bunch of geriatric rockers. Nothing changes. The arseholes remain in charge.”
Maynard's smile was cut short as Sam Butler arrived carrying a tray of drinks. Standing next to him, rock solid on two-inch heels, was the slim figure of Anian Stanford. Her dark eyes were smarting. “Hello Geoff.” Butler met Maynard's friendly smile. “Heard you were in town. Same old story, is it? Women in trouble.”
“It seems that way.”
“We're not interrupting, are we?”
Maynard half-emptied his seat. “Not at all. Join the party.” Sam Butler glanced sideways at the DC. “This is Anian.” His glance must have caught Cole for Maynard picked up on it. Nothing obvious, just a slight flicker of the eyes.
She slid into a chair and lifted her glass of red wine and only then looked at Cole. “Guv,” she murmured.
Cole’s nod of acknowledgement only served to increase Maynard’s curiosity.
Butler said, “I promised Anian that I'd show her the local, just in case she's moved over here.”
Maynard asked, “So what's happening at Hinckley?”
“We've got some missing women.”
“But unfortunately,” Cole cut in. “They haven’t got a case!” Out of earshot the Sheerham kozzers stole glances at Cole's table while Chas Walker filled them in. “She nearly killed Jack Wooderson over at Hinckley. He had to call it a day. He was going home smelling like a chicken Madras every night and his old girl was getting suspicious.” Peter Ward said, “She'll do me.”
“You've got no chance, son,” Walker said seriously. “Anyway, apart from Jack Wooderson even the fucking tide wouldn’t take her out!”
Some of the uniforms propping the bar overheard and edged forward for more.
From the back DC Martin James put in, “It's all the Kama, isn't it? The bow and arrows, the bowstring of bees.”
Vacant looks required an explanation.
“Saw the video. Kama Sutra. Watched it with the missus. She wasn't all that. Standing on her head with a banana up her arse didn't appeal. She said we could try it again if we get double glazing. Funny, though, it wasn't Pakis in that. Still, I'd give her one…” James nodded toward Anian.
Chas Walker looked surprised.
“Well, wouldn't you?”
The DC looked from James to Ward and back again. He said, “You two are supposed to be married and pillars of the community. But no, I wouldn’t. Apart from the colour, she’s too skinny.”
“She'd be perfect for the part of Rosalind.”
Ward's ears picked up. “ As You Like It,” he said and looked pleased with himself. “The daughter’s reading it for the GCSE.”
“Yes, mine too. Forcing me to play half the parts. Surprised at how much cross-dressing old Shakespeare got up to. Quite a party they had in those days. Gwyneth Paltrow's tits…”
Walker wagged a finger. “Now you’re making sense.”
Two shots over the limit, Butler gave the DC a ride back to Hinckley where she shared a flat with two nurses who worked at the Royal Free. Their shifts were all over the place, worse even than Anian's, so life was noise free. There was always someone sleeping or trying to. In the car she said, “Tell me about him?”
Butler knew immediately that she was referring to Cole. “He’s a DI at Sheerham.”
“I know that much.”
“What then?”
“Tell me.”
“His wife left him some years ago. Went off with an American. Blamed the job, as you do. He was involved in a couple of high profile cases that… Well, they were pretty bloody nasty. He spent too much time on them and not enough on her. You know the score. Christ, Anian, you're in the job.”
“What else?” She sounded tired, as if talking was keeping her awake.
“Nothing else.”
“I heard some rumours, a certain policewoman.”
Butler nodded and checked the mirror. The roads were quiet, washed with lonely electric. The silent shop displays blazed the Christmas message of false hope
“I heard them too.” Gossip had never come easily to Sam Butler. “Well?”
“I don't know. They might have got a bit too close, but they saw sense, backed off. She's married, happily I believe, moved back to Ipswich. End of story.”
“No, no, you're not getting off there. Was it an affair?”
“I wouldn't put it like that. A daydream, maybe, a mental lapse, a day off. That's it, a day off. That's how I'd put it. Everyone's allowed a day off, just once. It's all forgotten now. It was a long time ago.” Under cover of darkness Anian Stanford nodded thoughtfully and smiled.
Chapter 14
The phone became part of Cole’s dream.
“Guv, you better get over here.”
DS Peter Ward’s voice was vaguely familiar. “What’s happened?” “John Domey’s been on. Margaret hasn’t been home all night. He’s panicking. Rang the hospitals…”
“Give me half an hour. You better let the super know.”
“He’s already here, with the chief, and he’s not a happy chappy.” “Go on?”
“Nasty TA in the High Road. Fatality outside The British. Pedestrian was hit and dragged fifty yards. Took most of the night to pick up the pieces.”
A TA wasn’t going to bring out the super, never mind Chief Superintendent Marsh, so it had to be more than that and Margaret Domey was odds-on.
Cole hung up and checked his clock. Seven. He’d had three hours sleep. Self-inflicted, he knew, but the thought made things worse. On his way to the shower he banged on his guest’s door and heard a groan. In the mirror he faced his red eyes. Something had to give, the job, his liver, something… It felt like he’d taken a heavy boot in the side. He turned the shower to hot, until it hurt and took away the pain. It sobered him up, like it always did, as though the water was purifying. It washed away the corruption.
He was in the kitchen when Maynard appeared. Coffee was making noises and bursting bubbles. The therapist looked even worse than he did.
Maynard pulled a can of Diet Coke from the fridge. “Why the air raid siren? Tell me it’s the end of the world, at least?”
“Remember Margaret?”
“Margaret Thatcher’s twin sister? I’ll never forget her.”
“Remember Sam’s missing women, all but one pregnant?” “It’s coming back. Last night remains a little hazy.”
“Margaret Domey is pregnant and last night she didn’t come home.”
Maynard nodded and said quietly, “A sobering thought.”
Cole went on, “And she didn’t do a runner. That’s out of the question. So go through the possibilities: she’s ill, in hospital, she’s fallen through a crack in the pavement or she’s gone the way of these other women.”
Maynard’s features firmed up. “There’s a shed load of possibilities
– memory loss, disorientation, medication not taken, mental impairment, pre-natal depression and a whole bunch of psychological illnesses that aren’t necessarily obvious. Panic for one. Panic can send you to any place and reason won’t come into it. And then there’s the game of hide-and-seek: come and find me – I need some attention. Maybe she just wants some time to herself. It’s a bit early to speculate. But I do know what you mean. Most of it doesn’t fit the Margaret we know.”
“Let’s go and find her. I’ve had enough of this shit. Someone’s throwing bombs around, girls getting cut to bits, missing women. It’s time to take the gloves off.”
