Lazy Bones (32 page)

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Thorne stepped out of the tube station on to Kentish Town Road. He turned for home, walking down in the direction of Camden, and the police station in which he'd encountered Noel Mul en nearly twelve hours before.

He thought about what the boy had said...

'I'm sorry I got fucking caught'

.. and wondered if he'd ever make the kil er of Remfry, Welch, Southern and Charlie Dodd sorry. He had a feeling that if he did catch him, it would be just about the only thing the kil er would be sorry about.

Thorne was vacil ating, standing on the pavement outside the Bengal Lancer, when his phone beeped. He listened to the message, then pressed the hash button to cal Eve straight back.

The apology wasn't the first thing he said but it was "pretty close. 'I'm sorry...' 'For what?'

'Lots of things. Not cal ing, for starters.'

'I know you've been bus).'

The owner of the restaurant, a man who knew Thorne very wel , saw him through the window. He started waving, beckoning him inside. Thorne waved back, mouthing and pointing at the phone. 'Where are you?' Eve asked.

'Just heading home, trying to decide what to do about dinner.' 'Stressful day?'

Maybe she'd heard it in his voice. He laughed. 'I'm thinking about chucking it al in, becoming a florist.'

'Bloom and Thorne sounds good...'

'Actual y, no, I don't think I could stand the early mornings.' 'You lazy bastard...'

And the sights, the sounds, the smel s of Thorne's dream came straight back to him. He shivered, though it was warm enough to be walking around with his jacket thrown across his arm...

'Tom?'

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'Sorry...' He blinked the pictures away. 'You said something about Saturday. In your message...'

'I know you're probably working late.'

'No, I'm not, for once. I'm signed out for most of the day. Unless something comes up.' An urgent meeting, a new lead, another body. 'So, should be fine...'

'It's not a big deal, but it's Denise's birthday, so her and me and Ben are going to be in the pub Saturday night. That's it, real y. Just come along if you fancy it.'

'What, a double date?'

'No. I just thought you might prefer it. No pressure...' 'Pressure?'

'Wel , you have been sort of... blowing hot and cold...' 'Sorry...'

There was a pause. Thorne caught sight of the owner again, throwing up his hands. He heard Eve move the receiver from one ear to the other.

'Look, I'm sorry too,' she said. 'I didn't want to get into this on e

phone. Let's just have a drink on Saturday. Take it from there.' " 'That sounds good. I'l have something to show you as wel .' Thorne enjoyed listening to the laugh that he hadn't heard in a while. He pictured the gap in the teeth. 'Cut out the dirty talk,' she said. 'And go and get something to eat...'

A few minutes later, ten minutes since he'd first arrived outside the restaurant, and Thorne was stil trying to decide what to do. There was stuff in the fridge he could eat. Should eat...

He pushed open the door, the smel of the Indian food just too good to resist. His friend, the owner, had already opened a bottle of Kingfisher.

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TWENTY-ONE

'Who are you rooting for this afternoon then, Dave?'

Hol and looked up from his desk to see DS Sam Karim beaming down at him. 'Sorry...?'

'The Charity Shield. Who d'you Want to win it?'

Hol and nodded. The traditional game on the eve of the season

proper. Last year's FA Cup winners versus the Premiership champions. 'Whichever team isn't Manchester United,' Hol and said.

'Suit yourself, mate, we'l stil walk it. I fancy us for the league again as wel .'

'I don't understand, Sam. You're from Hounslow, aren't you?' Karim wandered away, stil smiling. 'You're just jealous...' Hol and picked up the phone again and dial ed. He didn't actual y care one way or the other about footbal . Virtual y everything he knew or understood about the game had been encapsulated in that fifteen second conversation.

The line was stil engaged. He hung up and looked back at his notes. Since Joanne Lesser had e-mailed the information across the day before, Hol and had been working through the list of names pretty

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solidly. He was getting there, but it had been frustrating. Despite his bravado with Andy Stone, simply getting hold of people was sometimes tricky, even if the people themselves had no reason whatsoever to make it difficult.

The Foley children had spent the six months after the death of their parents in short-term foster care. Then, in January 1977, they'd begun the first of half a dozen long-term placements.

There were stil two sets of foster parents Hol and had yet to speak to, but from the conversations he'd already had, a pattern had emerged. In almost every instance, the children had appeared to settle quite quickly, but had gradual y become sul en and disruptive, especial y in families where there were existing children. Those Hol and spoke to admitted that it had been difficult, but also thought that it was understandable, considering what the children had been through. Mark and Sarah were basical y nice kids, but had withdrawn, spending more and more time alone, trying to shut out everybody around them...

It was al interesting enough, but Hol and was stil not convinsed that any of it would prove to be of any use. He had not yet spoken to the most recent set of foster parents and that might at least turn up something they could work with. Brigstocke was mooting the idea of getting photos of the Foley children, digital y ageing them, and circulating the resulting images. It seemed a decent enough idea. The Nobles, who had cared for the children up to the beginning of 1984, were due back from Majorca later that day, and were likely to have the most recent pictures...

Hol and reached for the phone. The number for the Lloyds, the third set of foster parents, was stil busy. The instant he put the phone down, it began to ring.

It was Thorne.

'Fancy a drink tonight?' he said.

'Why not?' As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Hol and knew exactly why not, as he felt instantly guilty. He knew, on a Saturday 273

night especial y, he should talk to Sophie first He also knew very wel

that she would smile and say she didn't mind. 'Where are we going?' 'Bar in Hackney,' Thorne said.

Hbl and could picture himself picking up his jacket and turning for the door, catching a glimpse as the film of tears formed in a moment across Sophie's eyes. He could already hear the bang of the door as he pul ed it shut behind him, and feel each heavy step down towards the street like a low punch.

'What time?' Hol and said.

'About half eight. Why don't I pick you up?'

'Eh? Kentish Town to the Elephant and then back up to Hackney?

That's miles out of your way...'

'I don't mind.'

'I'l just get the tube up to Bethnal Green and walk.'

'No, it's fine, real y...'

'What's this bar cal ed? I'l meet you there.'

Thorne's tone of voice told him that there was little point in arguing. Tl be round at eight-thirty,'Dave...'

Thorne had rung the bel then walked back to strike the appropriate pose. By the time Hol and emerged from his flat, Thorne was leaning on the car, grinning, like some sixties motorshow model gone very much to seed.

'Right,' Hol and said. 'So the insurance money came through, then?' 'Not yet, but it wil . I borrowed a bit from the bank.' Hol and stood, hands in pockets, looking extremely unsure. 'It's a

'Right,' Hol and said. 'So the insurance money came through, then?' 'Not yet, but it wil . I borrowed a bit from the bank.' Hol and stood, hands in pockets, looking extremely unsure. 'It's a BMW,' Thorne

added, just in case Hol and was in any doubt.

'It's a very old BMW...'

'It's a classic. This is a three-litre CSi. These are vintage cars, mate.' 'It's yel ow.'

'It's pulsar yel ow.'

'Pardon me.' Hol and began a slow walk around the car. To Thorne, he looked like he was examining a freshly discovered corpse.

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Thorne pointed in through the car window. 'It's got leather seats...'

Hol and was at the back of the car. He looked at the registration plate. 'P? When's that...?'

'There's a CD player mounted in the boot. Holds ten CDs...' 'What year is it?'

Thorne knew there was no way to make it sound good. '1975...' Hol and laughed. 'Christ, it's almost as old as I am.' 'There's only fifty-eight thousand miles on it...' 'You've gone mental.

Did you have it checked for rust?' 'Yeah, I had a look. Seems fine...' 'Underneath, I mean. Did you get it jacked up?'

'It was restored four years ago and the bloke told me it's only done

ten thousand miles since the engine was rebuilt.'

'How much did you pay for it?'

'The clutch is virtual y brand new.., or it might be the gearbox. One of them's new, anyway...' '

'Five grand?' Thorne said nothing. 'More? Bloody hel , there's q,)

way you'l get anywhere near that for the Mondeo...' " 'It's a present, al right? I've got fuck al else to spend money on.' 'You don't know anything about old cars. You could have got something nearly new for the same money, something nice like that hire-car you had. This'l cost you a fortune in the long run...'

'It's gorgeous, though, don't you think?' Thorne took a tissue from his pocket and began polishing the badge on the car's bonnet.

Hol and shrugged, opened the car door. 'Doesn't matter when you're sitting on the hard shoulder, does it?'

Thorne stomped sulkily round to the driver's side of the car. 'I've a good mind to make you walk to fucking Hackney now. Miserable sod . . .'

'I'm just trying to be practical. What happens when the big end goes on the way to a murder scene?'

Thorne dropped down into the leather seat, turned to Hol and who

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was sinking into his. 'Next time, I'l ask Trevor Jesmond if he fancies a drink...'

An hour later Thorne's mood had improved significantly. Once the introductions had been made, Eve and the others had rushed straight out to look at the car and everyone agreed that it was gorgeous. It didn't stop Hol and looking for an al y a little later on, while the girls were getting a round in.

'Come on, Ben, wouldn't you have gone for something a bit newer?' 'Sorry, I think it's great,' Jameson said. 'I've got a BMW myself...'

Thorne held his bottle up in salute, threw Hol and a sarcastic smile. 'See?'

'Tom says you make films.'

'Corporate videos, mostly.'

'Wel , you must be doing pretty wel . BMW...'

'It's OK, but I'm trying to get something of my own off the ground. Something I've written...'

Hol and nodded. 'That' hard, I suppose?'

'It's just a question of money. I n&ed to do a bit more top-end work for Sorry or Deutsche Bank and make a few less crappy training videos.'

'What are you doing at the moment?' Thorne said.

Jameson took a swig from a bottle of Budvar. 'Oh, it's riveting stuff right now. An ongoing local authority gig and some adverts for QVC.'

Thorne grabbed some crisps from an open bag in front of him. 'Oh, so they're your fault, are they?'

'Sorry,' Jameson said, smiling, holding up his hands.

Hol and smirked at Thorne. 'I didn't have you down as a fan of the shopping channel.' 'I have Sky for the footbal , obviously.' Thorne shoved the crisps into his mouth, wiped his fingers.

'But when I've got nothing better to do late at night, I like to watch some failed actor with an orange face try and sel me cleaning equipment, yes.'

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The three sat in silence for a while. Thorne looked out of the window and across to where he'd parked the car. Hol and sipped his pint, nodded his head to the low-level Coldplay track, while Jameson looked eagerly across to where Denise and Eve were standing at the bar.

The car was safe and stil looking good. Thorne turned back and stared around. It was a newish but already quietly trendy gastro-pub. Eve had said there was a decent restaurant in a room out the back but Thorne was happy enough where they were, with Belgian lager on draft and olives in bowls on the bar. They sat in a corner, around a scarred, refectory-type table on an assortment of chairs. Thorne had bagged a battered but comfortable leather armchair, and was doing his best to keep a similar one next to him free for Eve.

Though the place was popular, the bar itself was not crowded. Most people seemed eager to take advantage of the warm night and had gathered around the few tables on the pavement outside. The bar wasn't air-conditioned, but fans were spinning around overhead and the beer - as much as Thorne was al owing himself to drink - was cold.

The car was partly responsible for his mood, but Thorne was feeling as genuinely relaxed as he had for quite some while.

Eve and Denise came back with more beers and a bottle of wine, and having clearly geed themselves up at the bar, gently took the piss out of Hol and, Thorne and Jameson, for no better reason than that they were blokes. The men, for al their protestations and denials, enjoyed every minute of it, Thorne especial y relishing the sort of attention he hadn't enjoyed for a very long time.

They talked about footbal and television and house prices. And inevitably, work.

'Come on then, Dave,' Denise said. 'Tel us about this nutter you're after, the one who was on Eve's answering machine...' Eve tried to interrupt. 'Den...!' She turned to Thorne. 'Sorry...'

Thorne shrugged, not caring. 'It's fine.'

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'Wel , yes, he's a nutter,' Hol and said. 'And yes, wc're after him. Stil after him.'

'He sounds twisted,' Jameson said. 'Fascinating, though...' Denise leaned forward towards Hol and. 'You know there's people like that around, course you do. When you've got a connection with one of them, though, however tenuous, it's freaky.'

'Don't worry,' Hol and said. 'You're not his type.'

'I know. He hunts men, doesn't he? Men who've hurt women...'

There was a short but noticeably uncomfortable silence, which Denise broke as if it had never happened.