pissed off she'll be at me for dragging her out of her sick bed.
She stands looking at me in the cold of night, me illuminated by a street light, and her backlit by a small lamp in her hallway.
'Thomas,' she says. 'Come in.'
She doesn't look ill, as such, but she does look absolutely fucking terrible.
I stand there looking at her. I hadn't really envisioned going in. I hadn't envisioned anything beyond standing on her doorstep, making sure she wasn't dead, checking that she definitely had the plague or something, and then leaving.
On balance, come in isn't exactly a shock invitation though.
I follow her in, close the door behind me. We go into her front room, she sits down in a single arm chair, I sit on the sofa opposite. The room is warm, there's a single lamp on in the corner. Quick check on the walls. Paintings. Good taste. Or, you know, so it seems to me. Like I know. There's a TV in the corner, but it's off at the wall. Looks unused.
'You all right?' I ask eventually.
'Feel like shit,' she says.
I nod.
'Flu or something? You want me to go to Boots for you? Call a doctor, some shit like that?'
'I've been sleeping with Evelyn,' she says quickly.
I look across the room. That's too far out in left field for me to be able to compute, so I don't even try.
'What?'
'We were… You know, she was young, we just had this thing… It started at a station night a few months ago. It was just sex, you know. She called me her fuck buddy.' She lets out a bitter, unattractive laugh. I start to see Evelyn Bathurst and Sergeant Harrison as fuck buddies. Holy shit, I wish I could imagine that in other circumstances. 'We barely even talked. Just saw each other every now and again for sex. You know what that place is like. Jesus, any place… You can't just go having sex with anyone, never mind a twenty-one year-old constable. So we fucked every now and again, and… Jesus, honestly, we never spoke to each other. Ever. We just… fucked.'
Women talk to me. I said that, didn't I? I wish they wouldn't. But this is different.
'When was the last time?' I ask, and even under these circumstances I still feel like I'm asking that question with And is there video attached to it.
'Friday night,' she says. 'She came to see me at… I don't know… just turned up in the middle of the night. We didn't usually do that. She came here at two in the morning, or something. She was upset but… we didn't talk… She didn't tell me what was going on, what it was about… she just wanted to take her mind off it. And I…'
She starts crying.
I'm not doing it, I'm not going over there.
'When did she leave?' I ask. 'When did she leave?'