both Tom and Sarah at her bedside. He stopped off to tell Louisa about the meeting with Professor Khan, before heading off down to the Thames, with no particular destination in mind. He found himself drawn back to the Tate Modern, and that drawing. It was as he was standing there, captivated by the image, looking for some hidden meaning that might unlock Richard Friedman’s personality that his phone rang.
It was Inspector Paul Cullen of the British Transport Police.
‘Sam, I’d like to talk to you about the incident at the weekend. There’s been a development. Are you free to meet me now, somewhere in central London?’
13
‘Sam, glad you could make it at such short notice.’
Paul Cullen rose from his seat to greet him, his hand outstretched. Sam met his firm but unthreatening grip and nodded a hello. Cullen was wearing a casual open neck shirt and blue chinos, evidently dressing for off duty, or at least to make it appear that way.
‘Thought I’d take the liberty and get one in for you,’ he said, gesturing at the pint of lager on the table.
‘Thanks.’ They both sat down but Sam left the lager alone. He would hear what Cullen had to say first. ‘Your colleague isn’t with you?’
‘DS Beswick?’ Cullen said. ‘He’s ill. Flu, his wife said. So I’m working on my own for the moment. I think I prefer it, really.’ Cullen glanced around. The Islington pub was busy with mostly old white Irish men, drinking dark ale. ‘Hope you don’t mind the surroundings. I used to come here a long time ago, back in my training days. It hasn’t changed a bit.’
Sam could believe it. It was a genuine London local. There was none of the refurbishment that had occurred in many other of the capital’s establishments, which had over the past few years transformed themselves from old men’s drinking dens into family eating places. In here, the fittings remained as old and frayed as the clientele.
‘Fine by me,’ Sam replied, thinking that Cullen’s choice of a pub, just like his purchase of the pint, was meant to set a relaxed tone for the discussion. And yet his call, both in the fact that he wanted to meet so quickly, and the way he had said there’s been a development jarred with this supposed relaxed situation.
Cullen smiled. ‘It might sound strange, but I find pubs are often the best places to get some privacy.’ He looked around. ‘No-one’s bothered about our conversation in here. They’re too busy picking this afternoon’s winners at Haydock.’
Sam nodded, noting that most of the men were scrutinizing the back pages of the newspapers or staring up at the TV over in the far corner near to the ceiling which was showing a horse race. A few wandered in and out clutching cigarette packets. Maybe the location had really been just a pragmatic decision.
Sam watched impatiently as Cullen took a drink. ‘So,’ he said, whilst the beer was still draining down the officer’s throat. ‘You said there’s been a development?’
Cullen smiled as he placed the glass back on the table. ‘All in good time, Sam. First things first - how are you?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘I see the bruise is fading a little.’
‘Slowly,’ Sam acknowledged.
‘And the memories?’
‘Slower.’
Cullen nodded. ‘You see a lot of terrible things in my job,’ he said. ‘Things that you could never dream up in your worst nightmares. Sometimes it can be difficult to get them out of your head, no matter how hard you try. I expect it’s the same for you, in your line of work.’
‘I’ve seen some things that I’d rather not have,’ Sam admitted. ‘But it’s part of the job, and I knew what I was letting myself in for.’
‘Me too. But it doesn’t make it any easier,’ he said, playing with the top of the lager, running a finger along the rim of the glass.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Sam agreed.
‘We’ve got something else in common,’ Cullen added. ‘We both lost our
It was Inspector Paul Cullen of the British Transport Police.
‘Sam, I’d like to talk to you about the incident at the weekend. There’s been a development. Are you free to meet me now, somewhere in central London?’
13
‘Sam, glad you could make it at such short notice.’
Paul Cullen rose from his seat to greet him, his hand outstretched. Sam met his firm but unthreatening grip and nodded a hello. Cullen was wearing a casual open neck shirt and blue chinos, evidently dressing for off duty, or at least to make it appear that way.
‘Thought I’d take the liberty and get one in for you,’ he said, gesturing at the pint of lager on the table.
‘Thanks.’ They both sat down but Sam left the lager alone. He would hear what Cullen had to say first. ‘Your colleague isn’t with you?’
‘DS Beswick?’ Cullen said. ‘He’s ill. Flu, his wife said. So I’m working on my own for the moment. I think I prefer it, really.’ Cullen glanced around. The Islington pub was busy with mostly old white Irish men, drinking dark ale. ‘Hope you don’t mind the surroundings. I used to come here a long time ago, back in my training days. It hasn’t changed a bit.’
Sam could believe it. It was a genuine London local. There was none of the refurbishment that had occurred in many other of the capital’s establishments, which had over the past few years transformed themselves from old men’s drinking dens into family eating places. In here, the fittings remained as old and frayed as the clientele.
‘Fine by me,’ Sam replied, thinking that Cullen’s choice of a pub, just like his purchase of the pint, was meant to set a relaxed tone for the discussion. And yet his call, both in the fact that he wanted to meet so quickly, and the way he had said there’s been a development jarred with this supposed relaxed situation.
Cullen smiled. ‘It might sound strange, but I find pubs are often the best places to get some privacy.’ He looked around. ‘No-one’s bothered about our conversation in here. They’re too busy picking this afternoon’s winners at Haydock.’
Sam nodded, noting that most of the men were scrutinizing the back pages of the newspapers or staring up at the TV over in the far corner near to the ceiling which was showing a horse race. A few wandered in and out clutching cigarette packets. Maybe the location had really been just a pragmatic decision.
Sam watched impatiently as Cullen took a drink. ‘So,’ he said, whilst the beer was still draining down the officer’s throat. ‘You said there’s been a development?’
Cullen smiled as he placed the glass back on the table. ‘All in good time, Sam. First things first - how are you?’
‘I’m okay.’
‘I see the bruise is fading a little.’
‘Slowly,’ Sam acknowledged.
‘And the memories?’
‘Slower.’
Cullen nodded. ‘You see a lot of terrible things in my job,’ he said. ‘Things that you could never dream up in your worst nightmares. Sometimes it can be difficult to get them out of your head, no matter how hard you try. I expect it’s the same for you, in your line of work.’
‘I’ve seen some things that I’d rather not have,’ Sam admitted. ‘But it’s part of the job, and I knew what I was letting myself in for.’
‘Me too. But it doesn’t make it any easier,’ he said, playing with the top of the lager, running a finger along the rim of the glass.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Sam agreed.
‘We’ve got something else in common,’ Cullen added. ‘We both lost our
Similar Books
