‘Crisps, nuts . . . I’m basical y a snack salesman.’
She nodded, smiling slightly, as though she wasn’t sure whether to believe him. When the barman had put down the drinks she picked up her glass and waited until he’d moved away.
‘Listen, Tom, it’s almost midnight, and we can sit here getting hammered if you want. Or we could just take these up to your room.’
She did not take her eyes from his as she sipped her drink. Now Thorne felt himself really redden. He could also feel the blood moving to other parts of his body and was grateful that he was sitting down.
He had cal ed Louise earlier from the car-park, at the same time as Hol and was speaking to Sophie. She’d said she had no problem with him staying over; had even sounded slightly annoyed that he would think she might have. She’d said that she’d be happy to get an early night and when he’d asked how her first day back had been, she’d told him it was fine; that he had been worrying for nothing.
‘I’ve . . . got a girlfriend,’ Thorne said. He nodded, like it was self-explanatory, but the woman just stared, as though waiting for him to elaborate. He was trying to swal ow, dry-mouthed, thinking that he didn’t real y fancy her very much and wondering how he would be reacting if he did. ‘You know, otherwise . . .’
The woman raised her hands and spun slowly away on her stool. ‘Not a problem.’
Thorne was stil nodding like an idiot. She’d said it the same way that Louise had: casual and frosty. He opened his wal et and took out a ten-pound note to pay for the drinks; turned when he heard the woman cursing.
She pointed to the warrant card, shaking her head. ‘I can normal y spot you bastards a mile away.’
From the corner of his eye, Thorne could see Trevor smirking as he dried glasses at the end of the bar. Realising now that the woman’s proposition had been a purely commercial one, Thorne did his best not to look overly shocked.
‘Don’t worry about it, love,’ he said. ‘I’m not local, and if it makes you feel any better, I think my professional radar’s working about as wel as yours.’ He listened to the music for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the bar, then he raised his glass. ‘Cheers, Angie.’
‘It’s Mary, actual y.’
‘Slow night, Mary?’
‘Cata-fucking-tonic,’ she said.
TEN
They hit the rush hour coming out of Leicester, ran into the tail end of another as soon as they got within commuting distance of London, and the drizzle didn’t help. When Brigstocke cal ed just before ten, they were stil twenty miles from the city, and stil regretting the hideously greasy breakfast they’d eaten two hours earlier.
‘Should have just had the muesli,’ Hol and said.
Thorne turned down the radio. ‘And you take the piss out of rosé ?’ He pressed the button on his phone that activated the loudspeaker, and passed it to Hol and. It was the closest he came to hands-free.
‘How did it go with Paice?’ Brigstocke asked.
‘Nothing to get excited about,’ Thorne said. ‘Catherine Burke never told him about her mum, that’s al .’
‘Worth checking though,’ Brigstocke said. ‘Providing your expenses claims aren’t too stupid.’
‘There might be a claim later on for food poisoning,’ Hol and said.
Brigstocke told them that Hendricks was due to perform the first of the Macken post-mortems later that morning, and that, as they had already confirmed a DNA match, he’d asked FSS to prioritise the examination of the two newest X-ray fragments, to see if they could get any more information.
‘Every chance, I reckon,’ Thorne said. ‘He’s leaving them for us to find, so he must want us to know what they are.’
‘Or waste our time trying to find out,’ Hol and added.
Another phone had started ringing in the background and there was a hiatus while Brigstocke answered it; then a minute or two of muffled conversation over the loudspeaker.
‘Is that what you think?’ Hol and
She nodded, smiling slightly, as though she wasn’t sure whether to believe him. When the barman had put down the drinks she picked up her glass and waited until he’d moved away.
‘Listen, Tom, it’s almost midnight, and we can sit here getting hammered if you want. Or we could just take these up to your room.’
She did not take her eyes from his as she sipped her drink. Now Thorne felt himself really redden. He could also feel the blood moving to other parts of his body and was grateful that he was sitting down.
He had cal ed Louise earlier from the car-park, at the same time as Hol and was speaking to Sophie. She’d said she had no problem with him staying over; had even sounded slightly annoyed that he would think she might have. She’d said that she’d be happy to get an early night and when he’d asked how her first day back had been, she’d told him it was fine; that he had been worrying for nothing.
‘I’ve . . . got a girlfriend,’ Thorne said. He nodded, like it was self-explanatory, but the woman just stared, as though waiting for him to elaborate. He was trying to swal ow, dry-mouthed, thinking that he didn’t real y fancy her very much and wondering how he would be reacting if he did. ‘You know, otherwise . . .’
The woman raised her hands and spun slowly away on her stool. ‘Not a problem.’
Thorne was stil nodding like an idiot. She’d said it the same way that Louise had: casual and frosty. He opened his wal et and took out a ten-pound note to pay for the drinks; turned when he heard the woman cursing.
She pointed to the warrant card, shaking her head. ‘I can normal y spot you bastards a mile away.’
From the corner of his eye, Thorne could see Trevor smirking as he dried glasses at the end of the bar. Realising now that the woman’s proposition had been a purely commercial one, Thorne did his best not to look overly shocked.
‘Don’t worry about it, love,’ he said. ‘I’m not local, and if it makes you feel any better, I think my professional radar’s working about as wel as yours.’ He listened to the music for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the bar, then he raised his glass. ‘Cheers, Angie.’
‘It’s Mary, actual y.’
‘Slow night, Mary?’
‘Cata-fucking-tonic,’ she said.
TEN
They hit the rush hour coming out of Leicester, ran into the tail end of another as soon as they got within commuting distance of London, and the drizzle didn’t help. When Brigstocke cal ed just before ten, they were stil twenty miles from the city, and stil regretting the hideously greasy breakfast they’d eaten two hours earlier.
‘Should have just had the muesli,’ Hol and said.
Thorne turned down the radio. ‘And you take the piss out of rosé ?’ He pressed the button on his phone that activated the loudspeaker, and passed it to Hol and. It was the closest he came to hands-free.
‘How did it go with Paice?’ Brigstocke asked.
‘Nothing to get excited about,’ Thorne said. ‘Catherine Burke never told him about her mum, that’s al .’
‘Worth checking though,’ Brigstocke said. ‘Providing your expenses claims aren’t too stupid.’
‘There might be a claim later on for food poisoning,’ Hol and said.
Brigstocke told them that Hendricks was due to perform the first of the Macken post-mortems later that morning, and that, as they had already confirmed a DNA match, he’d asked FSS to prioritise the examination of the two newest X-ray fragments, to see if they could get any more information.
‘Every chance, I reckon,’ Thorne said. ‘He’s leaving them for us to find, so he must want us to know what they are.’
‘Or waste our time trying to find out,’ Hol and added.
Another phone had started ringing in the background and there was a hiatus while Brigstocke answered it; then a minute or two of muffled conversation over the loudspeaker.
‘Is that what you think?’ Hol and
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