Scaredy Cat (18 page)

She was starting to get cold. She did up another button on her denim jacket and stared at the corner of the street, wil ing him to appear.

She wasn't real y lying about him, after al . She just wasn't tel ing. There'd only be a row and it would be a damn sight bigger than the oae they'd had the other night.

These fucking resits that she didn't want to take were the problem. It was so unfair that the time when you started to get serious with people was the same time you had so-cal ed important exams.

Were the two of them serious? It felt like it. They hadn't slept together yet, but not because she hadn't wanted to. It was him. He didn't seem in any hurry. He was obviously waiting for the right time. He was being nice and sensitive because he'd obviously already done it and she hadn't, and he didn't want her to feel like he was putting her under any pressure if she didn't want to...

Rachel knew that this would be the big thing with her

SLEEPYHEAD 171

Inother. His experience. The thing that would send her mum bal istic...

Her hand flew to her hair as she saw him coming round the corner. He waved and started to jog towards her. He was real y fit. In good condition. Claire would be so jealous. But Mum would not be impressed at al .

Not with him being so much older.

A blackboard! Forfitck's sake. Anne brought in a brochure one day with these computers that they were developing in America that you can work with your eyelid or something. They can virtual y tel what you're thinking, like something in a fitm. I've got a mobile phone which predicts what letters you're going to type in when you're sending somebody a text message.

Bloody useful, actual y, when your spel ing is as bad as mine. That cost �29.99 as far as I can remember. And I get a poxy blackboard. Everyone goes on about the cuts in the NHS but this is real y taking the piss, isn't it?

And there I was thinking that maybe they might be able to fix up some system so I could read or watch the tel y. Nothing too fancy, just a few mirrors and stuff so that I wouldn't have to lie here al day staring at the piece of plaster that's about to .fal off the manky grey ceiling up there. Wel , there's no chance of that, I suppose. Al these nachines are probably on their last legs as wel . The big one on the left is definitely making a few dodgy noises. I hope they give the nurses enough change to feed the meter. I zvouldn't want to pop off in the middle of the night because somebody didn't have a fifty-pence piece.

I know this isn't Anne's fault and I know that you only ever think about these things when you're on the receiwng end of it and everything. But stil ...

I was pretty chuffed with myself actual y, when it came down to al the alphabet business. We just need to Sort out a system so I can tel Anne to go back instead of forward. Otherwise it's sodding interminable. I'm sure she'l work it out.

SLEEPYHEAD 173

That doctor she had with her was a right clever sod, mind you, working out that I'd blinked too early. I just had to gorier it. If I'd waited and then not been able to blink in time and missed the letter I real y wanted, the whole thing would have been cocked up. I'd've ended up spel ing out the Czechoslovakian for chemist or something.

I suppose I should be grateful to that doctor if he was the one who sorted me out when I first came in. I do remember his face looking down at me. I remember him tel ing me to wake up, but I just drifted away. Before that I can only remember bits and pieces. Bits and pieces of a voice. Not the words. Not yet. Just the sound. Smooth and gentle like Dr Bishop.

And there I was, worried that my mobile phone was going to give me cancer...

TEN

Thorne got off the train at Clapham Junction. He came out

:.

of the station, checked his A-Z and began to walk up

Lavender Hil . The house was only ten minutes' walk away. He was knackered after five. Carrying the briefcase didn't help.

Not that there was anything in it.

He'd spent precisely an hour at Beck House that morning, not listening as Brigstocke brought him up to speed on a caseload of assorted rapes and robberies-with-menace. He'd picked up the address of a security guard who needed questioning and headed straight for Hendon Central station. He'd have to find time to fit in the interview before he went to Queen Square. Wel , he'd see a bit of London today anyway.

He didn't know this part of the city very wel but you'd've

had to be blind not to see that it was affluent. Wine bars on every corner, delicatessens, restaurants and, of course, more estate agents than you could shake a shitty stick at. Out of curiosity he stopped briefly to peer into a window. An oilylooking article with bad skin and a widow's peak smiled at him from behind a computer terminal. Th0rne looked away and took in a few of the details on a revolving display in the window. Kentish Town wasn't cheap but he could have

SLEEPYHEAD 175

bought a big two-bedroom place with a garden there for the price of a toilet cubicle in leafy Battersea.

His breath back, he started plodding on up the hil . He was already panting again when his phone rang. The

squeak was unmistakable. 'Bethel here, Mr Thorne.'

'I know. Are they ready?'

'Oh... you recognised my voice, eh?' Bethel laughed. Thorne had to hold the phone away from his ear. Half the dogs in the area were probably rushing towards him already.

'How did it go, Kodak?'

'Could have gone better, as it goes...'

Fucking idiot. He should have brought a camera and done it himself.

'Listen, Bethel ...'

'Don't worry, Mr Thorne, I got the photos. Good ones too. tie was standing on his doorstep pissing about with a hanging basket. What's this bloke do anyway? Some sort of businessman, is he?'

'Why could it have gone better?' Bethel said nothing. 'It could have gone better, you said.'

He could hear Bethel take a long drag on a cigarette. 'Yeah, nothing that I couldn't handle, but after he'd gone back inside this other bloke pul s up outside and when he gets out of his car he looks around and, I don't know, maybe the sun was glintingoff the lens or something

but he saw me anyway.'

'What was he like?'

'I don't know - tal , in his early twenties, I suppose. Bit of a student type, I reckon - you know, a bit grungy.'

The son. Popping round to borrow a few quid, if what Anne had said was true.

176 MARK BILLINGHAM

'What did he say?'

'You're breaking up, Mr Thorne...'

'What did he say?'

'Oh, you know, he asked me what I was doing. I told " him I was composing a portfolio of common urban birdlife and I just stared at him until he pissed off. No sweat. Got a picture or two of him as he buggered off, actual y.'

Thorne smiled. He'd sent the right man for the job.

'So when can I have them?'

'Wel , they're just drying at the minute. Couple of hours?'

That would work out perfectly.

'Right. Bucket of Blood about one-ish.'

'Is that a good idea?'

Bethel was right. Thorne doubted his welcome would

be a warm one.

'Outside, then. Try not to talk to anybody.' 'I'l be there, Mr Thorne.' 'Kodak, you're better than Boots.'

He'd rung the Royal London to check and found out that Bishop's night on cal was stil Tuesday. He wasn't due in until lunchtime. With a bit of luck Thorne would catch him at home. He certainly looked wel rested when he came to the door wearing an expensive-looking lemon sweater and a winning smile.

'Oh... Detective Inspector. Should I have known you were coming?'

Thorne could see him looking over his shoulder, searching for a col eague or a car.

'No, sir, this is purely an on-spec sort of thing. Bloody cheeky, if I'm honest.'

SLEEPYHEAD 177

'How's the head?' Bishop was relaxed, his hands in his pockets. They were going to have a cosy chat on the doorstep. Fine.

'Much better, thanks. Good job I'm hardheaded.' Bishop leaned back against the front door. Thorne could see through to the kitchen, but there was stil no invitation to come in.

'Yes, I rather got that impression that night round at Jimmy's. Thoroughly enjoyed myself by the way and I

hope you didn't mind my being somewhat spiky.'

'Don't be sil y.'

'I can't help myself sometimes. I do love a little verbal sparring.'

'As long as you keep it verbal, sir.'

Bishop laughed. He didn't have a fil ing in his mouth. Thorne shifted the briefcase to the other hand. 'I had a good time too, which is sort of why I thought I could be a bit pushy and ask you an enormous favour.' Bishop looked at him, waiting. 'I've been to see somebody just round the corner from you, on a total y different case coincidental y, and my constable needed to rush off because his girlfriend's had some sort of accident...'

'Nothing serious?'

'I don't think so, trapped her hand in a door or something, but anyway I'm a bit stranded. I've got another interview to do and I'm running late, and as you were only round the corner and seeing as we've-already had dinner together...'

Bishop stepped forward past Thorne, bent down and began to pul the brown leaves from a large pot on the driveway. 'Ask away.'

'Could I ponce a lift to the station?'

178 MARK BILLINGHAM

Bishop looked up and stared at him for a few seconds. Thorne could sense that he saw through the lie and was looking to see if it was there in his face. He'd be amazed if it wasn't.

Thorne broke the stare and turned his attention to the dying flowers. 'They look as if they were probably lovely a few weeks ago.'

'I'm going to plant evergreens next year I think. Dwarf conifers and Ivies. This is such a lot of work for something that dies so quickly.' He crumpled the dead leaves into his hand and stood up. 'I'm actual y going into town. Is that any good to you?'

'Yes. Fantastic. Thanks a lot.'

'I've just got to grab my keys and stuff. Come in for a minute.'

Thorne fol owed Bishop into the house and stood waiting in the hal . Bishop shouted to him from the kitchen, 'There was a photographer hanging about round here yesterday. Bloody nuisance. I wondered if you knew anything about it.'

So the son had obviously come straight inside and told him about Bethel lurking in the undergrowth or wherever he'd been hiding himself.

'Probably the press just sniffing around. They've been getting worked up since the Helen Doyle reconstruction. Did you see that?'

'No.' Had Thorne detected the hint of a pause before he'd answered? 'I didn't know they'd made any connection to the attack on Alison Wil etts.'

They hadn't.

'No, but somebody may have leaked a list of people we'd interviewed or something. These things happen, unfortunately. I'l look into it if you like.'

SLEEPYHEAD 179

Bishop came striding up the hal pul ing on a sports jacket. He grabbed his keys from the hal table. 'I wouldn't like to see myself splashed across the front page of the Sun.' He opened the front door and ushered Thorne out. 'Mind you,' he shut the door behind him and put a hand on "Fhorne's shoulder as they walked towards the car, 'a discreet photo on page three of the Daily Telegraph is a different matter. Might impress a few young nurses.'

Bishop climbed into the car and Thorne walked round towards the passenger side. He stopped behind the car and held up the briefcase. 'Can I chuck this in the boot?' He saw Bishop glance into his rear-view mirror and smiled as he heard the clunk of the boot being opened from the inside.

As the Volvo cruised along the Albert Embankment, Bishop slid a CD into the player. The sound system was certainly a step up from the tinny rattlebox in Thorne's Mondeo. Some people probably thought country music sounded better that way. Bishop glanced across at him. 'Not a classical man?'

'Not real y. This is fine, though. What is it?'

'Mahler. Kindertotenlieder :

Thorne waited for the translation - which, amazingly, didn't come. The car was immaculately clean. It stil smelt new. When they stopped at light.s, Bishop drummed on the wooden gear lever, his wedding ring clicking against the walnut.

'You've known Anne a long time, then?'

'God, for ever. We were pushing beds around the streets together when we were undergraduates. Me and Anne, Sarah and David.' He laughed. 'I'm sure that's why 180 MARK BILLINGHAM

hospitals are so short of beds. They al get pushed into rivers by high-spirited students.'

'She told me about your wife. I'm sorry.'

Bishop nodded, checking his wing mirror although there was nobody behind them.

'I can't believe the time has gone so quickly, to be

honest. Ten years ago next month, actual y.'

'I lost my mother eighteen months ago.'

Bishop nodded. 'But it wasn't your fault, was it?' Thorne clenched his teeth. 'I'm sorry?'

'The crash was my fault, you see. I was pissed.' Anne hadn't mentioned that. Thorne stared at him. 'Don't worry, Inspector, I wasn't driving, there's no case to reopen. But Sarah was tired, and she was driving because I'd had one too many. I have to live with that, I'm afraid.'

You must live with a lot of things.

'It must have been hard bringing up two kids, though? They can't have been very old.'

'Rebecca was sixteen and James was fourteen and, no, it was a bloody nightmare actual y. Thank God I was already doing quite wel by then.' He stepped on the brakes sharply as the car in front decided against jumping a red light. Thorne jolted back in his seat. Bishop looked across at him, a strange expression on his face. 'Her chest was completely crushed.'

They sat in silence until the lights changed.

Why should I feel sorry for you?

'I saw Alison yesterday. Anne was testing out a communications device. I'm sure she'l tel you al about it...'

And then smal -talk across Waterloo Bridge and into the West End.

SLEEPYHEAD 181

Bishop stuck his hazards on as he pul ed over on Long

Acre to let Thorne jump out. 'How's that?'

'That's perfect. Thanks again.'