waiting for. By the time he got out on the street today, he was expecting cops everywhere, police tape cordoning off the ginnel where Sandie worked. He was expecting huddles of people on street corners, muttering about murder and mutilation. He was expecting uniformed officers with clipboards asking people where they were and what they were doing last night .
He remembers what it was like last time. The whole of Temple Fields felt like it had overdosed on whiz. Everybody talking nineteen to the dozen like speed freaks, even the miserable gits who never normally had the time of day for him or anybody else. Until the bizzies walked in. Then silence fell like somebody dropped a blanket over everybody’s head .
That’s what he expected this time. But when he went into Stan’s Café and ordered his usual bacon butty and mug of tea, it was just like any other day. A few of the working girls clustered round greasy tables, taking the weight off their feet for half an hour. A couple of kids from the rent rack cuddling cups of coffee. Various eyes clocking him, wondering if he was carrying any gear. Looking away in disappointment when he gave them a slight shake of the head. He’d get hassle off Big Jimmy when he showed up to collect today’s stock. He’d bollock him for being late. He’d hoped the excitement on the street would give him an excuse, but there isn’t any .
So he finished his breakfast and moseyed on round to Big Jimmy’s flat for some stuff to sell. Luckily, the big man wasn’t in and he only had to deal with that fuckwit scaghead Drum who’s too far out of the world to care what anybody else is doing. Within the half-hour he was back on the pitch, doing the business, hoping nobody wondered where he’d been all morning. Hell, most of them had probably still been out cold themselves .
But now it’s evening, and still nothing’s stirring on the streets. It makes him uneasy. Part of him begins to wonder if he dreamed the whole thing. He almost wants to walk round to Sandie’s pitch to see if she’s standing on her usual corner, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened .
He wishes the Voice was here right now to tell him what’s going on. But since he delivered, he’s heard nothing. He begins to wonder if he’s been abandoned, if all the promises were a dream too .
It wouldn’t be the first time .
Tony raised his glass and reached across the debris of the Chinese. ‘Here’s to one of our rare non-Catholic meals.’ They chinked glasses.
‘Non-Catholic meals?’ Carol frowned.
‘Mostly, when we eat together, it’s in the middle of a case.’ He picked up a piece of pancake. ‘Here is my body which I sacrificed for you.’ He ate the pancake, then raised his glass again in mock-ceremony. ‘Here is my blood which I shed for you.’
Carol nodded, getting it. ‘Only, in our case, the confession comes after the communion.’
‘Only if we’re right.’
She pulled a rueful face. ‘Right, and lucky.’ She took his glass from him and sipped from the opposite side. She felt a crackle of electricity in the curiously intense moment. Before she could hand back the glass, the intimacy was shattered by the insistent ring of her mobile. ‘Damn,’ she said, scrabbling for her bag.
‘Speaking of lucky…’ Tony muttered.
‘DCI Jordan,’ Carol said.
Don Merrick’s familiar voice sounded in her ear. ‘We’ve got a body. I think you’ll want to see this one.’
Carol stifled a sigh. ‘Fine. You’ll have to send a car for me, I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine.’ Tony stood up and started shovelling the tinfoil containers into their plastic bag.
‘No problem, ma’am. You at your flat?’
‘Actually, no, Don. I’m at Dr Hill’s house.’ She caught Tony’s glance and raised her eyes heavenwards as she gave Merrick the address. She was aware of muffled conversation at the other end of the phone. Then Merrick came back on.
‘I’ve asked a car to pick you up there.’
‘I’ll see
He remembers what it was like last time. The whole of Temple Fields felt like it had overdosed on whiz. Everybody talking nineteen to the dozen like speed freaks, even the miserable gits who never normally had the time of day for him or anybody else. Until the bizzies walked in. Then silence fell like somebody dropped a blanket over everybody’s head .
That’s what he expected this time. But when he went into Stan’s Café and ordered his usual bacon butty and mug of tea, it was just like any other day. A few of the working girls clustered round greasy tables, taking the weight off their feet for half an hour. A couple of kids from the rent rack cuddling cups of coffee. Various eyes clocking him, wondering if he was carrying any gear. Looking away in disappointment when he gave them a slight shake of the head. He’d get hassle off Big Jimmy when he showed up to collect today’s stock. He’d bollock him for being late. He’d hoped the excitement on the street would give him an excuse, but there isn’t any .
So he finished his breakfast and moseyed on round to Big Jimmy’s flat for some stuff to sell. Luckily, the big man wasn’t in and he only had to deal with that fuckwit scaghead Drum who’s too far out of the world to care what anybody else is doing. Within the half-hour he was back on the pitch, doing the business, hoping nobody wondered where he’d been all morning. Hell, most of them had probably still been out cold themselves .
But now it’s evening, and still nothing’s stirring on the streets. It makes him uneasy. Part of him begins to wonder if he dreamed the whole thing. He almost wants to walk round to Sandie’s pitch to see if she’s standing on her usual corner, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened .
He wishes the Voice was here right now to tell him what’s going on. But since he delivered, he’s heard nothing. He begins to wonder if he’s been abandoned, if all the promises were a dream too .
It wouldn’t be the first time .
Tony raised his glass and reached across the debris of the Chinese. ‘Here’s to one of our rare non-Catholic meals.’ They chinked glasses.
‘Non-Catholic meals?’ Carol frowned.
‘Mostly, when we eat together, it’s in the middle of a case.’ He picked up a piece of pancake. ‘Here is my body which I sacrificed for you.’ He ate the pancake, then raised his glass again in mock-ceremony. ‘Here is my blood which I shed for you.’
Carol nodded, getting it. ‘Only, in our case, the confession comes after the communion.’
‘Only if we’re right.’
She pulled a rueful face. ‘Right, and lucky.’ She took his glass from him and sipped from the opposite side. She felt a crackle of electricity in the curiously intense moment. Before she could hand back the glass, the intimacy was shattered by the insistent ring of her mobile. ‘Damn,’ she said, scrabbling for her bag.
‘Speaking of lucky…’ Tony muttered.
‘DCI Jordan,’ Carol said.
Don Merrick’s familiar voice sounded in her ear. ‘We’ve got a body. I think you’ll want to see this one.’
Carol stifled a sigh. ‘Fine. You’ll have to send a car for me, I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine.’ Tony stood up and started shovelling the tinfoil containers into their plastic bag.
‘No problem, ma’am. You at your flat?’
‘Actually, no, Don. I’m at Dr Hill’s house.’ She caught Tony’s glance and raised her eyes heavenwards as she gave Merrick the address. She was aware of muffled conversation at the other end of the phone. Then Merrick came back on.
‘I’ve asked a car to pick you up there.’
‘I’ll see
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