by Bo Brennan
“Didn’t fancy it,” India said, adding more ketchup to her plate before spearing a chip.
Terri raised a brow. “What, the Nag’s or AJ Colt?”
India stared at the chip on the end of her fork, and concentrated coating all sides equally in tomato sauce.
Terri put down her cutlery and leant across the table, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh my god. Have you shagged him?”
“Ssssh,” India said fiercely, looking around the restaurant to ensure nobody was listening.
Terri burst out laughing.
“What's so funny?” India spat, frowning indignantly as her cheeks burned.
“You,” laughed Terri, “you're so paranoid. Like these people give a shit if you’ve shagged the hunk. You have, haven’t you?”
“No,” India said, rubbing her forehead, stressed.
“For god’s sake, I know something’s happened, just lighten up and tell me!”
“I was at a club,” India mumbled.
“Why wasn’t I invited?” Terri leaned back and narrowed her eyes. India knew what was coming, kept her head down, suddenly her food seemed fascinating. “You’re a copper for Christ’s sake,” Terri gritted out. “You must realise how dangerous that is.”
“Don't lecture me,” India said. “You're not my mother.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Terri snapped.
India continued eating as the silence extended between them, for her the conversation was over. Terri gave a loud exasperated sigh, usually a sign that she wasn’t quite finished yet, but was changing tack. “Gray would have a bloody dickey fit if he found out,” she said.
India glanced up at her then; she really didn’t know her brother at all. Gray took phone photos of everyone she left with, and still insisted on three rings when she eventually got home. But he’d have more than a dickey fit if their dance sessions ever got out, he’d die of embarrassment.
“How did Clare’s date with the waiter go?” India said.
“Nice subject change.” Terri gazed at her with sad eyes. “Why d’you do it? Why d’you sabotage any chance of ever meeting someone decent?”
India shrugged. They could never begin to understand why she did the things she did, she barely understood herself. Her whole life she’d been treated as a morally bankrupt sexual deviant. She guessed if the cap fit . . . “Is Clare’s waiter decent?”
“Yeah, he is.” Terri grimaced and inclined her head. “I know she phoned you last night and told you all about him . . . Didn’t tell you about Gino though, did she.” Brimming with desire to share potentially juicy gossip about the youngest of their clan, her eyes widened along with her smile.
“Spill.” India picked up her burger, cautiously checked it was veg and not beef before taking a bite. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to eat a proper burger again.
“Well, you know she signed the lease on Friday for the beauty treatment room at the back of the salon?” Terri said, and India nodded. She knew that. “Gino was telling her all about your man’s ex-wife.”
“He's not my man,” India said flatly.
“Whatever.” Terri dismissed her offence with a wave of her hand. “Apparently she was a right cow.”
“Gino knows her?”
“He used to cut her hair, knows them all. She was proper high maintenance, too. He said if she was still around she'd fill half of Clare's diary alone. According to him, she spent so much money looking beautiful outside, she completely forgot about inside. ‘Rotten to the core’ he said.”
“I dread to think what he must say about us,” India mumbled through a mouth full of food.
“She was shagging everything with a bank balance. Your man was paying a fortune for her to get preened to perfection and getting none of the benefits,” Terri said. “Came home from work one day and found her riding some super-rich city banker in his bed.”
India huffed and wiped sauce from her chin. Nothing was forever. Human beings were not designed to mate for life. He might not have been getting his oats then, but he was certainly making up for it now.
“She even tried it on with Gino. Anyway, she ran off with the super-rich dude and left your man rattling around all alone in a million pound house.”
“A million pound house?” India spluttered with surprise.
“Owned outright too. It's no wonder he got a hard on just looking at you,” she said thoughtfully. “You and your Primarni wardrobe must make a refreshing change from the gold digging trash he’s used to. The fact he didn't strangle the bitch there and then makes AJ Colt a saint in my book. Do you want dessert? They've got sticky toffee pudding,” Terri tempted.
A fucking saint? the man with his back to them thought. His knuckles had turned white with the ferocity of his grip on the knife and fork. He rallied all of his control to place them carefully next to the untouched slop on his plate, when what he really wanted to do was use them on India Kane’s stupid fucking dykie friend’s face.
Winchester
“Why don't you stay at the house while you're in town, son?” Colt's father asked, as they packed the fishing rods into the car.
“You know why,” Colt said, and his father sighed.
“This friction between you and Karen upsets your mother,” he said. “And she worries about you all alone in that hotel when there’s a perfectly good bed at home.”
“I'm not alone, Dad. Lacey's in the room next door.”
“Lacey spends more time at the house than hotel,” he grumbled, “especially now they've got the kids every other weekend.”
His father’s tone still showed a man not quite as at ease with the situation as he pretended to be. The kids had found it most difficult to adjust to their parents’ marriage breakdown. Catholic school children had proven no less cruel or forgiving than their mainstream peers. “You'll get used to it,” Colt said.
“Probably,” his father mumbled, his head hidden in the boot as he aimlessly rearranged its contents. “What’s going on between you and that Kane woman?”
Colt’s pulse quickened. “Nothing,” he said.
His father turned to study his face. “Are you sure about that?”
Colt frowned, taken aback by both the question and its tone. His father had never shown any interest in his love life before, and far too many people for his liking seemed to be taking an interest lately – especially where that Kane woman was concerned. “Of course I'm sure.”
“Good. You shouldn't mix business and pleasure, son.”
Colt laughed and jerked his head. “I’m the only one who doesn’t.” His father had always been a staunch advocate of police personnel sticking to their own. “What happened to: ‘only a copper gets a copper’?”
“I was wrong,” he said, returning his attention to the contents of the car boot, shuffling the wellies and rods from one side to the other. “It's a recipe for disaster. Look at Karen.”
Colt would rather look at his parents. They’d met working for the force. Forty-something years of rock solid marriage and seven kids was hardly a recipe for disaster. He crossed his arms and leaned against the car, felt the comforting sting that still lingered on his skin under layers of winter clothes. “Yeah well, things didn’t work out so well for me when I married outside the fold did they, Dad.”
His father sighed. “So when are you going back?”
Colt shrugged. “When the job's done.”
“Shouldn’t take long for the result of this Connor woman’s rape kit,” his father said. “Can be on your way then.”
“Might give us his DNA profile but it won’t give us him.” Colt frowned and shuffled against the winter chill. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Dad?”
Bill Colt slammed the boot shut, grasped his son’s shoulder and smiled. “Don't be daft, it’s great having you around. But you've outgrown this place. It must feel like you've taken ten steps backwards ending up here again. You've got a great career, great prospects and a great life in London; don't ever lose sight of that. London make
s you happy, son, and if you're happy – we’re all happy.”
Colt slid into the driver’s seat, glancing sideways at his father as they began the short journey home. He had no reason to look as uncomfortable as he did, his son was the one wearing a tight cling film girdle under his clothes and he was relaxed in comparison. He also had no reason to know about Caroline Connor’s rape kit. Colt hadn’t discussed the case with his father and Lacey Fox wouldn’t discuss the weather with him . . . nor Karen for that matter. “Seen much of Len lately?” he said, sensing another man had entered the ‘stay away from Kane’ brigade.
“Been too busy.” His father leant forward to gaze up at the sky. “Snow's on the way.”
Colt smirked. The man had been a copper for forty-two years; surely he could come up with a more original swerve than the bloody weather.
“D'you reckon me and you could still beat the others in a snowball fight like the good old days, son?”
Who the hell was he trying to kid? Those days were well and truly over. “I’m not stopping,” Colt said. He might be persuaded if he could lay his hands on a couple of grenades to throw at his sister, but it seemed the rules had changed . . . and now a far more intriguing game was in play.
“You'd better tell your mother when we get back then,” he said, raising his brows. “She's gone all out on a huge family lunch in the hope she can broker a peace deal.”
Colt huffed, UN peacekeepers couldn’t achieve that. And until his sister fessed up and apologised, he point blank refused to be in the same room as her, let alone eat at the same table. “You'll have to tell her, Dad,” he said. “I'm not coming in. I've got things I need to do this afternoon.” Starting with a visit to that Kane woman.
A smart gold Audi sat on the hard standing in place of her battered jeep. Colt pulled in next to it, and immediately wished he hadn't when the fireman appeared – wearing overalls, beanie hat on head and paint brush in hand, recreating a winter version of a naff Athena poster.
“She's not here,” Gray Davies said, as soon as he stepped from his car. “She’s on a lunch date.”
Colt pursed his lips. A date? Very modern. “And she told you that, did she?”
The fireman kept his back to him, continued painting in slow, controlled strokes. “Yep. Tells me everything.”
“Including restricted information about my case, I understand.”
“Nah, that was all me.” Gray Davies finally put the paintbrush down and turned to eyeball him. “Works all hours and brings it home. I have a tendency to get nosey when people I care about are in danger of getting hurt. So lay off her, Big Man. Your problem’s with me.”
“So it seems.” Colt made a pointed show of looking at the Audi’s tax disc and was surprised to see fishing gear piled on the back seat. “You fish?”
Caught off guard, Gray Davies frowned. “When I can.”
“Sea or river?”
“Depends on the weather,” he said cautiously.
“I went fly fishing this morning,” Colt said.
The fireman lifted his chin. “Catch anything?”
Colt shook his head. “Not a single bite.”
“Should try here sometime, fish are always jumping,” Gray said, picking up his paintbrush. “She won’t be long if you want to wait. In your car, of course.”
Of course. Colt dipped his head at the minor concession. “It's fine, nothing that won’t keep till tomorrow,” he said, climbing back in his car as painting resumed. The fireman temporarily placated, he thought it best not to mention he’d missed a bit.
India Kane sped down the dirt track, car bouncing over the potholes and uneven ground, thinking about AJ Colt. The man was proving an unwelcome distraction, avoiding him had become her primary focus.
Her eyes widened as an approaching vehicle came into her field of vision on the bend. She slammed on the brakes and they locked. Yanking the wheel hard right, she steered into the resulting skid. The car veered up the embankment towards the trees before coming to a – thankfully upright – controlled halt.
Heart pounding from the adrenaline rush, she stepped from the car on legs like jelly, turning the air blue with expletives.
“Christ almighty, that was close,” Colt said, running towards her as she stumbled down the embankment. “Are you all right?”
“No thanks to you,” she spat through gritted teeth. This man was going to be the death of her.
“You were the one driving like Lewis bloody Hamilton,” he said.
“I live here! It's my bloody track!”
He extended his hand. “Give me the keys. I'll get it back down for you.”
India frowned and planted her hands on her hips, affronted by the offer. “I do know how to drive, thanks.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said with a grin. “You've done the advanced driving course. I read it in your file. Handled that skid like a pro.”
India fought the urge to laugh. “What do you want?” she said wearily. “It’s Sunday.”
He put his hands in his pockets and leant against the bonnet of his car. She raised her brows in question. “Well?” she pushed when he just stood silently staring at her. “Has some new info come in or something?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I was down the road and . . .” he paused and scrubbed a hand over his head. “Anyway, I spoke to Gray and, er, . . . Why did you let me think you’d told him about the case?”
“I didn’t let you think anything. You reached that conclusion all on your own.”
“Well I jumped the gun and got it wrong. I’m sorry for thinking bad of you.”
India shrugged. It didn’t matter. “Don’t be. I don’t care what you think of me.”
He straightened up and exhaled purposefully, looking towards her car. “Are you sure you don't need a hand with that?”
She slowly shook her head.
“Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then,” he said.
India trundled up the bank to retrieve her car, by the time she reached it he’d gone.
AJ Colt rested his head against the steering wheel at the top of the track, berating himself for being a complete and utter muppet.
The fireman and the date thing had thrown him. More so the revelation about the case notes. Why would she take the flak for her nosey boyfriend? Thank god he wasn’t there to witness him tripping over his own bloody tongue. If India didn't already think he was a total dickhead, then she certainly did now. Colt cared what she thought, even if she didn’t.
He turned the stereo on and cringed when Radiohead’s 'Creep' blared out, blindly turned it off again as he slowly bounced his head off the steering wheel. He let out a long exasperated breath, felt a little lost now, not sure what to do next. Wasn’t even completely sure why he’d come here anyway. He had no business making moves on someone else’s woman. He’d been on the receiving end, and it didn’t feel good. He cracked his knuckles and took a moment to gather his thoughts.
Right, he'd decided.
He was going back to the hotel, getting a beer and retiring to his room to get some work done . . . and probably read her flimsy file again. Maybe even do a little bit of online digging.
Colt slipped the car into gear and pulled out onto the lane, totally oblivious to the watcher in the car 200 yards away.
Chapter 33
Monday 13th December
“Good morning, Ladies and Gents.” Colt pointed to the empty chair. “Who's missing?”
“Mark,” Vicky said, and Lucy briefly stopped fiddling with her phone to shoot her a contemptuous glare.
“Any idea where he is?” Colt looked to Lucy for the answer, but she’d returned to her incessant texting, unaware of his gaze on her. When met with oblivion, he threw his hands in the air. “Any idea at all?”
India glanced around the table, all eyes were on Lucy. The only person in the room who didn't seem to know something was coming was Lucy Levington herself. Much to India's delight, Colt leant across the table, plucked the phone from her hand and tossed it o
ut the incident room door before slamming it shut.
“Local forces have come back with three confirmed cases for us, two in Berkshire and one in Wiltshire,” Colt said cheerfully while Lucy sat open-mouthed, gawping at him. “This is how today is going to go: Lee and Tom, you’re off to Berkshire. India, you're coming with me to Wiltshire. Lucy, you're staying on Martha Matthews’ movements and transactions with Mark when he finally bothers to get here, comprende?”
He seemed in a remarkably good mood for a Monday morning. India doubted it would stay that way if the two of them were going to be trapped in the same car for a few hours. She watched DS Atkins loitering outside the door, knew his downcast quizzical frown was aimed at the crudely discarded phone at his feet. When he finally tapped on the glass, Colt beckoned him inside.
“There's a lady in reception to see DC Levington, Sir.”
“Thanks,” Colt said, and without even looking her way added, “Sit down, Lucy. I'm not finished yet.”
India watched her briefly hesitate before sliding back into her seat with pursed lips. He truly was on top form this morning, maybe today wouldn’t be quite so bad after all.
Meeting over, and point proven, Colt held the security door open for India and Lucy to exit, then hung back to remind Vicky to chase up the lab for the semen results from Caroline Connor’s rape kit. In his haste to get to Wiltshire he’d almost forgotten.
A sudden scream of ‘whore!’ ripped through the air.
He turned to find India standing motionless by the main entrance door, looking on while a crazy banshee in a cardigan beat the crap out of Lucy on the reception lobby floor.
Colt thrust his files into Vicky’s arms and made a grab for the woman, struggling to get a grip on her as she rained a flurry of frenzied blows down on the young detective’s head and face. Confident he finally had a hold on her, he tugged hard, and stumbled back against the wall as she thrashed free of her cardigan.
