*
Shit! Tuesday morning wake up call. Don't know what drags me from sleep, but I sit straight up in bed. Already light outside, know I'm late without looking at the clock. Empty bed, bloody bitch already up and gone to work, leaving me lying here. Shit. Dare to look at the clock. Aw, shit. Shit. Half past fucking eight.
Look at my phone. Three missed calls, four texts, but the phone is on silent. I never did that. Holy suffering fuck, the bitch put my phone on silent…
The station; Taylor; Peggy. They were all calling. Jesus. Where were Craig Levein and the First Minister, didn't they need me as well?
Fly into a frantic rush of cold water, toothpaste and last night's clothes. Out onto the street. Snowed in the night — a light covering. Nearly slip on the stairs. Have trouble starting the car, lurch out onto the road and within five minutes I'm stuck in traffic.
Keep looking at the clock as it gets ever later. Switch the radio on and off. Good news, boring news, weather — I know it snowed! I can see the sodding stuff — shit music. The phone rings again and I ignore it. And again.
Finally arrive well after nine-thirty. Run into the station — raised eyebrow from Ramsey — up the stairs and into the office. The usual hum of activity. In the centre of the room Taylor stands talking to Miller. They stop, look at me as I approach. Taylor looks as if he wants to thump me, Miller plays the part. The disapproving superior. I shrug my shoulders. No idea what to say.
'I'll leave you to it,' says the woman who five hours previously had screamed with lust as I'd rammed my cock into her.
Taylor indicates his office and I follow him in. Realise there's a couple of DCs watching me go. Little bastards.
Taylor behind his desk. Gestures for me to close the door. Starts up. Low voice. Mad as fuck, not shouting.
'What the fuck are you doing?'
Raise the shoulders, let out a sigh. I can't explain.
'We've got a monumental case on here and you're lying in bed for fuck's sake. And by the look of you, someone else's bed. Can you not leave your dick be for two fucking days while we get some work done?'
Feel even more stupid now than I did a minute ago. Wish I had some defence.
'Bloody hell, Hutton, at least say something for yourself.'
I can't. He doesn't need to know about Charlotte.
He leans forward, elbows on the desk.
'Listen. Morrow's been in for the past two hours. Got some good ideas, doing some good work. Gone back out to check on some stuff. A good officer doing a good job. Any more of this shite and it'll be your job he's doing. Get out there and get on with it.'
Stupid, humiliated, feel like saluting. Think much the better of it. Nod the head, look embarrassed.
'We're done, Sergeant,' he says.
Right. Turn to go. Wait for the quieter words that all good man managers come out with to show they're not really mad at you. They don't come. Out the door, leave it open, and then back to my desk.
The papers that Morrow checked through yesterday are all still there, a pile on Herrod's desk. I lift them over, place them in front of me. Notice beside the phone a message. Peggy called — can you phone her.
Push it to one side, decide to think on it before I make the call. What do I say? Just ignored the uncomfortable thought while I was with Miller. Look up at her office, the closed door. Just like the closed door of her heart.
Fuck off Hutton, you stupid prick. Get on with it.
Lift the first paper and begin the trawl through for any mention of Detective Chief Inspector Gerry Crow.
35
Spend three hours on it. Looking through all those papers that Morrow wasted his time on yesterday. Looking for the name of Crow, thinking about two women. It would be nice to be able to divorce your thoughts from that kind of thing, but I suppose we're all the same.
Peggy or Charlotte. Safe option against the bomb waiting to go off. Keep making mental lists with the name Crow on them both, so I don't miss him if he crops up.
Points in favour:
Peggy. History; cracking sex; mother of my children; get my family back; I'm forty-four and it's about time I acted it; a warm, loving relationship, especially when the relationship with Charlotte is going nowhere — it'd be foolish to lose Peggy for something that might not last 'til the end of the week; Peggy makes good Jamaica ginger cake.
Charlotte. Sex.
Try to tell myself that sex with Peggy is as good, but there's something extra with Charlotte. It could just be novelty, though. Maybe after twelve years it wouldn't have the same bite. Nothing dulls the appetite like familiarity.
I don't know. Head says Peggy, heart's divided, dick says Charlotte. That's about it. Know what I should do, but like the rest of us under the weight of infatuation, I'm fighting against it with all I've got.
Pick up the phone to Peggy eventually.
'Hello?' she says. Voice wary. Knows it's me.
'Don't hang up,' I say. Immediately onto the defensive before she can speak. Good move, Hutton, you idiot.
She doesn't say anything. Doesn't hang up either.
'Look, I'm sorry. I just couldn't come over.'
'Where were you?'
Never was much of a liar, but I might as well give it a go. Easier over the phone.
'It was late. Middle of the night. And I know what you said, but there was no point. I needed the sleep, babe.' The old familiarity. I bet Brian called her darling. 'I'm sorry. It was half-four, I just went home, unplugged the phone, forgot to set the alarm and went out like a light. I know, I should at least have texted or something.'
No immediate reply. Not necessarily a bad thing. Don't say anything else. Wait and see.
'I just wish…' she starts off, stops herself. 'I don't know Thomas. Just be honest, for fuck's sake.' Peggy never used to swear. Must be Brian's influence.
'I'm being honest.' Missing the point as usual. 'Look, I'll come over tonight, I promise.' Close my eyes as I say it.
'Don't, Thomas. Don't…I don't know… I still want you to come. But come when you want. When you mean it.'
'I'll try and come tonight. Promise.' There I go again.
'Don't promise, Thomas.' Click.
Phone call over, just like that. No opportunity for more lies. Shit. Gun at my head right now, and I'd choose Peggy over Charlotte. But it won't last.
Back to work, try to think about Crow and neither of the women. Crow is just not as attractive a thought, however.
*
An hour later, and I've got it. Already early afternoon. Dying for some lunch. Morrow's been in and out, buzzing around like the good little detective. Good thing I like the guy.
Walk into the boss's office.
'Bingo.'
Taylor looks up. The man's actually going over some papers for once — not staring at the ceiling like he usually does. Must be taking his duties seriously. He's been out most of the morning, got in about twenty minutes ago.
