He left Shaw to fully return to the land of the living. Standing under the spray, he loved the way the water got rid of the dried sweat that had gathered when he’d heard about another thing. If it wasn’t a sock, what was it? Going back to the zoo had obviously not been an option for the killer this time—no more missing thing reports had come in, and he’d only taken one sock according to the CCTV footage. From what Emerson had said, it was an insect. That would be bearable, but what if it was a large common house thing? He wouldn’t even be able to handle that. He psyched himself up for feeling all kinds of shitty once he saw what was pulled out of the victim’s mouth. Nothing he could do but get on with it.
Washed and refreshed, Burgess dried off then had a quick shave. Once done, he scooted past Shaw, who had appeared in the doorway, then dressed in a shirt and suit from his wardrobe. Flinging his clothing on the floor last night had seemed a great idea at the time while half-cut, but now he frowned, the idea of his Savile Row grey double-breasted being crumpled pinging at his need to have things just so. He’d take it to the dry cleaners later if he had time.
Tie on, he listened to Shaw humming in the shower and knew another bout of generosity was in order. And fuck, much as he liked Shaw, this one still stung. Shaw’s suit was also on the floor in the living room. Gritting his teeth, Burgess took out one of his precious outfits and placed it on the bed. And there he’d been, wondering why he couldn’t afford a car similar to Shaw’s. The answer was staring him in the face from on top of the duvet. High-end suits and shirts, shoes, any clothing or footwear. If he could stop that buying compulsion, he’d be able to save for a decent car.
Or just drive around in Shaw’s.
There was that option.
Shaw came into the room, towel snug on his hips, hair every which way, dripping like mad, droplets of water still clinging to his body. He was clearly the type who didn’t dry off in the bathroom, for fuck’s sake. Burgess looked down at Shaw’s feet. Water seeped onto the pristine carpet.
Shit, if Shaw stayed over more often, there were either going to be rules set out or Burgess was going to be doing a lot more teeth gritting.
“Really getting your goat, isn’t it?” Shaw asked.
“Hmm.” Burgess tried a smile on. Didn’t enjoy it. Took it off.
“You’ll get used to it if you want someone to game with you on the regular. Or you’ll have to stay over at mine.”
“That might be more painful. Your place is chaotic.”
“We’re yin and yang. Just got to go with the flow. You’re too wound up all the time. And you can let go.”
“Hmm again.” Burgess walked over to a chest of drawers and unscrewed the lid of his aftershave. He patted some onto his cheeks. Took a deep breath. Stalled the words he didn’t want coming out of his mouth. “The suit on the bed is for you.” He shook his head at how hard that had been. “You can keep it.” And that had been even harder.
“Fuck me, what’s got into you?” Shaw dropped the towel on the floor.
Burgess winced. “For God’s sake! Cover that up.”
“Got some boxers and socks?” Shaw sat on the bed.
On the arm of the suit. What the hell?
“Top drawer, right-hand side, new with tags.” Burgess put on his shoes.
“Who keeps new with tags in their drawer?” Shaw bounded up to get them. “You, obviously, but… Good job I know all your quirks already, otherwise I’d be running the hell away, you weirdo.”
“Get a bloody move on, will you?”
Shaw pulled out a pack of six socks and a pair of boxers. “Can I keep all these socks as well? Mine have holes in.”
Oh, the pain of it… “Yes, just get sodding dressed.”
Burgess left the room, coming to terms with the fact he’d given some of his precious clothing away.
In the kitchen, he checked his phone. A text from Marla, saying she’d meet him at the scene. She was another one who was chirpy as eff in the mornings. Burgess could do with another coffee, but Shaw waltzed in, looking tidy in Burgess’ suit.
Shaw’s, it’s Shaw’s now.
“Fits nice.” Shaw tugged at the lapels.
“It would, considering how much it cost. Um… Take care of it, will you?”
“Aww, is it like a baby is leaving the nest?”
“Get lost, wind-up merchant. I see you picked out a tie.”
Shaw grinned. “I’ll keep that, too, if you don’t mind.”
Burgess nodded, about as much as he could manage. “You left your towel on the carpet, didn’t you? And your cup on the coffee table—probably not on the coaster.”
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t fold your blankets.”
“Nope.”
“You’re upsetting me.”
“I know.”
Burgess counted to ten in his head. “When we get to the canal, if anyone asks, you bought that suit. It was not mine. Got it?”
“Ah, so your generosity is going to be a secret, is it?”
“I can’t have people thinking I’m soft. Come on, you little sod, you. Out the door. We have work to do.”
Chapter Twelve
Men were busy cobbling together the frame for the forensics tent. The industrial torches were on high beams, one of them casting a shaft of light across the dark surface of the rippling canal, another piercing the gloom around the body.
Burgess stared at the dead man nestled in the knee-high grass. The ducks and swans must have taken affront at the arrival of the killer and the victim, escaping from their safe haven,
