Deadly Intent (25 page)

"Nor can I."

Anna sighed and drained the coffee mug. "I wouldn't have asked him anyway, and got you into trouble."

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Pete got unsteadily to his feet.

Anna looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, perfect. I'm going to open a bottle."

She watched him weave his way to the fridge and select a bottle of chilled white. He then rummaged in drawers to find the bottle opener. Anna took a look around the room and saw the ashtray; it was partly shoved beneath a chair. She looked back to Pete as he took down two wineglasses from a cupboard. "Are you stoned?"

Pete placed the glasses onto the counter.

"You are, aren't you?"

"Well, Your Honor, I do admit to having a large joint this morning. I can't deny it."

Anna stood up. "A joint?" "Yes, ma'am! Can't you smell it? It's very, very good grass."

"Is this a regular thing?"

Pete poured the wine.

"Pete, it's illegal! You must be crazy."

"It's just weed, for God's sake! Any day now they'll make it legal. It's not as if I am shipping it in by the ton." He passed her the wine. "Don't look so shocked."

"Well, I am. I mean, do you ever smoke it when you are at work?"

"Don't be so crass. I just use it to unwind; it helps me sleep."

Anna sat down again. She was unsure what she should do.

"Cheers," he said as he sipped the wine and then put another log on the fire. "What are you going to do, Anna—arrest me?"

"Now
you're
being crass. I just think someone in your position shouldn't take such a risk. I mean, if anyone was to know, you could lose your job!"

"Have you ever had a joint?"

Anna looked flushed.

"You haven't, have you?"

"I've never felt the need to."

"Even when you were at university?"

"No! It was not for lack of opportunity. To be honest, the crowd that got stoned every night were not my type, and if my father had ever found out, I think he would have throttled me."

"Daddy's girl!"

"That has nothing to do with it. I respected him and wouldn't do anything that could not only upset him, but have repercussions: he was a very well-respected police officer."

"You sound so self-righteous."

"Maybe I am, but I also take my job very seriously. If I was foolish enough to start smoking dope. I could jeopardize my career. You only have to be caught once, you know."

"I daresay that is true, but I'm in my own home and I use it to relax. And, may I say, it would do you a hell of a lot of good to try it. It would maybe let you relax and get off this case for a few minutes." "What you don't take into consideration is that you have to score it from someone, which means that he or she is also aware of your addiction."

"1 am not a flicking addict."

"Nevertheless, the risk of it being known to another party means they could have a hold on you."

"In what way, for Chrissakes?"

"Well, for example, say you get some evidence that is detrimental to one of these people you score your dope from—they could get in touch with you and say that they would like you to lose the evidence."

"Blackmail me?"

"Yes, that's a risk."

Pete leaned back against the sofa. "Well, I'll have to warn my brother."

"What do you mean?"

"He grows it."

Anna finished her wine. "You don't have a brother; you told me about your family."

"Ah, this is my Australian stepbrother. He lives in Dorset."

"You get it from him?"

Pete turned to look at her. "This is getting really boring, Anna. I smoke dope, and I will continue to do so. I am at risk only because I let you in and you are a policewoman—a detective, no less! Any risk I am getting into will probably come from Miss Super Sleuth. Now. can we change the subject?"

"I'm going home." She stood up.

Pete remained lying on the floor, his head resting back on the sofa. He watched her put her empty wineglass on the counter.

"I'll show myself out."

"Fine."

Tight-lipped, Anna walked to the front door. Pete made no effort to get up, so she let herself out. He stayed on the floor for a while longer, then crawled to the ashtray and took out the half-smoked joint. He was about to light up when the doorbell rang again.

"It's me," Anna shouted.

Pete opened the door and stood back in mock horror. "Oh Christ! You've come to arrest me!"

"Very funny. I've got a bloody clamp on my car." She slammed the front door closed. "I'll have to call and get it taken off. How long will it take?"

"I have no idea. Could be hours—depends on where the clamping buggers are."

Anna sat down and opened her briefcase, taking out her mobile. Pete poured her another glass of wine and topped his own up.

Keeping her voice controlled, she explained that she wanted the clamp taken off her car immediately. She was a police officer interviewing a suspect and required her vehicle to return to the station.

She snapped off her phone in a fury. "They said it'll take at least an hour! I don't believe it."

"Am I the suspect you told them you were interviewing?" Pete said, grinning.

"Oh, shut up. They won't let me off the fine because it's a private vehicle. It's bloody outrageous."

"Double yellow lines, sweetheart—you know about the parking. You should have driven round to the garage at the back of the house."

Anna accepted a fresh glass of wine and sat on the sofa.

Pete lay prone beside her. "I was just about to light up."

"For Chrissakes, don't do that! If they come, they'll smell it."

"I'm not going to let them in! Your car is outside—they won't smell it from there. Besides, they're clampers, not police."

Anna sighed with frustration.

Pete lit up the joint, took a big lungful and then held it up. "You know, you should just try it at least once, so you're experienced in the field of marijuana smokers. It will give you a better insight into the farce of it being illegal. You know as well as I do the cops go easy on it; it's the hard stuff they are trying to stop."

"Well, they say it's the stepping-stone to hard drugs."

"Bullshit." Pete leaned on one elbow and held out the joint. "Go on.

try it. Heave in the smoke, just as if you arc smoking a cigarette and let it out slowly."

"No way. I'll go and stand by my car." Anna drained her glass.

"You're over the limit," Pete said, grinning.

"I am not."

"Yes, you are. Women can only drink two very small glasses of wine and you've had a large double measure."

"I also had that glue coffee you made."

"Ah, it won't count, sweetheart."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"It's just a term of endearment."

"1 hate it."

"Well, dearest, I won't call you sweetheart again."

Langton had always called her sweetheart. He probably called most of his women that.

Anna reached forward. "All right, let me try it."

She coughed a lot to begin with. Then Pete rolled a smaller and thinner joint, without tobacco. The clampers arrived and Pete dealt with them as Anna was unable to stand up straight.

He left her lying on the sofa, listening with headphones on to the Doors. She said, very loudly, when he returned, "I really like this band!"

He grinned and opened up a bar of chocolate from the fridge. Anna was lying back, eyes closed. She wafted her hand, singing,
"I'll never look into your eyes again, my friend."

He popped a slice of black, ice-cold chocolate into her mouth and then rolled another joint. The room was hot and the fire blazing, as he kept on stacking more logs onto it. They opened another bottle of wine and finished the bar of chocolate. The curtains drawn, Pete lit scented candles and then lay beside her on the sofa. She was loath to part with the headphones, but he switched discs and put on his favorite compilation of seventies and eighties rock music. They lay together, wreathed in smiles. He found her adorable, as she burst into song, singing the odd lines.

The first kiss was light. She eased her body around to face him, pressing herself against him. She cupped his face in her hands and they had a long, lingering, passionate kiss. There was no thought of James Langton, no jigsaw puzzle of facts and suppositions of the case. In the warmth of the room, wrapped in his arms, Anna felt incredibly happy. She also felt safe and, he was so gentle and considerate, she felt loved.

The following morning, Anna knew they had made love—in fact, a number of times—but wasn't too clear about how she came to be in his bed. She remembered talking about mundane things like childhood memories of holidays with her parents. She had never had this experience of sharing so much of herself, nor had she ever been stoned, and with more wine than she had ever drunk in one session before. She didn't, at first, regret a moment but, as she slowly woke up to exactly where she was and who she was with, she had terrible misgivings and, when she tried to sit up, and her head felt as if it was about to explode, she questioned how she could have allowed herself to be so foolish.

Pete lay beside her, still deeply asleep; she eased back the duvet and inched to the edge of the bed. Slowly, she swung her legs over and got to a sitting position. This made the room spin and her head throb. Wrapped in a towel, Anna moved slowly down the narrow staircase into the living room. She drank some water and then started to collect her clothes, which were strewn around the room. Each time she bent to pick up an item, she felt dizzy and, by the time she had managed to track down her knickers and bra, she had to sit down on the sofa. It took her even longer to dress, and when she caught sight of herself in a mirror, she had to look away fast.

Her hair was standing up on end and she had black rings beneath her eyes from her mascara. She looked really wretched. She splashed cold water over her face and used a dishcloth to pat it dry. She combed her hair and. with her head still throbbing, brewed up some coffee. There was not a sound from above, for which she was thankful, because she wasn't sure if she could talk. By the time she'd downed two cups of black coffee and found a bottle of aspirin to ease her headache, she at least felt as if she could function. She cleared the room, washed up

the wineglasses, emptied the ashtray of its roach stubs, and was about to pour her third cup of coffee when she heard movement from the bedroom.

"Anna?" Pete called out. He came thudding down the stairs; his hair, like Anna's, was standing up on end, and he had pulled on a pair of jeans but was bare-chested and barefoot.

"I've made some coffee," she said, not looking at him.

"Great. Don't you want a shower?" he said as he looked around the room.

"No, I'd better get back home to change."

He peered at the clock on the mantel. "Is this the right time?"

Anna looked at her wrist watch, at least she hadn't taken that off. "Oh my God—it's half-past eight. I'm going to have to go straight to work."

"Me too. Do you want some toast?"

"No, I'll get something from the canteen."

He came to stand behind her, reaching around her for his mug of coffee. "You okay?"

"Yes, my headache is fading fast. Want an aspirin? I found some in your cupboard."

"Nope." He slurped his coffee, then wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. "Any regrets?"

"No, of course not," she said, but still turned away from him.

"Look at me," he said gently, and turned her to face him. "What's the matter?"

"I haven't cleaned my teeth," she said.

"I've got a spare toothbrush in the bathroom."

"I'd better just get going."

"Not until you've looked at me. Stop turning away."

She sighed, and slowly turned to him, looking up into his face. He bent down and kissed her softly. "Last night was special," he said, and cupped her face in his hands. "No regrets?"

"You already asked me that."

"Well, have you?"

"No."

"Good, I'll call you this evening." "Okay."

He turned away and picked up his coffee; she moved quickly to collect her briefcase and handbag.

"You sure you don't want to have a shower with me?"