there.
Carole-anne wet her finger and applied it to a page, looking at it and then turning the magazine round to face Jury. The photo showed a ridiculous ‘do,’ the model’s hair short and standing up in spikes.
‘Hm. Sure, if you want your head to look like the Statue of Liberty’s crown.’
‘Very funny. I just was thinking something short and neat.’
‘Stay out of hair-cutting emporiums. There’s no way to improve on what you’ve got.’
Narrowly, she looked at him, suspicious of his compliment.
Then satisfied Jury had spoken honestly, she let the magazine lie in her lap and picked up another Jury-bashing topic. ‘What’s going on about your job, then?’
‘I’ll be called in probably next week and my fingers whacked by the assistant commissioner and then made to stand in a corner.’ He drank his tea from the teacup resting precariously on the arm of his chair.
‘So are you still suspended?’
‘I’m not exactly on suspension. It’s something else, some rarefied version of suspension while there’s an inquiry. My guess is that our PR people–I’m assuming we must have one or more-think public opinion is so much in my favor suspension might be bad for the Met’s image. To tell the truth, I’m rather enjoying my freedom.’
Carole-anne sat forward so suddenly the magazine slipped from her lap and her turquoise blouse slipped off one shoulder. That went well. Jury smiled.
‘Are you saying you might just up and bloody quit?’ Here was a possibility far worse than all the storytelling dinners in London! It could mean that Jury was free, free to shake the dust of Islington off his shoes and go anywhere at all, live anywhere at all.
‘Only if my two thousand shares of IBM and Microsoft split. Until that happy day, I’ll be stopping here, as usual.’
Relieved, she fell back against the sofa and took up her favorite I-told-you-so topic. ‘I told you, remember? That you shouldn’t be going into that house without a warrant! I was sitting right here when I told you and Cody that.’
‘Actually, you were standing over there’–he nodded his head to indicate the kitchen doorway–’with a spatula in hand and a plate of sausages when you told me.’ He smiled. Clearly, no loss-of-memory disease had hit him yet.
Wearily she sighed. ‘Look what it’s come to.’
He waited a tick for her to tell him what it had come to, but she must have found it too bloody obvious to say. Apparently it had to do with Jury’s getting sloshed every night in the Old Wine Shades with a stranger.
‘I had to go into that house, warrant or no.’
‘No, you didn’t. You ought to’ve used Correct Police Procedure.’
He heard the capitals sounding in what had become her favorite phrase of late. ‘I had to.’ Why did no one except for DI Johnny Blakely and Melrose Plant understand this? ‘I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Well, you’re always telling me how a person has to go along with the system–’
Jury had never told her that in his life.
‘–or otherwise we might just as well slip back into the Dark Ages.’
‘We have done anyway.’
‘Don’t be daft. Now you’re saying that Correct Police Procedure-’
Apparently, her all-time favorite.
‘–might just as well pack it in.’
Jury slid down in his chair and looked ceiling-ward. Pacing, back and forth, a tiny clicking of dog nails. ‘Why aren’t you carting Stone around? Why is the poor dog wandering around up there all by himself?’
‘I just was up there with him when you came in. I’ve got to take him out.’ She checked her watch. ‘Mucky Pup’s still open. Fancy a drink?’
Despite the fact that he thought he and Harry Johnson had just drunk London dry, he said, ‘Good idea. We can take Stone with us.’ The caramel-colored Lab accompanied them to Upper Street, stopping as they walked along every once in a while to investigate some tree or plant as if he were picking up clues, but finally finding nothing in the
Carole-anne wet her finger and applied it to a page, looking at it and then turning the magazine round to face Jury. The photo showed a ridiculous ‘do,’ the model’s hair short and standing up in spikes.
‘Hm. Sure, if you want your head to look like the Statue of Liberty’s crown.’
‘Very funny. I just was thinking something short and neat.’
‘Stay out of hair-cutting emporiums. There’s no way to improve on what you’ve got.’
Narrowly, she looked at him, suspicious of his compliment.
Then satisfied Jury had spoken honestly, she let the magazine lie in her lap and picked up another Jury-bashing topic. ‘What’s going on about your job, then?’
‘I’ll be called in probably next week and my fingers whacked by the assistant commissioner and then made to stand in a corner.’ He drank his tea from the teacup resting precariously on the arm of his chair.
‘So are you still suspended?’
‘I’m not exactly on suspension. It’s something else, some rarefied version of suspension while there’s an inquiry. My guess is that our PR people–I’m assuming we must have one or more-think public opinion is so much in my favor suspension might be bad for the Met’s image. To tell the truth, I’m rather enjoying my freedom.’
Carole-anne sat forward so suddenly the magazine slipped from her lap and her turquoise blouse slipped off one shoulder. That went well. Jury smiled.
‘Are you saying you might just up and bloody quit?’ Here was a possibility far worse than all the storytelling dinners in London! It could mean that Jury was free, free to shake the dust of Islington off his shoes and go anywhere at all, live anywhere at all.
‘Only if my two thousand shares of IBM and Microsoft split. Until that happy day, I’ll be stopping here, as usual.’
Relieved, she fell back against the sofa and took up her favorite I-told-you-so topic. ‘I told you, remember? That you shouldn’t be going into that house without a warrant! I was sitting right here when I told you and Cody that.’
‘Actually, you were standing over there’–he nodded his head to indicate the kitchen doorway–’with a spatula in hand and a plate of sausages when you told me.’ He smiled. Clearly, no loss-of-memory disease had hit him yet.
Wearily she sighed. ‘Look what it’s come to.’
He waited a tick for her to tell him what it had come to, but she must have found it too bloody obvious to say. Apparently it had to do with Jury’s getting sloshed every night in the Old Wine Shades with a stranger.
‘I had to go into that house, warrant or no.’
‘No, you didn’t. You ought to’ve used Correct Police Procedure.’
He heard the capitals sounding in what had become her favorite phrase of late. ‘I had to.’ Why did no one except for DI Johnny Blakely and Melrose Plant understand this? ‘I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Well, you’re always telling me how a person has to go along with the system–’
Jury had never told her that in his life.
‘–or otherwise we might just as well slip back into the Dark Ages.’
‘We have done anyway.’
‘Don’t be daft. Now you’re saying that Correct Police Procedure-’
Apparently, her all-time favorite.
‘–might just as well pack it in.’
Jury slid down in his chair and looked ceiling-ward. Pacing, back and forth, a tiny clicking of dog nails. ‘Why aren’t you carting Stone around? Why is the poor dog wandering around up there all by himself?’
‘I just was up there with him when you came in. I’ve got to take him out.’ She checked her watch. ‘Mucky Pup’s still open. Fancy a drink?’
Despite the fact that he thought he and Harry Johnson had just drunk London dry, he said, ‘Good idea. We can take Stone with us.’ The caramel-colored Lab accompanied them to Upper Street, stopping as they walked along every once in a while to investigate some tree or plant as if he were picking up clues, but finally finding nothing in the
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