“Fancy lezzing up, do you, Miller?” Stevens gave her a wink. “Hey! You and the chief could go in as a couple: Starsky and Butch!”
“That’s quite enough, Stevens. Miller -”
But Miller sprang to her feet and with both hands cupped to her mouth tried to leave the room as fast as possible.
“I suppose that’s Miller out, then,” Wheeler surveyed the room. “Leaving...”
Stevens glanced around. “Oh, no!” he quailed.
“Oh, yes!” said Wheeler.
“Oh, yes!” said Brough and Pattimore.
“What?” said Harry Henry.
“Stevens, Henry, you are to go undercover. As a couple, if you like, or as two lone wolves or whatever it is.”
“Fuck that shit,” said Stevens.
“If that helps you to stay in character,” Wheeler laughed. “I’m sure Brough and Pattimore will give you their tips.”
Stevens scrambled away and put a chair between himself and his colleagues. “Keep away from me!” he roared.
“I want you in there tomorrow,” Wheeler switched off the projector. “The rest of you have plenty of people to see and questions to ask.”
No one moved. They all looked at Wheeler with the expectant faces of dogs begging for treats. It dawned on Wheeler that they were awaiting dismissal.
“Go on, then,” she jerked her thumb towards the door. “Go home.”
The Serious team was nonplussed. This was not the ‘fuck off’ they were used to. They filed from the room, subdued and deflated - all except Stevens whose features were alive with terror.
***
“Oh, there you are, Mel; I’ve been worried. “ Jerry’s statement was met with a derisive snort from Brough.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right, Miller?”
Miller gave the detective inspector a weak smile. “Yes, thank you, David.”
“Of course she’ll be all right,” Jerry pulled Miller over the threshold. “I’ll look after her.”
Brough looked him up and down. “Fine job you’ve made of that so far.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Boys, boys,” Miller managed a grin, “If you’re going to fight over me, please wait until I’m well enough to enjoy it.”
“You go and lie down, love.” Jerry put himself between his girlfriend and the stuck-up prig on the doorstep. “Thank you, David,” he snarled. “I’ve got her now.”
Brough didn’t move. At the kerb, Pattimore sounded his horn.
“We found her on the floor of the Ladies,” Brough said flatly. “She wouldn’t hear of the doctor. Wanted to come back to you.”
“Whatever my Mel wants...”
“Yes, well, you might want to make her reconsider the doctor.”
Jerry was about to tell the jumped-up Southern bastard to keep his nose out of his girlfriend’s business but another honk from Pattimore got Brough off the step.
Yeah, run along, Jerry watched him go. Your toy boy’s waiting.
He closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the street and filling his ears with the sounds of Miller in the bathroom, retching her guts up.
***
“Chinese?” Pattimore suggested as Brough strapped on his seat belt.
“It may as well be,” said Brough, keeping his eyes on the windscreen. “For all the notice you take of me speaking English.”
Pattimore pulled a face and raised his eyebrows to himself in the rear-view mirror. Yet again, Brough’s mood swings had caught him unawares. He was about to retort with something along the lines of “You’re as bad as my old girlfriend” but thought he’d better not. That was one can of worms he didn’t want Brough to know about never mind open. He started the engine and they drove off in stormy silence.
A quarter of an hour later, they pulled up outside Peking Tom’s. Pattimore kept the motor running.
“I’ll have that ginger and spring onion thing I like,” he said. “And chips. And before you don’t say anything (I’m assuming you’re not talking to me and so won’t tell me what you want) - therego, I’m telling you what I want. Besides which, I’m not supposed to stop here so I’ve got to be ready to tootle off around the corner any second.”
He punctuated all this with a curt smile. Brough, pursing his lips like a champion lemon sucker, unfastened his seat belt. Unable to contain himself, he said, “It’s therefore or ergo. Not therego, for fuck’s sake.”
“How pleasant to hear your voice again. I knew you’d rise to the bait.”
“As if you said it deliberately!”
“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.”
“Infuriating!” Brough pushed his way out of the car and slammed the door. A couple of seconds later he opened it again and peered in. “What was it you wanted?”
“The ginger -”
“- spring onion. Right.”
“With chips!”
“With chips.” He closed the door a little less violently this time and went into the takeaway, leaving Pattimore feeling a mixture of relief that Davey was thawing out a little bit and utter bewilderment over what had frozen him solid in the first place.
***
The man with the lopsided lips watched Dickon from across the car park of the Oddfellows Arms. A bit prissy, he assessed, minces when he walks but - he observed the way the bar manager heaved the wide cellar doors shut - evidently a frequent attendee of a gym. The fabric of Dickon’s purple shirt was taut across the shoulders and biceps. What do you call that colour? Magenta?
Dickon stooped. The whirring of an electric screwdriver filled the air like the drone of distant bees. The man with the wonky mouth used the noise to cover his approach. He stole across the tarmac as though playing Grandmother’s Footsteps and stood behind the crouching figure, listening to him grunt and curse as he fitted a new hasp to the lock.
The task finished, Dickon stood. He stepped back to admire his handiwork before his observer could move out of the way.
“Fuck me!” Dickon gasped. He placed the fingertips of one hand to his breastbone. “Shit me up next time.” He laughed.
“Are you Dickon?” said the man.
“Depends who’s asking.” Dickon tried not to stare at the stranger’s peculiar lips but they were so distinctive - like an F hole on a violin.
“Er...” the man produced some papers from his inside pocket, print-outs from a website. “It’s me. Keith. From He4Me.”
“Oh!” Dickon’s fingertips left his sternum and touched Keith’s tie. “How... lovely.”
Keith looked downcast.
“You’re not - you’re not... disappointed, are you?”
“What? Oh, don’t be silly; we haven’t been to bed yet!” Dickon threw back his head and squawked. “Your face!”
“What’s the matter with my face?”
“Um - there’s nothing the matter with your face. I mean, well, let’s get you inside and get a nice stiff drink inside you.”
He linked his arm in Keith’s but Keith was looking at the newly-fitted padlock.
“You’ve done a good job there.”
“Oh?”
“That should keep them out.”
“Who?”
“That lock. Should keep people out of your cellar.”
“Oh! Ho, yes. That’s exactly what it’s for.” He steered his internet date around to the main entrance. “Keeping people out.”
***
Pattimore took away the empty takeaway containers and sank their used plates in the sink. Here goes, he thought. Time to grasp whichever nettle was stinging Davey’s arse this time.
He took fresh beers from the fridge and rejoined Brough at the dining table.
“Have I upset you, Davey? I mean, clearly I hav
e upset you but honestly, I swear, I really didn’t mean to - however I managed it. I suppose that makes it worse, doesn’t it? Me not even knowing what it is I’m supposed to have done. Or is it something I haven’t done? Is that it?”
Brough played with the condensation on the neck of his beer bottle. Pattimore held his breath and was looking at Brough with such an imploring expression, Brough found he couldn’t give him the cold shoulder any longer. The time to talk had come.
“I’m sorry,” he began, “it’s just that you keep doing it when I’ve asked you repeatedly not to and -”
“Doing what?”
“Calling me Davey!”
“It’s your name!”
“No! It’s your name for me and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked you not to call me by it at work.”
“Oh... Did I?”
“Yes. Several times today.”
“Really? When?”
“At the briefing. In front of everyone.”
“Did I?”
“Yes!”
“And that’s what’s got your knickers in a twist?”
Brough stood. Pattimore reached for him but he was already halfway to the bedroom.
“Davey! Come back! David!”
The bedroom door slammed.
“I’m sorry!” Pattimore told the unforgiving wood. “Davey...”
He turned the doorknob. Brough hadn’t locked it - that was a good sign. He pushed the door open and entered the darkened room.
“Davey?”
***
“I thought we could have a bite here,” Dickon smiled at his rather nervous date. “Restaurant upstairs is not bad.”
“Here?” Keith glanced at the ceiling. “I thought we’d be eating out.”
“Well, I do declare!” Dickon screeched. “We’ve only just met!” He brayed like a hysterical donkey.
“I don’t normally do this, you see,” Keith studied the beer mats. “In fact, I never do.”
“What?”
“This. The website. Looking for men online.”
“Must be my lucky day,” Dickon muttered.
“What?”
“Look, I’ll top up your glass and we can go up and peek at the menu. How’s that sound?”
“Um...” Before Keith could formulate a more intelligible response, Dickon whisked their glasses back to the bar.
Edward and Luigi greeted their boss with rather suggestive hand gestures. Luigi tried to mimic Keith’s lopsided lips.
“Eat shit, the pair of you,” Dickon sang. “When did you bitches last have a date?” He poured fresh drinks and returned to his guest. So far the evening was working out exactly as planned.
***
Brough rolled over, taking most of the duvet with him. Pattimore, studying the darkness between himself and the ceiling, refrained from reclaiming some of the bedclothes for himself.
His penance: shivering in the dark.
“Davey, I’m sorry,” he whispered to the hump of Brough’s shoulder. All he got in return was the chill across his bare chest.
Brough’s eyes were open wide; he kept perfectly still. By rights he should be on the sofa - No! Pattimore should be on the sofa - No, again! Pattimore and all his belongings should be out the door. Let him see if his big buddy Stevens would take him in.
He felt the mattress move as Pattimore got out of bed. Has he read my mind, he wondered? Is he leaving?
Brough felt a curious mixture of disappointment and relief when it became apparent that Pattimore had only got up for a piss. Brough listened to the stream of urine hitting the water in the toilet bowl. What a noisy pisser! Then the flush. Then the tap.
He’s washing his hands - that’s something, Brough supposed.
If only it was just as easy to wash away what he had done.
5.
Brough was up first, earlier than usual. He tried to call Miller to ask for a lift into work. He didn’t think being in a confined space like Pattimore’s car was a good idea, although you have to be with someone in order to give them the silent treatment.
No. Not this time. This went beyond the silent treatment.
He carried his plate of cremated toast to the bin, wincing as the dull pain in his arm sharpened in protest at the movement.
He hadn’t dared to look for bruises during his shower. Bruises would make what had happened all too real.
Oh, wake up, David! Isn’t the pain evidence enough? Isn’t the memory?
He tried Miller’s number again. There was still no answer and he’d be buggered if he was going to record a message for her to play on loudspeaker so that her gravedigger boyfriend could make fun of his ‘posh’ accent.
Fuck that.
He heard Pattimore go into the bathroom. Galvanised, Brough summoned a taxi. He pulled on his raincoat and went outside to wait.
The last remaining clumps of snow were grey with dirt and brown from dog shit. What had been so pretty at first, painting everything bright and clean, was now tainted, soiled and messy, and you just wished it would disappear.
Hurry the fuck up, Brough urged the taxi driver in an attempt to communicate telepathically.
He sent Miller a text message berating her for not answering or returning his calls.
***
Detective Inspector Benny Stevens had seriously considered calling in sick. Even the smiling and softly spoken new incarnation of Chief Inspector Wheeler would see that as the cop-out it most assuredly was.
Hah, he thought bitterly! Cop out. This particular cop is most definitely ‘in’.
He wasn’t going to have that lot casting nasturtiums on his professionalism. No fucking way. I may be a maverick and play by my own fucking rules but - He slumped in his chair. I’m no maverick, he admitted to himself. When Wheeler says shit, I do.
Speak of the sun and we feel its rays: Chief Inspector Wheeler breezed into the briefing room, sweetness and light personified.
“You’re keen,” she observed.
Stevens bit down on the ‘fuck off’ that was trying to burst free from under his moustache. The old Wheeler wouldn’t mind such language and would have retorted with much worse to keep him in his place. But this new Wheeler - Stevens didn’t know what to make of her. She’d probably have him up on a whatsit - a fucking disciplinary and would smile that same sweet and disconcerting smile while chewing his bollocks metaphorically off.
Brough was next to arrive.
“Someone’s keen,” he smirked in Stevens’s direction. Stevens exhibited his middle finger.
Pattimore was next. He hurried across to Brough who stood and went to sit somewhere else. Pattimore was about to call out Brough’s first name but at the last second thought this would be imprudent, considering what had triggered yesterday’s... barney, Pattimore supposed was one word for it.
Except Davey didn’t fight back, did he? Pattimore’s conscience pricked him. He squirmed in his seat, wondering how he could make amends.
“Right,” Chief Inspector Wheeler spread her arms in a gesture of welcome and inclusion, like the leader of some kind of cult. “Looks like the gang’s all here so we’ll make a start.”
Brough glanced around, taking care to avoid Pattimore’s searching, imploring gaze.
“Um, Chief?” he raised his hand. “Miller isn’t here.”
The old Karen Wheeler would have made a scathing comment, satirising his prowess as a detective, but this all-new, improved model merely smiled. “That’s right. Had a phone call from her fella. D S Miller’s not going to be in this morning.”
“Why? What’s the matter with her?”
Chief Inspector Wheeler said she didn’t know but she suspected (and here she mouthed the words and made vague gestures to her abdomen) that it might b
e ladies’ trouble.
Brough averted his eyes, thoroughly aghast.
“The purpose of this briefing -” Wheeler was interrupted by the sudden and noisy entrance of Harry Henry, bumbling into the room like a whirlwind asking for directions. She waited, sphinx-like, for him to find a seat, which he managed but only after somehow contriving to collide with every other piece of furniture.
Harry Henry sat leaning forwards. He pushed his loose spectacles up the bridge of his nose and grinned, encouraging the Chief Inspector to continue.
“- is to make sure those of us going undercover know what we’m up to and those of us in the support team know what they’m up to as well.”
Harry Henry nodded vigorously. His glasses fell off.
“Stevens, you are - for want of a better term - the inside man.” She paused, fully expecting snickers and snorts but was pleasantly surprised to hear none. Stevens was sulking like it was an Olympic event. “Pattimore and Brough will help you prepare.”
Pattimore looked hopefully at Brough, whose eyes were firmly fixed on Chief Inspector Wheeler.
“In what way?” said Brough, flatly, expecting some kind of homophobic remark in return.
“Oh...” Wheeler made an expansive gesture. “You two know the lie of the land. The layout of the place. Who are the characters? Who does he need to look out for? Who does he need to talk to?”
“Oh” said Brough, sitting back, “So it’s not about what to wear, how to speak and what to drink?”
“No!” Wheeler was appalled. “Well... a bit. Oh, all right; yes, it is! I mean -” she pointed directly at Stevens, “Look at him.”
Everyone looked at him. Stevens blushed.
“Harry, you will also go along as a punter. You can be a travelling sales rep just asking for directions but you decide to have a sandwich and a tomato juice before you go on your way.”
Harry jotted all this down in his notebook.
“Fuck’s sake,” said Stevens. “Why does he get to be the sales rep? Why can’t he be the bummer?”
“Because,” said Wheeler and left it at that. She noticed Harry Henry had his hand in the air. “Yes, Harry?”
“I don’t like tomato juice,” he said glumly.
Coffin Dodgers Page 5
