Verdict Unsafe by Jill McGown

thought that he would stay away from Malworth, but there he was, standing right outside the building, and he was holding something—what? A gun? Had he done a bank robbing course in prison? No, no. Nothing so sinister. A phone. So what the hell was he up to? He was watching something across the road. A flat, presumably, unless a row of closed shops held some fascination for him.
    Judy Hill’s flat, of course. Drummond had had a thing about her, hadn’t he? Said he was going to get her? He’d had one go before, or so they said, but her boyfriend had turned up, and Drummond had had to change his plans; that was how come he’d got caught with the little whore.
    Not just any old boyfriend, of course. Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd. That bit of gossip had cleared a lot of things up for Matt. It was Lloyd, of course, who had pulled strings to get her out of Malworth once she’d shopped him and Baz.
    Well, well, well. It looked as though Drummond hadn’t forgiven and forgotten anymore than he had. Matt stood up and went to the box on the wall, opening it, killing the alarm, then crossed to the window in whose painted glass he could see his own oval, heavy-featured, defeated face until he snapped the light out. He silently slid the window open. If Drummond intended using that phone, he wanted to hear what was said.
    Judy’s hand reached out and felt for the button that would stop the repeated buzzing in her ear. She switched on the bedside lamp, and a moment later the phone rang as if to underline the fact that the working day had begun.
    “Hello—Judy Hill,” she said.
    “Happy birthday, Detective Inspector Hill.”
    Oh, yes. It was her birthday. She hadn’t got around to remembering that. “Thank you,” she replied, with an uncertain smile. “Who’s that?”
    “Don’t you recognize my voice?”
    “No,” she said. “Who is it?”
    “You’ll work it out, Detective Inspector,” he said, and hung up.
    She looked at the phone, and hit the keys to get the number of the caller, but no number had been stored. She shrugged, replacing the receiver and walking with a shiver across the corridor to the bathroom. It was an ordinary sort of voice, local accent; young, she thought. Someone from work? Probably. It was her fortieth birthday; her colleagues were possibly planning some sort of horrible surprise.
    She had a bath, rather than a shower. She would pamper herself. And, she thought, allow herself a sausage with her breakfast. She always ate breakfast: bacon, eggs, tomato. She quite often didn’t really eat anything else. Lloyd found this life-style inexplicable.
    She towelled her short hair vigorously, then put on her bathrobe and headed for the kitchen as a key turned in the lock. She jumped, though there was only one person to whom she had ever given the keys to the flat.
    “Happy birthday,” Lloyd said, bringing cold morning air in with him, pecking her on the cheek. He smoothed down the obstinate strip of hair that still grew in the middle of his otherwise smooth scalp, and smiled at her, his blue eyes bright from the chill air.
    “What’s going on?” she asked suspiciously, trying not to look as though she had been given a start. Lloyd never got up before he had to, and she had thought that he must have lost her key, so rarely did he use it.
    “Nothing. I’ve brought you your present.” He handed her a small gift-wrapped box.
    She took it. “Who did you get to ring me?” she asked, going into the sitting room, snapping on the light.
    “What?” he said, closing the door, joining her.
    She looked uncertainly at him. He looked innocent enough, but she had long ago learned not to be fooled by how he looked. “Someone rang me,” she said. “Wished me happy birthday. Anonymously.”
    He shook his head. “Nothing to do with me,” he said. “Aren’t you going to open your present?”
    She smiled, sat down, carefully undid the wrapping, then opened the box to see car keys. She looked up at him, her