Scaredy Cat by Mark Billingham Page A
Authors: Mark Billingham
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Police, England, Serial Murders
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North London.'
Dinner was fantastic. It was certainly the best meal Thorne had eaten in a while, but that was to damn it with faint praise. That his eating habits had become a trifle sloppy had been brought home to him on receipt of his BT family and friends list. They might just as wel have sent an embossed cal ing card saying, 'You Sad Bastard'. Thorne's ten most frequently dial ed numbers had not exactly been what he'd cal kith and kin. He could only hope and pray that he didn't win the holiday. Two weeks in Lanzarote with the manager of the Bengal Lancer and a posse of spotty pizza-delivery boys on mopeds was hardly a prospect that appealed.
'I hope my gril ing proved useful, Detective Inspector.' The way Bishop emphasised Thorne's rank, he might have been reading the cast list of an am-dram whodunnit. His evident glee at the situation told Thorne that he was more than wil ing to play his part but Anne was quick to discourage his interest in the case.
'Come on, Jeremy, I'm sure Tom doesn't want to talk about it. He probably can't, even if he wanted to.'
100 MARK BILLINGHAM
This was fine with Thorne. He had no need to talk about the case. He wanted to let Bishop talk, and once the boundaries had been established he wasn't disappointed. Bishop was ful of stories. He seemed permanently amused, not only at his own patter but at the peculiarity of their cosy little threesome. Again, fine with Thorne. The anaesthetist dominated the conversation, occasional y
making an effort to engage the policeman in trite chitchat. 'Where do you live, then, Tom?' 'Kentish Town. Ryland Road.' 'Not my side of London. Nice?' Thorne nodded. No, not particularly.
Bishop was a witty and entertaining raconteur - probably. Thorne did his best to laugh in al the right places, although he felt clumsy and cack-handed as he watched his fel ow diners twirl spaghetti with professional deftness and delicacy.
'... and the two old dears were sat talking about the
beef crisis and how they were going to exercise their rights
as consumers and stick it to the French.'
'Politics in A and E?' Anne turned to Thorne. 'It's usual y non-stop babble about footbal or soap operas or "I know it's a nasty cut but he's never hit me before, honest."'
'But get ready for the kil er...' Bishop drained his wine
glass, letting them wait for the punchline. 'I heard them saying how they were going to boycott French fries!'
Thorne smiled. Bishop raised his eyebrows at Anne and
they both giggled before saying as one, 'NFN!'
Stifling her laugh, Anne leaned across to Thorne. 'Normal For Norfolk.'
Thome smiled. 'Right. Stupid or inbred.' Bishop nodded. Thorne shrugged. I'm just a copper. Thick as shit, me.
SLEEPYHEAD 101
Anne was stil giggling. They'd already polished off two bottles of wine and hadn't finished the pasta yet. 'Somewhere there's a doctor with too much time on his hands thinking up these jokes. There's loads of them, not very nice usual y.'
'Come on, Jimmy, they're just a bit of fun. I bet Tom's had to deal with a few JP FROGs in his time, haven't you, Tom?'
'Oh, almost certainly. That would be...?' Thorne raised his eyebrows.
'Just Plain Fucking Run Out of Gas,' Anne explained. 'When a patient is going to die. I hate that one...' She poured herself another glass of wine and leaned back in her chair, retiring momentarily as Bishop warmed to his theme.
'Jimmy gets a bit touchy and squeamish at some of the more ghoulish jokes that get us through the day. Seriously though, some of the shorthand is actual y a useful way to communicate quickly with a col eague.'
'And keep the patients in the dark at the same time?' Bishop pushed up his glasses with the knuckle of his index finger. Thorne noticed that his fingernails were beautiful y manicured.
'Absolutely right. Another of Jimmy's pet hates, but by far the best way if you ask me. What's the point of tel ing them things they aren't going to understand? If you do tel them and they do understand,
chances
Dinner was fantastic. It was certainly the best meal Thorne had eaten in a while, but that was to damn it with faint praise. That his eating habits had become a trifle sloppy had been brought home to him on receipt of his BT family and friends list. They might just as wel have sent an embossed cal ing card saying, 'You Sad Bastard'. Thorne's ten most frequently dial ed numbers had not exactly been what he'd cal kith and kin. He could only hope and pray that he didn't win the holiday. Two weeks in Lanzarote with the manager of the Bengal Lancer and a posse of spotty pizza-delivery boys on mopeds was hardly a prospect that appealed.
'I hope my gril ing proved useful, Detective Inspector.' The way Bishop emphasised Thorne's rank, he might have been reading the cast list of an am-dram whodunnit. His evident glee at the situation told Thorne that he was more than wil ing to play his part but Anne was quick to discourage his interest in the case.
'Come on, Jeremy, I'm sure Tom doesn't want to talk about it. He probably can't, even if he wanted to.'
100 MARK BILLINGHAM
This was fine with Thorne. He had no need to talk about the case. He wanted to let Bishop talk, and once the boundaries had been established he wasn't disappointed. Bishop was ful of stories. He seemed permanently amused, not only at his own patter but at the peculiarity of their cosy little threesome. Again, fine with Thorne. The anaesthetist dominated the conversation, occasional y
making an effort to engage the policeman in trite chitchat. 'Where do you live, then, Tom?' 'Kentish Town. Ryland Road.' 'Not my side of London. Nice?' Thorne nodded. No, not particularly.
Bishop was a witty and entertaining raconteur - probably. Thorne did his best to laugh in al the right places, although he felt clumsy and cack-handed as he watched his fel ow diners twirl spaghetti with professional deftness and delicacy.
'... and the two old dears were sat talking about the
beef crisis and how they were going to exercise their rights
as consumers and stick it to the French.'
'Politics in A and E?' Anne turned to Thorne. 'It's usual y non-stop babble about footbal or soap operas or "I know it's a nasty cut but he's never hit me before, honest."'
'But get ready for the kil er...' Bishop drained his wine
glass, letting them wait for the punchline. 'I heard them saying how they were going to boycott French fries!'
Thorne smiled. Bishop raised his eyebrows at Anne and
they both giggled before saying as one, 'NFN!'
Stifling her laugh, Anne leaned across to Thorne. 'Normal For Norfolk.'
Thome smiled. 'Right. Stupid or inbred.' Bishop nodded. Thorne shrugged. I'm just a copper. Thick as shit, me.
SLEEPYHEAD 101
Anne was stil giggling. They'd already polished off two bottles of wine and hadn't finished the pasta yet. 'Somewhere there's a doctor with too much time on his hands thinking up these jokes. There's loads of them, not very nice usual y.'
'Come on, Jimmy, they're just a bit of fun. I bet Tom's had to deal with a few JP FROGs in his time, haven't you, Tom?'
'Oh, almost certainly. That would be...?' Thorne raised his eyebrows.
'Just Plain Fucking Run Out of Gas,' Anne explained. 'When a patient is going to die. I hate that one...' She poured herself another glass of wine and leaned back in her chair, retiring momentarily as Bishop warmed to his theme.
'Jimmy gets a bit touchy and squeamish at some of the more ghoulish jokes that get us through the day. Seriously though, some of the shorthand is actual y a useful way to communicate quickly with a col eague.'
'And keep the patients in the dark at the same time?' Bishop pushed up his glasses with the knuckle of his index finger. Thorne noticed that his fingernails were beautiful y manicured.
'Absolutely right. Another of Jimmy's pet hates, but by far the best way if you ask me. What's the point of tel ing them things they aren't going to understand? If you do tel them and they do understand,
chances
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