turnover-the carparks look pretty full.’
‘Fifty per cent up on a normal Monday evening, I’d say. You’re disapproving again, but seriously, I wonder why you object to people showing their interest in their own way? Who’s to say what’s responsible interest and what’s morbid? Me, I prefer to take people just as they are.’
‘Then you’d probably make a good copper, Bo.’
‘No, a good shopping centre manager-much more rewarding, financially anyway. And more than financially. I don’t know how you can spend your life digging about exposing the shit in life. I prefer to wrap it all up in gorgeous gift paper and sell it for a bomb. I guess it’s basically a difference of philosophy.’
‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Philosophy, eh?’ He finished his drink and she reached across with the bottle, ignoring his shake of the head.
‘Sure. You’re a liberal, right? You adore positive logic, and you have a certain political awareness, which maybe is the conscience of the privileged. You want to have things verified, and at the same time help the less fortunate. It’s very old-fashioned.’
‘Thank you,’ Brock grunted. He had heard this lecture before, and wasn’t really in the mood for it again.
‘Winston Starkey, for instance, the black guy who runs the games arcade, who your officers were hassling.’
‘I am pursuing that, don’t worry. If they were in the wrong, they’ll pay, believe me.’
‘Oh, I do. You’ve been talking to him, yes?’
‘I went and had a word with him this morning, yes. You’re well informed, Bo.’
‘Naturally. But actually he came and told me so himself. He believes that some of the other traders and our security guys-all white, of course-have it in for him. Put your people up to it.’
‘He’s probably right. What’s your point?’
‘My point is that you want to believe the best of him, because of what he is: black and gay and kinda dumb. Whereas I don’t.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘No. If he’s up to anything, and especially if it’s drugs, I want you to hit him hard. And I’m black and wear gold jewellery too.’
‘Fair enough.’
Bo smiled. ‘Your sergeants have a more modern philosophy.’
‘Have they really?’
‘Sure. They’re not like you, they’re classless, thank God.’
Brock frowned at his glass, feeling tired.
She mistook his expression and said quickly, ‘Sorry, David, no offence to you. I just find this English class thing so boring.’
‘I know…’ He decided he’d better let her have her fun. ‘I thought I was fairly classless, actually.’
‘Sure,’ she laughed. ‘Middle-classless. I’m not sure whether it’s upper-middle-classless or middle-middle- classless, but that’s because I’m a foreigner. If I were English I’d know for sure within ten seconds of you opening your mouth which kind of classless you were. Now the tough guy, what’s his name?’
‘Lowry.’
‘Yes. He’s a contemporary, post-Thatcher, English type, I’d say.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Oh, hungry, devious, prepared to do whatever it takes.’
‘I think that’s just style, Bo. Posturing. We all do it, in our different ways. Reassures us that we aren’t completely beholden to the chief super’-he eyed her over the rim of his glass-‘or the finance manager.’
She flinched, then smiled and continued, ignoring his little barb. ‘Your other sergeant, Kathy, is different. I like her. She’s kind of intense, but interesting. Not too politically sophisticated, I’d guess, but she’s very keen on catching bad guys. She thinks in her own way. You tell her one thing, she’ll try something else. Am I right?’
‘Pretty much, yes. Intense, you think?’
‘Yes, but I think there’s a fairly straightforward reason for that.’
‘I work her too hard?’
Bo laughed. ‘No. I’d say… it’s just a guess. I’d say she needs a good screw. You look surprised. Am I right?’
Brock took another swallow of his drink while he considered that. ‘Quite possibly. I didn’t think you’d really seen much of her.’
‘Oh, I read people quickly, David. And I have talked to her, as a matter of fact. We bumped into each other this morning. She wanted to know about our archaeologist.’
‘Your what?’
Bo laughed. ‘One of our local fruitcakes. He first showed up when we started building here. Early on, when they disturbed the ground, they hit something bad.’ She leant forward, eyes bright, and whispered, ‘Bones.’
‘Bones?’
She nodded. ‘Human remains.’
Brock sat up sharply, pushing out of his mind the extraordinary way her broad lips formed the first syllable of ‘human’.
‘Human? How the hell didn’t I know about this?’
‘They were kind of old.’
‘But still…’
‘Like, a thousand years old.’ She laughed. ‘It was really bad news, because of course the archaeologists had to be told, and for six months they were here, off and on, digging around the place, getting in everybody’s way. We were terrified they’d find a Roman city or something, but all they ever found were those bones. Eventually they all left, all except this local fruitcake, a professor of archaeology, who’d been helping them. He’s still here, haunting the place, mainly I think so he can lord it over the elderly matrons of the locality, who fuss over him and give him treats. Kathy bumped into him with one of those ladies in the mall, and came to find out from me what they were on about.’
‘I see. She didn’t mention it to me. Which reminds me that I’ve got a pile of reports to read before I go home.’ He sighed and got to his feet. ‘Thanks for the use of your video, and the drink, and the assessment of my team. It was all most enlightening.’
‘You’re not cross with me, are you? About the class thing?’
‘No, not at all. Although it did make me feel a little old.’
‘Well, you know the best way to stay young, don’t you?’
He never heard the answer to that because her phone started ringing, but from the look she gave him as he left he guessed that sex came into it somewhere.
Kathy opened her front door with some trepidation, expecting a mess, but between them Mrs P and the delivery men had managed things remarkably well. There, facing them, where the battered old brown box of her TV had been, was an impressive black electronic presence winking a small red light at them to tell them it was alive and ready to go. Over to the left, through the door of the kitchenette, she could see other gleaming new friends, while the transformation in the bedroom was even more impressive.
‘When did you manage this?’ Leon gasped, astonished.
In the vast spaces of the showroom the bed had seemed quite moderate in scale, but now, in the small bedroom, it looked huge. There was barely room to move around it, or open the built-in wardrobe door.
‘Is it too big?’ Kathy said, feeling a twinge of loss for her old narrow bed.
Leon shook his head. ‘Hell no. What’s a bedroom for?’
They unpacked the bedding stacked neatly at the foot, and made up the bed, adjusting to its dimensions. Then Kathy checked her watch and said, ‘Let’s see if we can get the TV to work. Forbes is making a press statement.’
She was astonished at the clarity of the picture, the subtle flesh tones that made the people on the screen look and sound like humans instead of plastic puppets. And Chief Superintendent Forbes filled these new dimensions like a seasoned performer, voice resonant, gaze steady, as he appealed for public assistance. The pictures of the girl wearing the frog bag, and of Kerri herself, leapt out into the room.
When it was over, they switched off and unpacked the food and wine that Leon had bought.
