value.”
He didn’t say to whom. A small smile creased the corners of his mouth. It lit up his dark-skinned face, warmed his icy eyes. “I read one of your school reports from when you were six. It said you didn’t play well with others.” His smile widened.
“Yes, well, I was only six, I suppose.” Now Jade’s face felt as if it was on fire. Her school reports. What else had he read? What other embarrassing documents were in that stupid box? She took another gulp of coffee to cover her confusion, hoping David hadn’t noticed her blush.
“Don’t worry,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I only looked at a few.”
Jade put the cup down again, adopting a business-like tone. “I’m sorry you had to deal with packing up my dad’s stuff. That was a job I should have done.”
David shrugged. “You had other things on your agenda.” His long, elegant fingers tapped the top of the box in a brief, rhythmic tattoo.
Another uncomfortable silence ensued.
People never change. That was one of David’s favourite sayings, and for good reason, because as a police detective he’d seen it proved over and over again.
He knew what Jade had done to her father’s killer, and why, because she’d told him. But perhaps he had been trying to convince himself since then that she was different; that she had changed.
For a while, after that Sunday-morning conversation, Jade had considered apologising. She’d toyed with the idea of telling David that she had been the one playing devil’s advocate for the sake of a good argument, and that she hadn’t realised what effect her words would have on him.
It wouldn’t have been the truth, though, and David probably wouldn’t have believed it anyway. And even if he had, was she prepared to live a lie for the sake of being with him?
The answer had been no.
And now here they stood, on a scorching, bone-dry summer afternoon, staring at each other over a musty-smelling cardboard box, the air around them thick with the debris of unresolved issues.
“Well, thanks for bringing it. And thanks for looking up Terence Jordaan. Are you sure you won’t have a coffee?” Jade said.
He shook his head. “I’d better be going.”
“Right.”
Jade picked the keys up off the kitchen counter and unlocked the door, but David didn’t move. He just stood there, leaning on the box, picking at the packaging tape with his fingertips, glancing over at the kettle as if he regretted saying no to Jade’s offer.
Then he looked at his watch, heaved a deep sigh, and followed her outside like someone walking through glue. He didn’t kiss her goodbye, didn’t touch her at all. She stood in the shade of the wilting syringas and held the Jack Russell in her arms while David climbed into his car.
She could feel Bonnie’s body quivering with anticipation. She was straining against Jade’s grasp, and uttering tiny growls. Clearly, all she wanted to do was to bolt across the driveway and launch herself at the tall police detective. Jade couldn’t blame the little dog. She wanted to do the same, but for different reasons.
13
“Detective work is ninety-nine per cent perspiration, one per cent inspiration. Just like genius, only more difficult.”
Edmonds couldn’t remember who’d told her that, shortly after she’d been promoted to Detective Constable, but she’d soon discovered it was only too true.
She was sitting in the front row of chairs in the small meeting room next to Richards, who smelled strongly of Brut. Perhaps she had plebeian taste, but Edmonds didn’t find the fragrance unpleasant. She rather liked it; it reminded her of the first lad she’d kissed, back in the little village of Corfe Castle in rural Dorset where she’d grown up.
“Right, people.” Mackay called the meeting to attention, jolting Edmonds out of her reverie. “Operation Platypus. Let’s see where we are. What’s the update on Number Six? Edmonds, will you give us your latest?”
Richards gave her a
He didn’t say to whom. A small smile creased the corners of his mouth. It lit up his dark-skinned face, warmed his icy eyes. “I read one of your school reports from when you were six. It said you didn’t play well with others.” His smile widened.
“Yes, well, I was only six, I suppose.” Now Jade’s face felt as if it was on fire. Her school reports. What else had he read? What other embarrassing documents were in that stupid box? She took another gulp of coffee to cover her confusion, hoping David hadn’t noticed her blush.
“Don’t worry,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I only looked at a few.”
Jade put the cup down again, adopting a business-like tone. “I’m sorry you had to deal with packing up my dad’s stuff. That was a job I should have done.”
David shrugged. “You had other things on your agenda.” His long, elegant fingers tapped the top of the box in a brief, rhythmic tattoo.
Another uncomfortable silence ensued.
People never change. That was one of David’s favourite sayings, and for good reason, because as a police detective he’d seen it proved over and over again.
He knew what Jade had done to her father’s killer, and why, because she’d told him. But perhaps he had been trying to convince himself since then that she was different; that she had changed.
For a while, after that Sunday-morning conversation, Jade had considered apologising. She’d toyed with the idea of telling David that she had been the one playing devil’s advocate for the sake of a good argument, and that she hadn’t realised what effect her words would have on him.
It wouldn’t have been the truth, though, and David probably wouldn’t have believed it anyway. And even if he had, was she prepared to live a lie for the sake of being with him?
The answer had been no.
And now here they stood, on a scorching, bone-dry summer afternoon, staring at each other over a musty-smelling cardboard box, the air around them thick with the debris of unresolved issues.
“Well, thanks for bringing it. And thanks for looking up Terence Jordaan. Are you sure you won’t have a coffee?” Jade said.
He shook his head. “I’d better be going.”
“Right.”
Jade picked the keys up off the kitchen counter and unlocked the door, but David didn’t move. He just stood there, leaning on the box, picking at the packaging tape with his fingertips, glancing over at the kettle as if he regretted saying no to Jade’s offer.
Then he looked at his watch, heaved a deep sigh, and followed her outside like someone walking through glue. He didn’t kiss her goodbye, didn’t touch her at all. She stood in the shade of the wilting syringas and held the Jack Russell in her arms while David climbed into his car.
She could feel Bonnie’s body quivering with anticipation. She was straining against Jade’s grasp, and uttering tiny growls. Clearly, all she wanted to do was to bolt across the driveway and launch herself at the tall police detective. Jade couldn’t blame the little dog. She wanted to do the same, but for different reasons.
13
“Detective work is ninety-nine per cent perspiration, one per cent inspiration. Just like genius, only more difficult.”
Edmonds couldn’t remember who’d told her that, shortly after she’d been promoted to Detective Constable, but she’d soon discovered it was only too true.
She was sitting in the front row of chairs in the small meeting room next to Richards, who smelled strongly of Brut. Perhaps she had plebeian taste, but Edmonds didn’t find the fragrance unpleasant. She rather liked it; it reminded her of the first lad she’d kissed, back in the little village of Corfe Castle in rural Dorset where she’d grown up.
“Right, people.” Mackay called the meeting to attention, jolting Edmonds out of her reverie. “Operation Platypus. Let’s see where we are. What’s the update on Number Six? Edmonds, will you give us your latest?”
Richards gave her a
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