isn’t. We’re all having to do more than usual.’
‘I can just imagine how Mac’s wearing himself out with work.’
He could not, in all honesty, claim that Detective-Constable MacAllister was pulling his full weight.
‘You’re so damned conscientious. Why can’t you be more like him and regard everything as a bit of a joke?’
‘It’s just . . .’ He stopped.
‘I know, it’s just you.’ She reached over and hugged him. ‘And it’s just you I love. But I can’t bear seeing you wear yourself out. If you go on and on at this rate, you’re going to crack up.’
‘There’s no call to worry. I’m all right.’
‘No, you’re not, not when you shut your eyes and fall fast asleep as I’m putting on my sexiest nightie. Stop being so blasted conscientious. You can’t work miracles all on your own.’
‘I know, but . . .’
‘Always that but!’ She kissed him. ‘Suppose I just won’t let go of you now for a couple of hours?’
‘I’ll have a hell of a job explaining to the old man why I’m late.’
‘You could tell him the truth.’
‘He’d never accept the excuse that a wife could stop a husband doing anything.’
Her sharp anger returned. ‘I was talking to his wife at the last social and she told me something that absolutely horrified me. Their last three holidays have been ruined because each time something’s turned up at the last moment and he’s refused to go away. How can any man be so damned selfish?’
‘I suppose he’s not very good at delegating the final responsibility in a serious case.’
‘He’s no good at knowing how to live.’
She studied him as he climbed out of bed and she saw the signs of strain in his face. ‘Tim, dead serious for a minute. You’ve got to learn to take things more quietly.’
‘They’ll ease up when Cocky comes back from the course and Steve’s passed fit for duty again.’
‘You’re not really understanding a word I’m saying. It’s not just the quantity of work you do, it’s as much your attitude to it. You’ve got to learn to worry less.’
‘You’re right. But if I don’t get away from here very soon . . .’
She picked up a book from the bedside table and hurled it at him. It missed.
He chuckled. ‘We got called out last week to a woman who had a badly swollen eye and bruised cheeks. But when we wanted to charge the man, she wouldn’t give any evidence: said it was only when he beat her up that she could be certain he really loved her. Now I understand what she meant!’
Divisional HQ consisted of a small central building, built sixty years before, to which had been added a number of extensions: since there had never been any overall coherent architectural plan, the complex now resembled a rabbit warren. Everyone agreed a new HQ should be built; no one was prepared to finance this.
Rifle worked in a small, draughty room on the second floor of one of the oldest wings. He looked up from his battered, work-covered desk and saw Cullon yawn. ‘Overworked and tired?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That’s what I like to hear.’ He stared at a point deep in space, to the right of Cullon’s head. ‘Do you remember Gertrude Dean?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘The report’s come through that she’s just died. Apparently it was a case of suicide.’
Cullon whistled. ‘Conscience! It finally caught up with her that she’d saved that bastard by giving him a false alibi.’
‘It happened in Mallorca, where she’s been living for some time now, as you know. Have you ever been to the island?’
‘Never had enough days off together to go anywhere.’
Rifle smiled sardonically. He leaned back in his chair. ‘I went there for a week, a few years back. The weather was perfect and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky for a whole week. On the first day I got so badly sunburned I had to stay indoors for the rest of the stay. Still, the drink was incredibly cheap . . . The Spanish police report a problem. Did she in fact commit
‘I can just imagine how Mac’s wearing himself out with work.’
He could not, in all honesty, claim that Detective-Constable MacAllister was pulling his full weight.
‘You’re so damned conscientious. Why can’t you be more like him and regard everything as a bit of a joke?’
‘It’s just . . .’ He stopped.
‘I know, it’s just you.’ She reached over and hugged him. ‘And it’s just you I love. But I can’t bear seeing you wear yourself out. If you go on and on at this rate, you’re going to crack up.’
‘There’s no call to worry. I’m all right.’
‘No, you’re not, not when you shut your eyes and fall fast asleep as I’m putting on my sexiest nightie. Stop being so blasted conscientious. You can’t work miracles all on your own.’
‘I know, but . . .’
‘Always that but!’ She kissed him. ‘Suppose I just won’t let go of you now for a couple of hours?’
‘I’ll have a hell of a job explaining to the old man why I’m late.’
‘You could tell him the truth.’
‘He’d never accept the excuse that a wife could stop a husband doing anything.’
Her sharp anger returned. ‘I was talking to his wife at the last social and she told me something that absolutely horrified me. Their last three holidays have been ruined because each time something’s turned up at the last moment and he’s refused to go away. How can any man be so damned selfish?’
‘I suppose he’s not very good at delegating the final responsibility in a serious case.’
‘He’s no good at knowing how to live.’
She studied him as he climbed out of bed and she saw the signs of strain in his face. ‘Tim, dead serious for a minute. You’ve got to learn to take things more quietly.’
‘They’ll ease up when Cocky comes back from the course and Steve’s passed fit for duty again.’
‘You’re not really understanding a word I’m saying. It’s not just the quantity of work you do, it’s as much your attitude to it. You’ve got to learn to worry less.’
‘You’re right. But if I don’t get away from here very soon . . .’
She picked up a book from the bedside table and hurled it at him. It missed.
He chuckled. ‘We got called out last week to a woman who had a badly swollen eye and bruised cheeks. But when we wanted to charge the man, she wouldn’t give any evidence: said it was only when he beat her up that she could be certain he really loved her. Now I understand what she meant!’
Divisional HQ consisted of a small central building, built sixty years before, to which had been added a number of extensions: since there had never been any overall coherent architectural plan, the complex now resembled a rabbit warren. Everyone agreed a new HQ should be built; no one was prepared to finance this.
Rifle worked in a small, draughty room on the second floor of one of the oldest wings. He looked up from his battered, work-covered desk and saw Cullon yawn. ‘Overworked and tired?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That’s what I like to hear.’ He stared at a point deep in space, to the right of Cullon’s head. ‘Do you remember Gertrude Dean?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘The report’s come through that she’s just died. Apparently it was a case of suicide.’
Cullon whistled. ‘Conscience! It finally caught up with her that she’d saved that bastard by giving him a false alibi.’
‘It happened in Mallorca, where she’s been living for some time now, as you know. Have you ever been to the island?’
‘Never had enough days off together to go anywhere.’
Rifle smiled sardonically. He leaned back in his chair. ‘I went there for a week, a few years back. The weather was perfect and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky for a whole week. On the first day I got so badly sunburned I had to stay indoors for the rest of the stay. Still, the drink was incredibly cheap . . . The Spanish police report a problem. Did she in fact commit
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