Lazy Bones (10 page)

The tea-room was kitsch beyond belief, with check tablecloths, art deco tea-sets and Bakelite radios dotted around on shelves and window ledges. The cream tea for two arrived almost instantly. ' Eve poured Earl Grey for herself, monkey tea for Thorne. She lathered jam and clotted cream on to her scone, grinned across the table.

77

'Listen, when I'm eating is probably the best chance you'l have to get a word in, so I should take your chance if I were you. I know I talk way too much...'

'The man who left the message on your answering machine, has he been in touch with you again?' She looked at him, confused. 'Fol ow up question,' Thorne explained. 'Justify the expenses claim, like you suggested. Bit of a long shot, but it seemed as good a question as any...

She cleared her throat. 'No, Detective Inspector, I'm afraid that I never heard from the man again.'

'Thank you. If you think of anything else you wil get in touch, won't you? And I needn't tel you that we'd prefer it if you didn't leave the country...'

She laughed and pushed the last piece of a scone imo her mouth. When she'd finished it she looked straight at him, raising a hand to shield her eyes against the sunlight that streamed in through the picture window. 'I take it you haven't caught him yet?' Thorne looked back at her, stil eating. 'Dit he kil somebody?'

Thorne swal owed. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't...'

'I'm just putting two and two together, real y.' She leaned back in her chair. 'I know it's a man, because I've heard his voice, and you told me you were with the Serious Crime Group, so I'm guessing that you're not after this bloke because he hasn't taken his library books back.'

Thorne poured himself another cup of tea. 'Yes, he did kil some

body. No, we haven't caught him yet.'

'Are you going to?'

Thorne poured her a cup...

'Why me?' she said. 'Why did he pick me to order the wreath from?' 'I think he picked a name at random,' Thorne said. They'd found a tattered Yel ow Pages in the cupboard beneath the bedside table. It had been covered in fingerprints. Thorne doubted any belonged to the kil er. 'He just let his fingers do the walking.'

78

She pul ed a face. 'I knew I shouldn't have stumped up for that bloody box-ad...'

Though she talked twice as much, and ten times as quickly as he did, Thorne stil talked more, and more easily, in the hour or so that fol owed than he could remember doing to almost anybody for a long time. To any woman, certainly...

'When's the wedding?' Eve asked, as their plates were cleared away. Thorne was struck then by how much ground they'd covered and how quickly. 'A week today. God, I'd rather stick needles in my eyes...

'Do you not get on with your cousin?'

Thorne smiled at the waitress as she popped the bil down on the table. 'I barely know him. Probably wouldn't recognise him if he walked in here. Just family dos, you know...'

'Right. You choose your friends, but you can't choose your relatives.'

'Yours as bad as mine, then?' ' She brushed a few stray crumbs from the tabletop into her hand,, emptied it on to the floor. 'Is he the same sort of age as you? Your cousin?'

'No, Eileen's a lot younger than my dad, and she had Trevor pretty

late. He's stil only early thirties, I think...'

'What are you?'

'How old, you mean?' She nodded. Thorne opened his wal et, dropped fifteen pounds on top of the bil . 'Forty-two. Forty-three in... fuck, in ten days.'

She clipped up a few stray hairs that had tumbled loose. 'I won't say that you don't look it, because that always sounds so false, but looking at you, I'd say that they were forty-three pretty interesting years.'

Thorne nodded. 'I'm not going to argue, but just so you know... I don't mind about the sounding-false thing.'

She smiled, put on a pair of smal , almond-shaped sunglasses. 'Forty then. Late thirties at a push.'

79

Thorne stood up, pul ing his leather jacket from the chair behind him. 'I'l settle for that...'

Bgck at the shop they swapped business cards, shook hands and stood together, a little awkwardly, in the doorway. Thorne looked around. 'Maybe I should get a plant or something...'

Eve bent down and picked up what looked like a miniature metal bucket. A cactus-like plant sprouted from a layer of smooth white pebbles. She handed it to him. 'Do you like this?'

Thorne was far from sure. 'What do I owe you?'

'Nothing. It's an early birthday present.'

He studied it from every angle. 'Right. Thanks...'

'It's an aloe vera plant.'

Thorne nodded. Over her shoulder, he could see Keith watching them closely from behind the counter. 'So I should be al right for shampoo...'

'There's a gel in the leaves, very good for cuts and scrapes.'

Thorne looked at the firce-looking spikes growing along the edges of the plant's sword-shaped leaves."That'l come in handy.'

They stepped out on to the pavement, the slight awkwardness returning. Thorne noticed a silver scooter parked by the side of the shop - one of the latest Vespas, based on the classic design. He nodded towards it. 'Yours?'

She shook her head. 'God, no. That's Keith's.' She pointed to the other side of the road. 'That's me over there...'

Thorne looked across the road at the grubby white van behind which he'd parked the Mondeo. The name of the shop was painted on its side, in the same creeping-ivy design as was on the shopfront. 'The name certainly fits,' he said.

She laughed. 'Right. Like being an undertaker cal ed De'Ath. What else could I do? Flowers are the only thing I can think of that bloom . . .'

Thorne could think of several other things, but he shook his head,

8O

not wanting to say anything that might spoil a nice afternoon. 'No,

you're right,' he said.

Thinking...

Bruises. Tumours. Bloodstains ...

For the fourth time in the last hour, Welch was answering the same

stupid set of questions.

'Date of birth?'

Maybe the officers just passed the list between themselves. You'd have thought that at least one of them could have come up with something more interesting...

'Mother's maiden name?'

But no. Same tired old teasers designed to catch out the impostor. The process had gone unchanged for many years but these days they real y weren't taking any chances. Not since the incident a couple of months earlier. A couple of Pakis in a prison up north had swapped places on release day and the sil y bastards had let the wrong one out. Several screws had blown their pensions that day and, once the jungle drums had finished beating, given every con in the country a fucking good laugh...

'Do you have any tattoos?'

'Can I ask the audience?'

'You want to be a smartarse, Welch, we can start the whole thing over again...'

Welch smiled and answered the questions. He wasn't going to do anything sil y at this stage of the game. Each door he walked through, each successful y completed series of questions, each tick on a chart took him one step further away from the centre of the place. One step closer to the final door.

Answering pointless questions and signing his name over and over. Taking receipt of his travel warrant and discharge grant. Taking back his property. The battered wal et, the wristwatch, the ring of yel ow metal. Always 'yel ow metal'. Never 'gold' in case the bastards lose it...

81

Then through another door and on to another screw, and al this one gets to say to him is 'goodbye'.

Welch walked away towards the gate. He moved slowly, savouring every step, seconds away from the moment when he would hear the clang of the heavy door behind him and feel the heat of the day on his face.

And look up at a sun the colour of yel ow metal.

For Thorne and Hendricks, a Saturday night in front of the television with beer and a takeaway curry was a regular pleasure. For nine months of the year there was footbal to watch, to argue about. Tonight, the start of the new season stil seven weeks away, they would probably watch a film. Or just sit through whatever was on until, a couple of cans in, they stopped real y caring. Maybe :hey would just put some music on and talk.

It was nearly nine o'clock and the light was only just starting to fade. They walked down Kentish Town Road, away from the restaurant and back towards Thorre's place. Both wore jeans and a T-shirt though Thorne's were far and awa) the baggier and less eye-catching. Hendricks carried a plastic bag, heavy with cans of lager, while Thorne took responsibility for the curry. The Bengal Lancer delivered, but it was a nice evening for a walk and there was the added attraction of a cold pint of Kingfisher while they'd waited, the smel coming from the kitchens sharpening the edges of their appetites.

'Why the rape?' Thorne asked suddenly.

Hendricks nodded. 'Right. Good move. Let's get the shoptalk out the way - you know, the rape and murder stuff- then we can relax and enjoy Casualty...'

Thorne ignored the sarcasm. 'Everything else, so wel planned, so meticulously done. He takes no chances. He strips the bed even after he's kil ed Remfry on the floor. Takes everything away to make sure he leaves nothing of himself behind...'

'Nothing strange about not wanting to get caught.'

82

'No, but it was al so careful. Ritualised almost. Whether it happened before or after the murder, I don't see the rape as part of that. Maybe he just snapped at some point, lost it...'

'I can't see it, myself. The kil er didn't just go mental and do it without thinking. He knew what he was doing. He wore a condom, so he was stil wary, stil in control...'

There were dozens of people gathered outside the Grapevine pub. They spil ed across the pavement, laughing and drinking, enjoying the weather. Hendricks was forced to drop behind Thorne as they stepped into the road to skirt round the crowd.

'You think the rape wasn't part of the plan?' Hendricks was abreast of Thorne again. 'You think he just decided to do it once he'd got there?'

'No, I think he planned the whole thing. The rape just seems...' 'It was more violent than most, I agree, but rape's hardly delicate, is it?' An old man waiting at a zebra crossing to cross the road caught just enough of the conversation. He jerked his head around and, ignoring the signal to cross, watched them walk away. A frustrated driver wNt ing at the crossing glared at the old man and leaned on his horn.

'I'm not sure why it bothers me,' Thorne said. 'It's a murder inves

'I'm not sure why it bothers me,' Thorne said. 'It's a murder inves

tigation but it's the rape part that feels significant...'

'You think the Miler was making a point?'

'Don't you?' Hendricks shrugged and nodded, heaved the bag up and slid a protective arm underneath. 'Right,' Thorne said. 'So why is the simple grudge scenario not playing out...?'

They walked on past the sandwich bar and the bank. Music was coming from behind open windows, drifting out of bars and down from roof terraces. Rap and blues and heavy metal. To Thorne, the atmosphere on the street seemed as relaxed as he could remember. Warm weather did strange things to Londoners. On sweaty, rush-hour tubes, tempers shortened as temperatures rose. Later, When it got a few degrees cooler and people had a drink in their hands, it was a different story...

83

Thorne smiled grimly. He knew it was only a smal window of opportunity. Later stil , when darkness fel and the booze began to kick in, the Saturday night soundtrack would become a little more familiar.

Sirens and screaming and breaking glass...

As if on cue, as Hendricks and Thorne walked past the late-night grocers, two teenagers, standing outside, began to push each other. It might have been harmless, it might have been the start of something. Thorne stopped, took a step back. 'oi...'

The tal er of the two turned and looked Thorne up and down, stil clutching a fistful of the other's blue Hilfiger shirt. He was no more than fifteen. 'What's your fucking problem?'

'I don't have a problem,' Thorne said.

The shorter one shook himself free and turned square on to Thorne. 'You wil have in a minute if you don't piss off...'

'Go home,' Thorne said. 'Your mum's probably worried.'

The tal er one sniggered; but his mate was less amused. He looked

quickly up and down the street. 'You want me to smack a couple of

your teeth out?'

'Only if you want me to nick you,' Thorne said.

Now they both laughed. 'You a fucking copper, man? No way...' 'OK,' Thorne said. 'I'm not a copper. And you're just a couple of innocent young scal ywags minding your own business, right? Nothing I should have to worry about, you know, if I were a police officer, in any of your pockets.' He saw the eyes of the tal er boy flick towards those of his friend. 'Maybe I should check though, just to be on the safe side ...'

Thorne leaned, smiling, towards them. Hendricks stepped forward

and hissed in his ear. 'Come on, Tom, for fuck's sake...'

A girl, two or three years older, walked out of the shop. She handed

each of the boys a can of Tennent's Extra, opened one herself. 'What's

going on?'

84

The boy in the blue shirt pointed at Thorne. 'Reckons he's a copper, says he's going to arrest us.'

The girl took a noisy slug of beer. 'Nah... he's not going to arrest anybody.' She pointed with the can towards the bag Thorne was holding. 'Doesn't want to let his fucking dinner go cold...'

More laughter. Hendricks put a hand on Thorne's shoulder.

"Fhorne careful y put the bag on the ground. 'I'm not hungry any more. Now turn out your pockets...'

'You love this, don't you?' the girl said. 'Have you got a hard-on?' 'Turn out your pockets.'

The boys stared at him, cold. The girl had another swig of beer. Thorne took a step towards them and then they moved. The shorter boy stepped round his friends and away, running a step or two before slowing, regaining his composure. The girl moved away more slowly, dragging the tal er of the boys by the sleeve. They stared at Thorne as they went, walking away backwards up the street.