Next Of Kin (Unnatural Selection #3) (3 page)

Since
Nick’s DI had ruined our usual plans for our wedding anniversary in
September, I decided to make the date itself a little special.
There was a limit to what I could do—Nick had to work the next day,
and with his workload, I didn’t dare make bookings for a film or
the theatre. We’d learned our lesson the hard way on that, after
two outings had to be cancelled because he was called in to deal
with emergencies.

So I did some
clearing and rearranging downstairs, and when Nick called to let me
know he was on the train back to Clapham Junction, all I had to do
was shower and make sure the curtains were drawn.

When he came
in, I was sitting on the sheepskins we keep in the spare room. I
smiled up at him.

“Bloody hell,
there’s a naked man in our living room. Here, put this on. It’s
shocking what some people will do for attention.”

He handed me a
smart carrier bag, in which there was a large flat box. I opened it
and found a leather vest.

“Oh, I’ve
always wanted one like this,” I crooned, holding it against my
chest. The leather was butter soft and smelled gorgeous.

“Go on, put it
on.”

“Like
this?”

“Especially
like that.” He gave me a heavy-lidded look, and started taking off
his shirt and tie.

I slipped the
lovely thing on, and he knelt in front of me. “Oh God, if you could
see yourself now.” He leaned in to kiss me, licking his way down my
neck. “Leather makes me hot.”

“Now he tells
me,” I said. I shuddered as his hands played over my nipples.
“I...I was...going to...I can’t talk....”

“Talk later. I
want to be bad now.”

~~~~~

After he had
his wicked way with me—twice—he got up and fetched the sparkling
Shiraz I’d put in the fridge, along with the box with his name on
it sitting on the kitchen counter. I was incapable of moving, so he
poured the wine.

I waved at the
box. “Thing, yours.”

“I love it
when I reduce you to monosyllables.” He undid the ribbon and opened
it. “Well, that settles it. We’re both utterly traditional.”

“Leather for
the third anniversary? Of course. Every year should be leather.” I
sniffed my vest and fluttered my eyelashes at him, which made him
grin. “You like it?”

He opened the
wallet out and did a thorough job of exploring all the cavities. He
traced his finger over the ‘NG’ impressed on the outside. “It’s
perfect. Thank you.”

“Not as
perfect as mine. Happy anniversary, love,” I said, lifting my
glass.

“And to you,
Sherlock.”

We drank
our wine, then took the glasses and set them aside. He nudged me
back to lie on the sheepskins again. He pushed my sweaty hair off
my face, and kissed me. “If I say something utterly, dreadfully
sappy, will you promise not to tell anyone?”

“I
promise not to tweet it or update my Facebook with it, if that’s
what you mean. But you don’t know the meaning of the word
‘sappy’.”

He stared into
my eyes. “Before I knew you, I hated leaving work. There was
nothing for me at home—there wasn’t really even a home, and I found
my own company boring. I didn’t mind. I had the job, and that was
all I cared about. The busier the better, so far as I was
concerned. But now I actually resent being busy because I have you
waiting for me. When I’m having a rough day, knowing you’re here
gets me through. You’ve given me a home to come back to.”

I let out a
breath in shock.

“Too much?” he
said, quirking up one side of his mouth.

“Yes. I
mean, God no. I love you, Nick.” I pulled him down into my arms,
and kissed his ear. “That was the loveliest thing anyone’s ever
said to me.”

“But
sappy.”

I
smacked his arse. “Was
not
. It
was
lovely
. Wow. But
now I do want to Facebook it so everyone knows what a wonderful man
I married.”

“You do,
and I’ll run away.”

“With your
clothes tied up in a bundle on a stick?”

“Sod. Don’t
you dare put this on Facebook.”

“All
right. But you’ve got
no
chance of me ever forgetting this.”

“Good.” He
nuzzled against my cheek. “Planning to sleep down here?”

“We could, but
there’s not much point.”

He sighed.
“No, and my back would probably appreciate a proper bed. Long day
tomorrow.”

“Sweden in two
weeks.”

“It’s all
that’s keeping me sane right now. And from killing Thorpe.”

“Let’s
not
talk about
Thorpe.”

“No.” He sat
back, then stood, offering me his hand. “Come on up to bed with me.
I’ll even tuck you in.”

“Now
that’s
sappy.”

“No
Facebook.”

“No,
dear.”

“Or
Twitter.”

“No, dear. You
haven’t mentioned Tumblr—”

“Anton....”

“No Tumblr
either, dear.”

~~~~~

I had to
travel to Milton Keynes the next day, and given what Nick had said
about being busy, I wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t home when I got
back at seven. He’d texted me around lunchtime, and I’d replied,
but he hadn’t sent another message about working late. Not that
this was unusual, if something had blown up
suddenly in the area. There was nothing on
the news but being with Nick all this time had taught me how
selective the reporting was on police matters. He would tell me
when I saw him, or it would be on the late night news.

He still
hadn’t come home by eleven, and there was little point in waiting
up for him. I sent him a text saying “ILU” and expected to find him
asleep beside me when I woke.

But he wasn’t.
I checked the London news to see if something was happening in
Richmond. I found a report of a body being found in the river, and
traffic congestion causing problems in the park. Nothing to warrant
Nick being asked to work an extra shift.

I ate
breakfast and sent him another text. No reply to that or the one
I’d sent the night before. An hour later, I tried his mobile, but
it went to his voicemail.

He was
probably super busy. I forced myself to concentrate on the response
to a research proposal I’d promised to send that morning, and even
managed to finish it, but Nick’s lack of contact was still at the
back of my mind. At noon, I gave in to temptation and called
Richmond station. I was told that Sergeant Guthrie wasn’t
available. “Could I speak to DI Thorpe, please?”

I was put
through.

“DI
Thorpe.”

“Inspector,
it’s Anton Marber. Nick Guthrie’s partner.”

“Oh really.
Finally getting around to calling in sick, is he?”

This was the
first time I’d spoken to the man, so I wasn’t sure if the derision
in his voice was habitual, but it put my back up immediately.
“Sorry, what? I was calling you because he hasn’t come home.”

“Guthrie
hasn’t turned up today, Mr Marber. When you see him, perhaps you
could ask him to contact the station.”

“But...inspector, that means he’s missing. I want to put a report
in.”

“He left
the station at eight last night, so he’s only been out of contact
just over twelve hours. Sounds more like he’s skyving.”

“But he’s a
police officer.”

“He’s gay.
Maybe he found himself a playmate cottaging down by the river.
Anyway, I’m flat out here because one of my sergeants is absent
without permission. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work I need to
be doing.”

He hung
up. I stared at my phone, shaking slightly from shock and anger. I
considered calling the station again and speaking to Thorpe’s
higher-ups, but for all I knew, his homophobia was SOP down there.
No point in pushing things if it was.

Nick wasn’t
the kind of man to ditch work for sex, even if I wasn’t in the
picture. That Thorpe thought he was capable of that, told me that
Thorpe was utterly incompetent. Therefore I needed a competent
police officer to deal with this.

I called
Andy McDiamond at Islington, and as I hoped, he grasped the
seriousness of the situation immediately. “Thorpe didn’t take you
seriously?”

“I don’t think
he could hear what I was saying over the gay bashing he was
doing.”

“I’m sorry you
had to experience that, Anton. Let me get all the details, and then
I’ll pass it to your local station. Someone from there should come
and see you this afternoon.”

“Can you
contact Chris Stevens? He was based at Battersea and Nick knows him
pretty well.”

“I’ll see what
I can do. Now, when did you last have definite contact with
Nick?”

Andy took down
a thorough set of details, and gave me a report number. “Anton, are
you all right? You’re welcome to come over.”

“Thank you,
but I, um...want to be here in case he calls. Or comes home.”

“Of
course. I understand.”

“Can you trace
him by his cell phone?”

“I’ll do
my best, and track his credit card, that kind of thing. I won’t be
sitting on my arse, I promise you.”

“Thanks.
Uh...do you have any ideas where he might be?”

“Not a one,
Anton. Every time I speak to him he’s either bitching about
Richmond, or talking about you.”

“Do
you...uh...think it could be foul play?” I put my hand on my
throat. Saying the words actually hurt.

“Let’s
not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, professional kindness
infusing his voice. “Let me contact Battersea. Now you call me if
you remember anything, or if Nick contacts you, or you want to
talk. And the offer for you to come over stands.”

“I appreciate
it. Thank you, Andy.”

That
Andy was taking it seriously was both a comfort and a worry,
because he seemed to agree with me that there was something to
worry about. Andy was one of Nick’s oldest friends, his former work
partner, and if he thought Nick’s disappearance was out of
character, then it wasn’t just my neurosis creating that idea. I
chewed my lip, wondering if I should call Nick’s parents, or
Charlotte. After the officer from Battersea had been, I decided. In
the meantime, I checked Nick’s laptop and email to see if there was
anything out of the ordinary on it. There was nothing that I could
identify. Of course, this assumed Nick was using his regular email.
But why wouldn’t he be?

A
panda
car turned up in
half an hour, which was either a tribute to Andy’s powers of
persuasion, or a sign that a missing police officer really was a
big deal. To my relief, one of the two officers who turned up was
indeed Chris Stevens, and he shook my hand warmly.

“Anton. Nice
to see you again, though perhaps not....”

“No,” I
agreed. “Come in.”

The other
officer looked around our little home with restrained curiosity,
but let Chris do the talking for her while she took notes. I ran
over the same details that I’d given Andy, and Chris nodded
sympathetically when I told him of DI Thorpe’s response.

“Unfortunate
he took that attitude. He confirmed that Nick knocked off at eight
last night, and was seen by several officers actually leaving the
station. I’ll check Richmond Station to see if he was captured on
their CCTV. Anton, I have to ask though—”

“Not a chance
in hell,” I said. “Nick wasn’t playing away.”

“How do you
know?” the other officer asked. “No offence, Dr Marber, but if he
was seeing someone else, you wouldn’t necessarily know.”

“He didn’t
have time. The man goes to work all the hours of the day, and comes
back here to sleep and eat. We’ve barely been able to scrape any
time together for ourselves in months.”

“Are you sure
he’s at work as long as you think he is?” she asked. “Sorry, I have
to ask this.”

“I
understand,” I said, fighting the urge to snap. “Check payroll.
He’s been working idiotic amounts of overtime, and Thorpe wouldn’t
be signing off on it if Nick wasn’t there.”

“What about
someone...casual?” Chris asked.

“Like someone
he picked up in a public loo?” This time I couldn’t stop myself
snapping. “Nick doesn’t do that. Neither do I. Not all gay men are
into that. Don’t make assumptions based on his sexuality.”

Chris held his
hands up. “Sorry. Anton, I know this is painful, but something’s
happened. Often the something in these cases is a shock to the
family. You need to be prepared to learn things you might not be
happy about.”

“I just want
him home. You’re talking about him as if he’s dead.”

“Not at all.
There’s no indication of that. This is a missing person’s enquiry,
nothing more at this stage. He could walk in five minutes from
now.”

Chris
was trying to keep me positive, but I wasn’t exactly naïve on
police matters, not after living with Nick and listening to him
talk about cases, and listening to him ripping apart police
procedurals on TV on the rare occasions when I could persuade him
to watch one. “What happens now? Should I contact his
parents?”

“If you feel
that you can, it’s a good idea, and anyone you think who might be
able to offer any suggestions. If you don’t feel comfortable
approaching them, we can do that for you. We may need to search
your house.”

“What on earth
for?”

“For evidence
of what might have caused him to disappear, or lose contact. You’re
certain relations between you were good?”

“As certain as
I can be.”

“And did he
mention any hostile interactions with anyone?”

“Other
than his boss? No. There’s
nothing
, Chris. We were going away to Sweden in two weeks’ time,
to celebrate our anniversary.”