The only light he’s seeing is the one at the end of the tunnel, just before the rainbow bridge.
“So what about the other one he tried to take?” Burgess asked.
“Juliette? She’s venomous, too. Similar in looks to Harry but a different species. She got antsy when he tried to take her, and the man let her be. Thinking of that, I reckon he must know about arachnids and how Juliette must have been feeling threatened, considering he backed off. That makes me feel better. Yeah, the bloke would know Harry needs a light.”
Poor kid. In for a shock.
“Okay. You’ve been very helpful.” Burgess gave him a sharp nod and led him out of the dreadful room full of nasty, fluffy socks—a room he never wanted to go into again. Outside, squinting in the sunshine, he said, “Here’s my card. If you think of anything that might be of help, don’t hesitate to call.”
Robin took it and slipped it into the pocket of his green uniform shirt, which bore the zoo logo—a penguin with a red baseball cap on. “Mr Clarke is really narked. The elephants were playing him up this morning, so to have this on top of it as well…”
“Yes, Mr Clarke was…agitated when I saw him.” An arsehole, more like. “I’d suggest keeping a wide berth today if you can.”
“Oh, I’m allowed home after I’ve spoken to you. I can’t work with all the police here, and I only specialise in arachnids and spiders. No use anywhere else. And besides, I’m upset.”
“Hmm. Best you get off now then. And again, thanks for your help.” Burgess offered a slight smile. “I’m sorry. About Harry.”
Robin’s eyes misted. “Thanks. People don’t get it. Why I work in there.”
No, they don’t bloody get it. I don’t either.
“Right. Well. On you go,” Burgess said.
Robin walked away, head bent, towards Nathan, his equally in-love-with-socks coworker, who hadn’t given Burgess any vibes that he’d been involved in this theft. It was clear Robin hadn’t either, but had some other member of staff broken in and taken Harry?
Burgess slid his hands into his jacket pockets, the action reminding him of this morning in the alley. The victim had been removed just before he’d driven away, prior to the skies opening and dumping its torrent. She’d been loaded into a coroner’s van inside a zip-up bag. What a way to be transported, like her body was a suit fresh from the dry cleaners. Missing person reports hadn’t yielded any results, but that didn’t mean anything if she’d been abducted last night or she’d lived as a loner with no friends or family to give a toss whether she lived or died.
Basically, he had sweet fuck all.
He left the zoo through the front gates and headed for the car park, which was filled with vehicles. The wanker that was Mr Clarke had been more bothered about how to explain things to customers than fussed about the fact that a venomous sock was out there. Marla hadn’t been in touch yet, so she obviously hadn’t found anything of significance with regards to whether that venom was in the victim’s body.
“Shit,” he muttered and got into his car.
He drove towards the station, ready for a coffee break. The Tassimo machine in his office beckoned, luring him with the delight of a caramel latte, a dark roast, or an espresso. Any of the buggers would do. A quick shot of caffeine would see him right for the rest of the afternoon, not to mention give him a buzz. The morning had slipped by in a blur, and he had to give Shaw a ring, see where the fuck he was.
That bloke’s got no sense of urgency when it comes to getting to work on time at the moment.
Burgess would have to write him up one of these days. He couldn’t keep covering for him, making excuses for why, more often than he liked, Burgess turned up to crime scenes by himself, Shaw apparently still in bed or ‘stuck in traffic’.
While parking up at the station, he looked around, searching for Shaw’s car. There it was, its sleek red Porsche arse sticking out from behind the gentle curve of a bright-pink Beetle.
Where the hell am I going wrong not to have a car like that?
He got out of his well-loved older model Ford, locked it up, then walked inside the building. He kept his head low, not wanting to invite any queries from anyone, and made it to his office, where Shaw sat in front of his desk in a somewhat crumpled navy-blue suit, socked feet on top—big toe poking through a hole—enjoying one of Burgess’ bloody lattes.
He can’t even put on his shoes. Do his tie up properly. Run a comb through his hair. Have a shave.
Shaw’s dark stubble meant he hadn’t bothered getting ready properly this morning. “I’ll buy you a new box of coffee,” he said, unperturbed by Burgess coming in and seeing what he was drinking.
Burgess knew it had been Shaw taking his coffees all this time, and catching the thief in action gave him a brief sense of satisfaction, then irritation set in. “Finally remembered you have a job, did you?” He thumped his backside into the chair behind his desk and slid a file closer. “Didn’t get the message from me then? The one early this morning about a murdered woman? Because I just love turning up to these things by myself and giving you all the details after the fact. A great use of my time when you could be there, at the scene—you know, getting the information first-hand like normal coppers do.”
Shaw had the cheek to
