Lazy Bones (33 page)

'People are always going to be fascinated by this sort of stuff though, aren't they? It's a bit ghoulish, I suppose, but it's a damn sight more interesting than computers...'

Thorne took this as the cue to retel , for Hol and's benefit, his joke about what a PC 'going down' meant in their line of work. The others laughed graciously, and Denise and Ben carried on chatting to Hol and about the job. Whether they liked him or were just trying to make sure he didn't feel lil e a gooseberry, it gave Thorne the chance to talk to Eve.

He bumped his chair up close to hers and leaned across.

'This was a good idea,' he said.

'You weren't sure though, were you?' She nodded towards Hol and.

'So you brought reinforcements along...'

'Are you pissed off?.'

'I was an hour ago, yes. It's fine though.'

Thorne reached for his drink. 'I just wanted to show him the car...' Eve gave him a long look. It was clear that she didn't quite believe him. 'So, apart from your case getting a bit more complicated, what happened between the night you came round for dinner and now?' Thorne glanced down, swil ed the beer around in his glass, said nothing. 'I thought you were real y keen. You said as much.'

I was . . .'

'Even that night when you walked me back after we'd been in the

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pub you were a bit weird. Ever since you went to that wedding, in fact . . .'

Thorne bent his head and lowered his voice. 'Look, I just go a bit mental when it looks like things might get serious. I don't know what I want, and I start to get .... '

'Serious? We haven't even slept together yet...'

'That's exactly what I mean. It looked like we were going to. You

know, it was on the cards, so maybe I just started backing away a bit.' 'Al that bol ocks with the new bed...' 'I suppose so.'

Eve turned to look at him. She waited a second or two until he raised his head and met her stare. 'So, what do you want now, Tom?'

A smile spread slowly across Thorne's face. He leaned over, his arm dropping down into the wel of Eve's chair and slipping behind her waist. 'I want to go to a hotel...'

For a moment Eve looked shocked, but then she began to smile too. 'What, tonight?'

'Why not? Shop's shut tomorrow, isn't it? I've got a nice qar outside...' ,

Eve looked across to where Denise and Jameson were stil deep in conversation with Hol and. 'God, it's a fantastic idea, but it's a bit awkward. It's Den's birthday...'

'Pretend it's mine.'

'I don't know, I can't just bugger off.'

'She won't mind.'

Eve grabbed Thorne's hand and squeezed. 'Let me see what I can do . . .'

An hour later, as they hovered outside, saying goodbyes, Eve took Thorne's arm and spun him around. 'I don't think tonight's a good idea.'

'Did you have a word with Denise?' He looked across to where Eve's flatmate was kissing Hol and on both cheeks. Behind them, 279

Jameson stood waiting, hands thrust into his pockets. Denise caught Thorne's eye and gave him an odd smile...

'Not that I'm exactly in any fit state,' Eve said. 'I'd already had a bottle of red wine before you propositioned me...'

Thorne grinned. 'Trust me, the more pissed you are, the better it'l seem.'

'What about next weekend? We could check into a nice hotel on the coast for a couple of nights.' She looked up at him and nodded slowly. It must have been clear from his expression.

'Right, I know...'

'Sorry. Until this case is over, I can't commit to anything

like... Shit, a whole weekend away.., it just isn't going to happen.' 'It was a stupid idea...'

'It was a great idea. Let's go out one night next week. Saturday, or before . . .'

'Next Saturday's good.'

'Right...' They took a few steps along the pa{)ement, away from the bar. 'Come on, it's stil not too late. I'l swing for a real y nice hotel, honestly. West End somewlere, ful English breakfast...'

She put her hands around his neck and pul ed him towards her. She whispered it in his ear before she kissed him softly on the cheek. 'Saturday...'

As they separated, Thorne glanced across at the others standing by the bar entrance, and saw a look of something like disgust pass across Ben Jameson's face. Turning, Thorne saw that Jameson was watching Keith come hurrying towards the group, cradling a plastic bag.

Unable to hear quite what was said, Thorne watched as Keith delved into the bag and handed Denise something wrapped in red paper. Denise tore the package open and seemed delighted with what looked like a smal , decorative box. She threw her arms round Keith's neck, then turned to show the present to Hol and and Jameson.

Keith turned, red-faced, and looked across at where Eve was stil standing, hand in hand with Thorne. She waved, and started to walk 280

towards him. Hol and sauntered the other way, towards Thorne, smiling at Eve as they passed. He seemed a little startled when Thorne dropped a hand on to his shoulder.

Tl run you home, Dave.'

Hol and looked confused. He glanced over his shoulder, watched Eve join her friends. 'It's fine, real y, I can get a cab...'

'There's no need.'

Thorne drove down Whitechapel Road, heading south towards Tower Bridge. He took it slowly, stil getting used to the steering and the clutch but also enjoying it, wanting the journey to last. They were listening to Merle Haggard as they moved slowly into the one-way system around Aldgate.

'What was going on back there, then?' Hol and said.

'Keith works in Eve's shop sometimes. I think he's a bit...'

'No, I mean bringing me along on your night out, like a spare prick at a wedding.' '

Thorne checked the rear-view mirror. 'I wanted to show you .the car.' He didn't believe it himself, any more than when he'd told Eve .the same thing earlier.

'Things al right with you and Eve?'

Thorne hesitated. Discussions like this one was shaping up to be weren't common between them, and where it might be going was impossible to predict. If Hol and hadn't had a couple over the odds, he'd probably be saying nothing. Even social y, the difference in their ranks was rarely forgotten. The unspoken acceptance of the need to keep a certain distance was usual y knocking about somewhere, moderating.

Tonight, they were just two friends driving back from a bar, and Thorne decided to go with it.

Tve been fucking her around to be honest, Dave.'

'What?'

'No, not like that. We haven't even...'

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'Oh...'

'It's a long story, but basical y she thinks I'm pissing her about, and I am. One minute I'm up for it, the next I'm relieved when it isn't haplening.'

For ten seconds or so before he spoke, Hol and appeared to think

about what Thorne had said. 'What's al that about, then?'

'I don't know...'

The truth was that Thorne didn't know, and if he was confused, then he could only wonder at what the hel might have been going through Eve's mind. The whole relationship felt somehow teenage. The ups and downs, the mixed messages...

There was nothing teenage, nothing confusing, about the short film that began to run suddenly in Thorne's head. He watched himself and Eve in the lift that carried them up towards their nice hotel room. They were al over each other, their mouths hungrily exploring necks and shoulders and their hands probing the areas beneath buckles and straps.

Thorne gripped the wheel tighter, hearing the gulps for breath that came when the kissing stop]ed, and the moans when it began again. The bel as the lift door opened, ant the rustle of Eve's legs moving beneath her skirt as they al but ran towards their room.

He saw himself push the card into the door, watched as the two of them stepped through and fumbled, giggling, for the light switch.

There was a body on their bed. Prostrate and bleeding. The blue necklace, cheap and dreadful, biting deep into the neck...

Thorne hit the brakes hard, squealing to a stop at a red light.

Hol and held his hand out, braced himself against the dashboard. 'Sorry,' Thorne said. 'Stil getting the measure of it...'

They said nothing for a while, until the Tower of London loomed, spotlit ahead of them, and they moved slowly past it on to the bridge.

Thorne nudged Hol and's arm and nodded upriver. 'It's fucking great, isn't it?'

He loved crossing the Thames at night, never tiring of the spectacular views up and down the black river after dark. South to north 282

across Waterloo Bridge was his favourite - to the left, the London Eye, and the dome of St Paul's away in the City to the east - but crossing virtual y any bridge, in any direction, at this time was usual y enough to lift Thorne's spirits. Tonight, Butler's Wharf squatted to their left, while down below to the right of them, HMS Belfast seemed set in sul ied amber, the river around it coloured by the lights that ran along each bank.

Foul and fucked up and shitty as the place could be, it was a journey like this that Thorne would urge on anyone thinking about moving out of London...

'What about you and Sophie?' Thorne said. 'Al geared up for it?'

Hol and turned, smiling, but looking like he might throw up. 'I'm shitting myself, if you real y want to know.'

'Fair enough, it's a scary business. I've not had one, but...' 'It's not just the baby. It's what the baby's going to mean.' 'Workwise, you mean?'

'It just feels like I'm being swept along, you know? Like I'm notin control of what I'm doing any more.' Thorne shook his head, opene,.d his mouth to say something, but Hol and ploughed on, growing louder and more animated as he spoke. 'Sophie says it's up to me what happens afterwards, but she's going to stay at home with the baby and I'l be the only one earning...'

'She'd rather you were doing something else?'

'Yeah, but she was like that before she was pregnant. I mean, she'd be delighted if I got out of the job, no question, but there's no pressure. I'm worried that I might be the one to start thinking I should find

something else. Something a bit better paid, you know?' 'Something safer?'

Hol and turned and looked at Thorne hard. 'Right.' He turned away again, stared out of the window at the flaking hoardings and car showrooms on the New Kent Road, moving past at almost exactly thirty miles per hour.

'I'm worried that I'l resent the baby,' Hol and said. His head fel

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sideways against the window. 'For the choices it might force me to make...'

Thorne said nothing. He pressed a button on the sound system's coftrol panel, searching through the CD until he found the track he was looking for. When the song began, he nudged up the volume. 'You

should listen to this,' he said.

'What is it?'

'It's cal ed "Mama Tried". It's about a man in prison...'

'That's what they're al about, isn't it?'

'It's real y about growing up and accepting responsibility. It's about making the right choices...'

For a minute, Hol and listened, or pretended to. By then they were coming up to the roundabout at the Elephant & Castle, his street just a little way beyond it. He shook his head.suddenly, and laughed.

'Growing up? I'm not the one with the mid-iife-crisis car...'

Thorne was starving by the time he got in. He stuck three pieces of bread under the gril while the video was rewinding. He'd managed to go the whole day without hearing the result of the match and was looking forward to watching it.

Half an hour in to a fairly dul game, and Thorne was wondering why he'd made the effort...

It had been more than a decade since Spurs had been involved in a Charity Shield, but Thorne and his father had been to the last few. They'd seen the goal ess draw against Arsenal in

'91, and the consecutive games in '81 and '82, after Cup Final wins on the bounce.

The first big game he'd ever gone to had been the Charity Shield in 1967. The trip to Wembley, an extra seventh-birthday present after Spurs had beaten Chelsea 2-1 and won the FA Cup. Thorne could stil remember the roar, and his amazement at the sight of al that green, as his old man had led him up the steps towards their seats. He always loved that first sight of the grass, al the years they went to

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matches together after that, emerging into the noise and the light as they climbed up into the stand at White Hart Lane.

He wondered if his father had watched today's game. He'd doubtless have an opinion on it if he had.

Thorne made the cal , and listened to twenty minutes of jokes without punchlines.

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TWENTY-TWO

Carol Chamberlain put down the newspaper when Thorne came back

to the table with the coffees.

'It's not great,' she said. �

Thorne glanced at the latest lurid headline, spooned the froth from his coffee. It's not my problem.'

Despite the best efforts of Trevor Jesmond and those above him, the media had got hold of the story a fortnight or so earlier, after the Southern kil ing. It hadn't quite been the tabloid frenzy that Brigstocke had predicted, but it was pretty basic stuff. One paper had printed pictures of zippered rapist masks with red crosses through them, underneath the headline Three Down'. Another had gathered testimony from half a dozen rape victims and run it alongside quotes like Give This Man A Medal' and The Only Good Rapist Is A Dead One'...

Monday morning's batch of stories involved complaints from those campaigning for the rights and integration of ex-prisoners. There were demands that more be done to catch the kil er, accusations that the Met was dragging its feet. Only the night before, Thorne had

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watched a heated debate on London Live between representatives of rape-crisis organisations, their counterparts from prisoners'-rights pressure groups, and senior police officers.

The Assistant Commissioner, flanked by a scary female Commander and a sweating Trevor Jesmond, had reminded one lobby that the murder victims had themselves been raped, while assuring the other that everything possible was being done.