Lost Souls by Neil White Page B

nervously. The day had turned into a strange one.

Chapter Seventeen
    Sam watched Alison as she drank her beer. She licked her lips whenever she took a sip, and ran her fingers through her hair as she laughed at one of Jon Hampson’s anecdotes. Jon was the ex-detective who ran the Crown Court department at Parsons & Co. Some cops just couldn’t let go, as if they missed the dirt when they retired.
    Sam looked away. They were snatching a quick drink before heading home. For Sam, it was just a way of putting off the evening round of arguments with Helena, but he wasn’t in the mood for Jon.
    Jon Hampson had been a scruffy cop, but his switch to defence work after his retirement the year before had changed him. He was small and round, his face pale, the cheeks marked by broken veins, but he had started to speak in a deep bumble, an affectation that helped him play the part. He peered over his glasses and his suits were now three-pieces, always with a bright handkerchief to match his silk tie.
    ‘Can we give the war stories a rest?’ pleaded Sam. ‘I’ve come here to get away from work, not revel in it.’
    Jon stopped talking and exchanged raised eyebrows with Alison.
    ‘Is everything okay?’ Alison asked.
    Sam looked at her and saw the concern in her eyes. She was young, pretty and funny, just about everything his wife used to be, and he felt bad for snapping.
    But the day hadn’t been good. It had started with Eric Randle watching him from the street, ended with a warning, and had a killer in the middle. And Sam knew that he still hadn’t caught up with his paperwork. The day had had too many distractions, and it would get no better when he got home.
    Sam held up his hand in apology. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just tired, that’s all.’ He sighed. ‘I just wonder sometimes about the point of it all.’
    Jon didn’t answer at first, just watched as a waitress came over, bringing three more beers but no smile. He looked back at Sam. ‘What? This, now—café culture? Or life itself?’
    ‘No, no,’ said Sam, banging his bottle on the table. ‘Law. What I do. And what you do. Intruding. What is the point of it all? Of any of it?’ He rubbed his eyes and felt the skin sag under his fingers.
    Jon laughed, too many cigarettes turning it into a wheeze. ‘You
have
had a bad day.’ He looked at Alison. ‘Has he been like this all day?’
    Alison started to grin, but Sam shook his head. ‘There isn’t a point, and that is the
whole
point.’ He moved his beer around on the table, making small circles in the condensation from the bottle. ‘Seriously, why do we kid ourselves? I pretend I’m helping people.’ He shook hishead. ‘That’s just bullshit. I help crooks stay free. Nothing more.’
    ‘Whoa, Sammy boy,’ said Jon, his hands held up in surrender. ‘It’s taken you this long to work it out?’ He winked at Alison. ‘Maybe it’s time for a holiday.’
    ‘Are you okay?’ repeated Alison, her voice concerned, quiet.
    Her hair hung forward as she leaned over the table, her hand out. Sam wanted to take it, just hold it in his fingers, feel her warmth, a woman’s touch.
    He looked away as he thought about Helena. She had once been warm like that. Then the drinking had started. Just social at first, a glass of wine with dinner, and then the bottle. He knew it was partly his fault, because he was never there to give her something else to think about. Their lives didn’t feel good. It was all routine and arguments. Sam hid at the office. Helena hid in the bottle.
    ‘Typical liberal lawyer,’ Jon said, as he warmed to his theme. ‘You came out of law school to change the world, but then you met the crooks and realised that they don’t want change.’
    ‘That’s a dismal view from an ex-cop,’ said Sam.
    Jon waved him away. ‘You enjoy your conscience while you can, because it will wear you out. Me? I’m just out to make money.’
    ‘Didn’t you care when you were in the police?’ asked