Keeping by Sarah Masters

was to be of any use to anyone tomorrow morning.
    Yet tomorrow was now, albeit the early hours, and a Saturday at that. Langham had been due a weekend off, but that had gone out of the window as soon as Oliver had turned up with news of Cheryl. It was the nature of the job and something he had to deal with. Didn’t mean he had to like it, though.
    He sighed and stood. “Come on, you. Home.”
    Oliver frowned, tossing his empty crisp packet on the desk. It landed near the edge then sailed off, hitting the carpet with a soft crackle. If Langham could be arsed he’d pick it up, put it in the bin, but he couldn’t—and wouldn’t.
    “Home? But what about—”
    “Nothing we can do tonight now,” Langham said gently. “Until she makes contact or someone calls in that they’ve spotted him, we may as well take the opportunity to get a bit of shut-eye.”
    “I doubt I’ll sleep. Not until she’s found.” Oliver got up and scrubbed at his hair, then his face. His stubble made a rasping sound against his palms.
    “Well rest then. Just get into bed and relax a bit.” Langham handed Oliver his jacket. Then he reached for his own. Put it on. “And I’m hungry. The Indian on Blackwater Road will still be open. Closes at two. Fancy a nice korma?”
    “I don’t want anything.”
    Langham held back a sigh. “I don’t suppose you do, but I’ll buy something anyway. Got a habit of saying you’re not hungry then nicking mine, you have.”
    Oliver huffed out a laugh. Langham winked, pleased to see Oliver with a smile on his face, even if it wasn’t full-blown and showing his teeth. Even if it didn’t reach his tired eyes.
    After he’d looked over his shoulder once to make sure Oliver followed, he led the way out of his office and down the stairs. He wouldn’t put it past Oliver to have stayed in the office all night, thinking that since Cheryl had contacted him while he’d been there then that’s where she’d be able to get through to him again. But Oliver was often contacted while he was in bed, relaxed, as if his being in that state between awake and asleep was what spirits or people needed in order to reach out and make him hear them.
    They walked across the car park, and Langham remembered—with a shiver that rippled up his spine so violently he shuddered—that Oliver had almost been lost to him from this very place on a previous case.
    He filed away a mental Post-It note to give Adam and Dane a ring sometime, to catch up, see how they were doing out in that odd little hamlet of Lower Repton. Those two had been a massive help in solving the Queer Rites case—Langham doubted they’d have been able to solve it as quickly without them—and all four of them had gotten together a couple of times since, for a few bevvies and traditional pub grub.
    Adam and Dane had moved to Lower Repton from the city, ready to start again after Adam had encountered a rough gang who’d beaten the shit out of him and left him for dead in an alley. Then they’d witnessed one of the sex rituals in a barn up the road from their new home, and Adam had thought his life would always be one bad turn after another. He’d been wrong. Now, the couple worked their days on a local farm and enjoyed their nights and weekends like any other couple. Nice, that.
    At the car, Langham clicked it open with his key fob and got into the driver’s seat, waiting for Oliver to join him inside. After picking up a couple of curries, some naan bread and pilau rice at the Indian, he drove them home in silence. His mind was going a mile a minute with thoughts on this case so he gave himself a bollocking for not switching off. He glanced across at Oliver a couple of times, satisfied to see his frown had gone and he’d leaned his head back on the seat, had closed his eyes. Poor bastard was knackered, he’d bet. It was almost a sin to rouse him and make him leave the warmth of the car once he’d parked up.
    Inside their place, Langham went into the kitchen