To Dwell in Darkness by Deborah Crombie Page B

asked before Doug could speak.
    â€œEuston Road. I’ve left the hospital.”
    Kincaid checked his watch again. “Look. There’s just time and you’re not far. Grab a taxi and meet me at a pub in Lamb’s Conduit Street. It’s called the Perseverance.” He hung up without giving Doug a chance to argue.
    It was a short distance, even walking, and Kincaid was there first. The triangular frontage of the pub rounded the corner of Lamb’s Conduit and Great Ormond Streets. Warm and unpretentious, during the day the pub was often filled with doctors and staff from Great Ormond Street Hospital, but this late on a Wednesday night it was quiet.
    Kincaid had come to like it in the weeks he’d been working at Holborn, although he’d discovered that most of the coppers preferred the pub a bit farther along the street, the Lamb.
    Having also acquired a fondness for the American Sierra Nevada beer the pub kept on tap, he ordered a pint at the bar while he waited for Doug. A glance at the chalkboard menu made him realize, suddenly, that it was hours since he’d eaten and that he was starving.
    â€œAnything left to eat?” he asked the barmaid, a pretty young woman whose name he hadn’t learned.
    â€œSorry. The food’s off at ten. Kitchen’s closed.” He must have looked desolate, because after a moment she added, “Look. There’s some steak pie left. I can pop it in the microwave for you, but there won’t be any chips.”
    â€œPie is just fine. More than fine.” He grinned at her and she smiled back.
    â€œRight, then. Back in a tick.”
    There was a blast of cold air as the door opened, and Doug Cullen said, “Charming the girls, as usual,” as he came up to the bar beside him.
    â€œWell, I managed food.” Unabashed, Kincaid clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make Doug wince.
    â€œWhat are you drinking?”
    â€œAle from the Wild West of Colorado. Have one on me when the barmaid comes back.” He took a good long swallow.
    Doug looked at Duncan as if he might already be a bit tipsy. “American beer? Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.” Kincaid waved a dismissive hand. “How’s Melody? You did see her?”
    â€œShe’s— I hope she’s going to be okay.” The glint off the lenses of Doug’s gold-rimmed glasses hid his eyes. “They’re keeping her overnight to monitor her blood and oxygen. She might have breathed enough of the damned stuff for it to have poisoned her.”
    â€œShit.” Kincaid’s little burst of good humor vanished as quickly as it had come. “And Tam?”
    â€œAndy showed up to see Melody, straight from sitting with Tam at the Chelsea and Westminster ICU. It sounds bad. It’s not the burn itself. It’s the poison from the white phosphorus getting into his organs.”
    The barmaid came through from the kitchen, bearing a steaming portion of steak pie surrounded by some carefully arranged greens. “No chips, but I managed to put together some salad for you.” She put the plate in front of him with a flourish.
    â€œLovely. You’re a star.” Kincaid managed another smile and gestured at his drink. “How about one of the same for my friend here?” While she filled the pint, he paid for their drinks and his meal, then nodded towards a nearby table.
    They sat on opposite sides, a guttering candle between them. Kincaid had lost his appetite, but he knew eating was a necessity. He studied his friend as he waited for the pie to cool a bit. “You’re limping.”
    â€œLots of walking in the cold. Aggravates the damned ankle.”
    Kincaid knew they were both thinking about where Doug would be transferred when his ankle finally healed.
    Doug confirmed it by saying, “So, how’s the new sergeant?”
    â€œYou know she’d kill you with a glance if she heard you refer to her as