‘Good.’ Keith relaxed slightly, taking a look around the room, greeting one or two others with familiar nods.
‘I see you have a new face on the team.’ Ivo guessed Keith would be wise to him, but it was worth dangling a line all the same to see what he might catch.
‘DS Fisher?’
‘Thought she was a DI?’ Ivo still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d got quite so hooked by the Ice Maiden’s misfortunes, but he was sure there’d come a time when his instinct would be rewarded.
Keith gave him a piercing look. ‘Don’t fuck with my team, Ivo.’
Ivo hunched his shoulders, head to one side, and spread his hands in a timeless gesture of wronged innocence. ‘Me?’
But he must have given something away, for Keith moved closer, his voice hard. ‘Have a think about where you are. Recovery is about more than not drinking. You’re supposed to keep your side of the street clean, remember?’
‘I’ve also got circulation targets to beat,’ Ivo said archly, though in truth he didn’t feel very playful right now.
‘Fine, whatever,’ said Keith. ‘But I won’t stand for any mischief. I don’t know what you’re after, but I’m hunting a killer.’
Ivo was an inch shorter than the superintendent but he stood his ground, maintaining eye contact, until Keith shook his head in contempt and walked away. Don’t patronise me, Ivo thought to himself. It’s not rocket science. You’ve got your job, and I’ve got mine.
SEVENTEEN
It was late when Grace left the station on Friday evening. Everyone was tired and knew they’d probably be working much of the weekend, so no one had suggested a swift half before heading home. As she turned the corner and crossed the road towards her block of flats, she barely noticed the man leaning against a car until he pushed himself upright and she recognised the lithe figure of her husband.
‘Trev!’
He smiled the smile that used to melt her heart. ‘Hello, Grace.’
‘What the hell do you want?’
‘Nice to see you, too.’
He spoke lightly, ruefully, but she fumbled in her bag for her key. ‘You can’t come in,’ she told him, striving to keep her voice strong.
‘I came to see you’re all right, that’s all.’
‘I’m fine. So you can go now.’ She got hold of her key but, loath to turn her back on him in the shallow doorway, found it awkwardly impossible to insert it cleanly into the lock.
‘Don’t be like that,’ he said. ‘My mum said she spoke to you, that you didn’t sound yourself. I was worried about you.’
‘Really?’ Grace couldn’t help herself. She whirled around to face him head on, her eyes blazing. ‘Min had no right to call me. And she wasn’t the least bit worried. She just wanted to tell me I was ruining your life!’
Trev spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. ‘Come on, love. She’s my mum!’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, I bet you’ve not eaten. Treat you to a pizza? I noticed a decent-looking place around the corner.’
‘No.’
He looked at her steadily before he responded. ‘OK. Fair enough.’ He used the patient tone a parent might use to a tired child. ‘I guess I knew it was a long shot. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. Bye.’ He walked away, leaving Grace in turmoil.
She opened the street door to the building, then stood watching as he returned to his car. He opened the driver’s door and looked back at her: the man she had married, laughed with, loved, and had believed she’d be with for ever. He gave a half smile, then dipped his head ready to climb inside. How often had she fallen for that look when it had been only a matter of who did the washing-up or went out for milk? He had come a long way to see her; maybe, after all, he really meant to set things straight at last?
‘Trev!’ she called quickly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear. And that she wouldn’t live to regret it.
He looked up immediately and, though he didn’t yet shut the car door, she saw hope soften his face. She noticed, too, that he had let his hair grow longer; he knew she’d never liked his buzz cut.
‘I am hungry,’ she told him, cursing herself for giving in. ‘Pizza would be good, but I need an early night.’
They fell into step together. Confused, she couldn’t decide whether his height and athlete’s tension so close beside her felt comfortingly familiar or like a threat.
‘You must be on the Rachel Moston case?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Oh, you know. Early days.’
Understanding her professional discretion, he fell silent until they reached the pizza place. He held the door open, reminding her that he’d always had perfect manners. The place was busy, and they were forced to stand close together for a minute or two while a waitress cleared a table and found menus. They ordered quickly, and Trev waited until they were alone before reaching across to touch her hand. Involuntarily Grace jerked back and tucked both hands beneath the table. She asked herself what on earth she thought she was doing here.
‘Sorry,’ said Trev. ‘I miss you, that’s all. Can’t blame a man for that.’
‘I’m not discussing the financial settlement,’ she told him.
He looked hurt. ‘No, we have lawyers.’
‘So what do you want?’
‘Look, we’ve both learned hard lessons. But I thought maybe it was time for us to move on.’
‘OK.’ Grace wondered what lesson he thought she had learned.
‘I’ve got a new job,’ he said. ‘Not much. But it’s a start.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad for you,’ she said carefully.
‘I realise what you’ve been through since you quit your job. That’s why I’m here. I worry about you. I want to look after you. For us to do better.’
She regarded her husband across the table. His candid blue eyes, silky dark-blonde hair, kissable lips. He must have looked like this as a mischievous kid, cadging an extra helping of ice-cream. No wonder his mother found it impossible to believe what he’d done. She still found it hard sometimes herself.
‘We can sort it out now,’ he went on. ‘Come back, Grace. Come home.’
She felt tears prick the back of her eyes. What kind of woman, of lover, would she be if she refused?
‘I don’t know, Trev,’ she began, but was interrupted by the waitress bringing their drinks.
‘Let’s try again,’ he said eagerly, once the waitress had gone. ‘At least give me a chance, and see where things go.’
‘I can’t, Trev. Not after what happened,’ Grace said softly.
‘I’ve finished my community service,’ he told her, reaching out again for her hand. She did not snatch it away, but neither did she let him take possession of it. ‘Had to redecorate an old folks’ home. And I told you I’m working, managing a bike shop. I’d like a fresh start.’
Grace said nothing, remembering the night she had spent in a modern budget hotel, lying alone in a bed that never got warm, savouring the bitter irony of craving the sound of his voice while nursing the wounds he’d inflicted. All she’d wanted then, as she hid from the world, was to talk to him, to have his smooth, sinewy arms around her once again to shield her from the panic and mend the unbearable sense of loss his actions had inspired.
‘What about you?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘I’m here. It’s fine. Nice to be busy.’
‘No, I mean the past. What you did.’
‘What I did?’
‘Look, I know I was out of order, but so were you.’ He paused, but clearly found no comprehension in Grace’s reaction. ‘Lee was my best mate long before I ever met you,’ he went on. ‘We worked together, rode together. What was I supposed to do?’
‘Get him off the junk he was taking before he killed someone?’
‘By grassing him up?’
Grace hung her head. Deep down, a part of her knew he had some right on his side: however much she split hairs over exactly what she�
�d done, she had transgressed an unwritten code of loyalty.
‘Deny it all you like,’ said Trev, ‘but I know you made that call.’
‘I gave the dealer’s name. Said when he’d be on the plot. I never meant for Lee to be picked up, too.’
‘So it was you.’ Trev sat back, folding his arms, looking at her with fresh pain in his eyes.
Shit, she thought, he’d never known for sure. And I’d always been so careful never to tell him. Why did I open my big mouth?
‘So the others were right.’ He looked hurt and bewildered. ‘It really was you who grassed him up.’
A fresh thought struck her. ‘Jesus, Trev! You mean you really weren’t even sure when you –?’
The waitress brought their food and fussed around with a pepper mill and questions about salad and more drinks. When she had gone, Grace still hadn’t worked out what else there was left to say.
‘You do understand, don’t you?’ he pleaded. ‘I had to do something. What kind of mate would I have been if I’d stood by when Lee’s life was totally falling apart, and all thanks to you? I couldn’t be some pussy-whipped dork of a husband. I couldn’t do nothing.’
‘No.’ Grace understood only too well: mates first and last, always. Wives weren’t mates, and everyone else – plonks like her, top brass, scrotes, whatever – could go hang. What else had she expected?
‘And I held my hands up in court,’ Trev reminded her. ‘I paid the price.’
Yes, she thought bitterly, remembering the jeers from Jeff and the others as she’d left the magistrates’ court. Your badge of honour.
Trev appeared to take her silence as acceptance. ‘So really we’re quits, aren’t we?’ he asked, starting to dig into his pepperoni pizza.
‘Is that really what you think?’ She shivered with cold, though the crowded restaurant was cosily warm.
‘Yes. We were both wrong.’ He reached across the table and this time she let him touch her. ‘But I still love you, Grace. Look, let’s just forget this divorce thing. Come home. At least postpone selling the house?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I can’t. I need the money. I’ve been unemployed, remember?’
‘But why sell?’ he persisted. ‘By the time we’ve paid all the costs of moving and stuff, it’s hardly worth it.’
‘It is to me.’
‘We could redecorate, if you like.’
‘I’m not going back there.’
‘Look, I’ll do the bathroom the way you always wanted.’
‘That’s kind of you.’
‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘We can have a fresh start without wasting money we haven’t got any more, can’t we?’
‘Not in that house.’
‘I’m trying to meet you half-way here.’ His fork stabbed into his pizza.
‘But I don’t get to decide where I live?’ Grace asked quietly. ‘I paid the deposit after all.’
‘Yeah, well, you earned more. I heard you’re not a DI any more, by the way. How are you managing on a sergeant’s pay? Seems like we’re all playing snakes and ladders!’ Trev laughed, but it wasn’t a nice laugh. Recognising the old resentment, Grace suddenly realised that it betrayed a much deeper anger. The punishment he’d meted out that night hadn’t only been about Lee.
‘This isn’t going to work, Trev.’ She pushed away her plate and reached for her bag.
‘Finish your pizza,’ he replied. ‘Come on, I even bought you extra topping.’ He pointed his dirty knife at her food.
‘Go to hell!’ Grace stood up, her hands shaking as she managed to retrieve a twenty-pound note from her purse and drop it onto the congealing cheese and mushroom on her untouched plate. She walked away without looking back.
EIGHTEEN
Safe in her flat, Grace couldn’t stop shaking. For a little while she worried that Trev would follow her, lean on the buzzer and give her no peace, but, though usually he hated to lose in any kind of situation, he didn’t. She thought about calling her sister: it would be good to chat about mundane stuff, catch up on the week. But then she remembered this was Friday, Alison’s regular girls’ night out when her husband looked after Grace’s two boisterous nephews. And anyway, it wasn’t fair to dump on Alison, especially when she only knew half the story. Nevertheless, the thought of her brother-in-law loyally putting the boys to bed soothed Grace a little, reminding her that some relationships worked, that not everyone’s world was as dark as Trev had once made hers.
She was shivering again, though her flat was as stuffy and warm as the restaurant. Seeking distraction, she opened her ‘favourites’ playlist, then went around putting on lights and throwing open windows. She didn’t care if she disturbed the neighbours. She’d yet to set eyes on a single one of them anyway. Her fridge was empty, but she had milk, and poured herself a bowl of cereal: it was better than nothing.
By the time Beyoncé’s inspirational ‘I Was Here’ had ended, Grace had stopped shaking, but she acknowledged that she couldn’t stave off the flood of scary thoughts that would surely overwhelm her if she tried to lie down and sleep. Right now she wanted to run back to the pizza joint and somehow pulverise Trev, to magically erase his very existence, reduce him to a little pile of dust. She was suddenly angry at him in a way she’d never been before, when shock and grief had overwhelmed her more than anger; now, ashamed of the little stab of hope that had made her call out to him as he stood by his car, she felt a murderous rage towards him for his ability to revive such tender feelings only to snatch them away and leave her exposed as stupid and deluded.
But this new wrath frightened her. She had to get out of here. Had to find someone to talk to. She immediately dismissed the crazy idea of calling Lance Cooper – he might take it the wrong way – but couldn’t shake off the temptation to sit in a noisy bar and get sloshed with her old friend Roxanne. As she tapped out the message, she knew this text was a serious professional error, but to hell with it! She’d just have to hope it didn’t come back to haunt her later.
Roxanne texted back seconds later: Blue Bar in twenty.
C U there, Grace replied, heaving a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to sit out the long hours of the night alone. Throwing off her neat, well-cut work clothes, she went to search her wardrobe for something frivolous and summery.
Perhaps it was walking in high heels that reminded her of Polly Sinclair, sending a chill over her bare arms. She hoped Polly wasn’t lying broken somewhere on someone’s hard floor. It was a week ago tonight that she’d disappeared, which was a very long time to be at the mercy of someone who bore her ill will. That’s if she was still alive.
She hoped that if Polly was a captive somewhere she’d be able to find ways to survive. Would she be able to picture some place where she’d been happy, and escape into it? Or maybe imagine hugging the golden retriever she’d missed so much on her gap-year travels? Or was her plight so bad that she’d lost all faith in such simple, everyday balm?
That’s what Trev had taken from her: the simple ability to believe in everyday magic. She’d loved him! He was the one to whom she’d turned for advice, support, distraction, sex. He was the last person on earth she’d have believed capable of making her so unhappy. Could he really expect her to return to him as if the world were still the same place, when it wasn’t, it just wasn’t!
Still, she had survived: at a price, but she had survived. That renewed her hope that Polly was still alive. It was an unrealistic hope, but that was better than darkness.
Drinkers had spilled out of the Blue Bar to fill the nearby pavements. As Grace approached, a minicab was attempting to inch past them and was treated to drunken cheers and an impromptu screen-wash. The driver switched on his wipers, flicking warm beer back at the jostling, laughing revellers. The mood was good-natured; they were apparently oblivious of recent events.
Inside, the place was heaving but Grace spotted Roxanne’s dark curls over by the bar and weaved through the crowd to
join her. Roxanne must have read her mind, for she already had the shots lined up, and Grace gratefully knocked back two tequilas before grabbing a nicely chilled bottle of Corona. Unable to hear themselves speak, they found a spot at the edge of the throng outdoors where they could perch on a high-sided concrete planter. A low, heavy summer moon hung between the buildings and a light breeze seemed to carry a whisper of distant fields and trees. The alcohol hit the right spot and Grace let herself sink into its warm embrace.
‘So is Matt Beeston still in custody?’ Roxanne asked.
Grace found herself laughing: right now, Matt’s predicament felt so far away and long ago that Roxanne’s eagerness seemed comical. ‘Yes,’ she answered, judging that giving away such information could hardly matter now that Matt’s name was plastered all over the tabloids.
‘Did he do it?’
‘We’ll know more tomorrow.’
‘Why, what’s happening tomorrow?’
Grace was tempted to tell her friend that Matt had consented to a search of his flat. No doubt word of that would get out soon enough and it would be so pleasant just to speak freely and give Roxanne what she wanted. But she was also weary of the enquiry and preferred to remain off duty tonight. ‘I can’t say.’
‘So what questions should I be asking?’ Roxanne asked eagerly. ‘Come on, Grace, you’ve got to give me something. If you find Polly and this starts ramping up, it could be huge!’
‘You know I can’t.’
‘Then why did you call me?’ she asked, clearly exasperated.
‘My ex turned up.’
‘Oh my gosh. So what was that like?’
‘Difficult. He wants to call off the divorce, keep the house.’
‘And?’
‘Just for a second, some stupid part of me whispered that I still love him, and what if I wake up and it’s all been some horrible nightmare and nothing happened?’
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