he knew it.
Kathryn sensed his irritation, knowing he was the sort of man who cherished his sleep. She pictured him at home earlierthat evening, enjoying sea bream with steamed vegetables and a chilled white, after having spent an hour in the gym, maintaining that flat stomach. Neither could have guessed that his Sabbath would have ended like this, with him facing her across the table inside Finchbury police station at this ungodly hour, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
âAre you sure you want to talk to me?â he prompted.
His jacket fell open, revealing the hot-pink silk lining of his handmade suit. She imagined his fellow police officers taking the mick, but knew enough about Roland and the care he took with his appearance to realise that he wouldnât pay them any heed. He would never be seen in the cheap, crumpled brands that some of his contemporaries wore. Kathryn recalled a conversation she had overheard between him and Mark in which heâd lamented the loss of his uniform, an inevitable consequence of climbing the ranks and becoming chief inspector. He had taken such pleasure in polishing buttons, shining boots and removing specks of lint from the wool of his tunic. She watched as he ran his palm over his abs, clearly enjoying the feel of himself against the inside of a crisp, white shirt.
âYes.â
âYou are absolutely certain that this wouldnât be easier with a stranger?â
She noted the flash of wide-eyed hope.
âI am positive, Roland. Thank you for asking, but there is no one else that I would rather talk to and I appreciate you coming and giving up your sleep, I really do.â
It was as if she didnât get it, as if she had invited him over, rather than the fact he had been hauled from his bed in the early hours in response to the first suspected murder on his patch in eighteen years. There was no quaver to her voice, no hesitation or apparent nervousness. Her hands sat neatly foldedtogether in her lap. She looked as calm as someone waiting for a doctorâs appointment.
Roland had been a police officer for twenty years. He had seen things â gruesome, unjust and amusing things. But this? It made no sense; it was shocking. It had stunned him, shaken him.
âYou seem very calm, considering your current situation.â
He wondered if she was in shock.
âDo you know, itâs funny that you should say that, because I do feel calm. I feel very calm.â
âThat worries me greatly.â
âOh, Roland, thereâs no need to worry, no need at all. It makes a pleasant change for me, this feeling of serenity. I had almost forgotten what it was like! In fact I donât think I have felt like this since I was a child. That was a lovely time in my life, when I had absolutely nothing to worry about and I was very much loved. I had a wonderful childhood, a wonderful life. I wasnât always this way, you know.â
âWhat way?â
âOh, you know⦠afraid, edgy, contained. I was quite determined. Never racy or wild, but I had a quiet belief that I could set the world alight, blaze trails. I thought I would achieve so many things. My parents always told me that the only limit to my achievements was my imagination and I believed them. They are both gone now, and I donât think about them too much.â
âWhy not?â
She exhaled deeply.
âTo tell you the truth, Roland, I have always thought that the dead might watch over us in some way, even have the capacity to protect us. If my parents have been watching over me, then I am ashamed for all that they have had to witness, mortified by what I have become. On the other hand, if they were able to protect me from their viewing gallery on high, why didnâtthey? Iâve lost count of the number of times Iâve asked for help, prayed for help, all to no avail. So I tend not to bother. Itâs far too confusing and thatâs one thing that I
Kathryn sensed his irritation, knowing he was the sort of man who cherished his sleep. She pictured him at home earlierthat evening, enjoying sea bream with steamed vegetables and a chilled white, after having spent an hour in the gym, maintaining that flat stomach. Neither could have guessed that his Sabbath would have ended like this, with him facing her across the table inside Finchbury police station at this ungodly hour, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
âAre you sure you want to talk to me?â he prompted.
His jacket fell open, revealing the hot-pink silk lining of his handmade suit. She imagined his fellow police officers taking the mick, but knew enough about Roland and the care he took with his appearance to realise that he wouldnât pay them any heed. He would never be seen in the cheap, crumpled brands that some of his contemporaries wore. Kathryn recalled a conversation she had overheard between him and Mark in which heâd lamented the loss of his uniform, an inevitable consequence of climbing the ranks and becoming chief inspector. He had taken such pleasure in polishing buttons, shining boots and removing specks of lint from the wool of his tunic. She watched as he ran his palm over his abs, clearly enjoying the feel of himself against the inside of a crisp, white shirt.
âYes.â
âYou are absolutely certain that this wouldnât be easier with a stranger?â
She noted the flash of wide-eyed hope.
âI am positive, Roland. Thank you for asking, but there is no one else that I would rather talk to and I appreciate you coming and giving up your sleep, I really do.â
It was as if she didnât get it, as if she had invited him over, rather than the fact he had been hauled from his bed in the early hours in response to the first suspected murder on his patch in eighteen years. There was no quaver to her voice, no hesitation or apparent nervousness. Her hands sat neatly foldedtogether in her lap. She looked as calm as someone waiting for a doctorâs appointment.
Roland had been a police officer for twenty years. He had seen things â gruesome, unjust and amusing things. But this? It made no sense; it was shocking. It had stunned him, shaken him.
âYou seem very calm, considering your current situation.â
He wondered if she was in shock.
âDo you know, itâs funny that you should say that, because I do feel calm. I feel very calm.â
âThat worries me greatly.â
âOh, Roland, thereâs no need to worry, no need at all. It makes a pleasant change for me, this feeling of serenity. I had almost forgotten what it was like! In fact I donât think I have felt like this since I was a child. That was a lovely time in my life, when I had absolutely nothing to worry about and I was very much loved. I had a wonderful childhood, a wonderful life. I wasnât always this way, you know.â
âWhat way?â
âOh, you know⦠afraid, edgy, contained. I was quite determined. Never racy or wild, but I had a quiet belief that I could set the world alight, blaze trails. I thought I would achieve so many things. My parents always told me that the only limit to my achievements was my imagination and I believed them. They are both gone now, and I donât think about them too much.â
âWhy not?â
She exhaled deeply.
âTo tell you the truth, Roland, I have always thought that the dead might watch over us in some way, even have the capacity to protect us. If my parents have been watching over me, then I am ashamed for all that they have had to witness, mortified by what I have become. On the other hand, if they were able to protect me from their viewing gallery on high, why didnâtthey? Iâve lost count of the number of times Iâve asked for help, prayed for help, all to no avail. So I tend not to bother. Itâs far too confusing and thatâs one thing that I
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