Peter Robinson - Playing With Fire

The barman gave him the evil eye again when he ordered his next pint, his fifth, he thought, though he was still steady on his feet, and his speech wasn’t slurred. The look told him, “This is your last one, mate. After that you’re on your bike.” Fine, he didn’t want any more. It was nearly closing time anyway.

Mark lit another cigarette, the last in his packet, and tried to work out exactly what he wanted to do or say when he got to Aspern’s house. The way he felt whenever he thought about Patrick Aspern, he thought he’d probably do what he did to Crazy Nick, or worse. He didn’t know about Tina’s mother. He’d nothing against her and didn’t want to hurt her, but she hadn’t been there for her daughter any more than his mother had been there for him. True, he’d never been sexually molested by any of her men friends, but more than one of them had beaten him up, and more often than not they just used him to fetch and carry for them and clean up their messes. Mothers ought to be there for their kids – they were supposed to love them and nurture them – and Tina’s had failed in that as much as his own mother had, no matter how far apart they were in social status. When it came right down to it, a doctor’s wife could be just as useless a mother as a whore, because that was what his mother had been; he had no illusions about that.

A bell rang and someone called out time. Mark had about half a pint left in his glass. He’d had five, and he still didn’t feel in the least bit pissed. He fiddled for change in his pocket and bought another packet of cigarettes from the machine. When he’d finished his drink, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it and headed for the door.

“Good night,” a voice called out behind him.

It was the girl, Cathy. She was closer than he thought, a cloth in her hand, wiping down the tables.

“Good night,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll see you again?”

Was that a note of hope in her voice? he wondered. He managed a smile for her. “Maybe,” he said. “You never know.”

Then he walked out into the chilly night air.

“Have you thought any more about New York?” Phil asked Annie as they lingered over café noir and crème brûlée in Le Select, Eastvale’s prestigious French bistro. Already well sated with several glasses of fine claret, Annie was feeling warm and relaxed, and the idea of a weekend away with Phil held immense appeal. Especially New York.

“I can’t go, Phil, really I can’t,” she said. “I’d love to, honestly. Maybe some other time?”

“If it’s a matter of money…”

“It’s only partly a matter of money,” Annie chipped in. “I mean, you might be able to go swanning off to America on a whim, but I do have to think about the expense.”

“I told you I’d get your ticket. Security consultant.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but it doesn’t seem right,” Annie said. “Besides, if I went with you to New York, I certainly wouldn’t want to go as your employee.”

Phil laughed. “But that would only be on paper.”

“I don’t care.”

The waiter came over with the bill and Phil picked it up.

“See what I mean?” Annie said. “You’re always paying.”

“I’ll split it with you, then?”

“Fine,” said Annie, reaching for her handbag. The Visa wasn’t maxed out, she was certain. How embarrassing it would be, after all her bravado about paying her own way, if that obsequious waiter with the phony French accent trotted back and told her her card had been rejected.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Phil went on. “We could stay at the Plaza. A carriage ride in Central Park, top of the Empire State Building, Tavern on the Green, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdale’s, Tiffany’s-”

“Oh, stop it!” Annie said, slapping his arm and putting her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know, okay?”

Phil held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. I’ll stop.”

“Besides,” Annie said, “we’ve still got a major crime investigation on the go.”

“Still stumped?”

“We don’t have a lot to go on. Even the rented car turned out to be a dead end. Literally. The man who rented it died six months ago.”

“Oh,” said Phil. “Then how…?”

“Don’t ask. All I know is it’s a real bloody headache, and it’s nice to take my mind off it even for a few hours. Christ, I even had to spend last night in a motel outside Redditch fighting off the attentions of two traveling salesmen from Solihull.”

Phil laughed. “Successfully, I hope.”

“Yes. I had Winsome with me. She can be quite fearsome when she wants.” Annie smiled. “Fearsome Winsome.”

The waiter returned with their credit card receipts to sign. Annie breathed a sigh of relief. When they had finished, they picked up their coats from the rack by the table and walked out into the cobbled alley off King Street, at the back of the police station.

“Ooh,” said Annie, when the cold night air hit her. “I feel dizzy. I think I’ve had a bit too much wine.” She linked arms with Phil.

“Come on,” Phil said. “My car’s just around the corner. Where did you park?”

Annie was wearing high heels, and it was difficult walking on the cobbles, especially with the effects of the wine and the patches of ice that were forming as the temperature dropped. “Police station car park,” she said.

“Leave it there, then. I’m perfectly okay to drive.”

And he was, Annie knew. She had never seen Phil drunk, never known him to drink more than one glass of wine with dinner. “But what…?”

“Look,” he said, “I’ll take you home, if you like. Or, if you want…”

Annie looked up at him. “What?”

“Well, you could come back to my place, if you like.”

“But how will I get to work in the morning?”

“Maybe you won’t. Maybe I’ll keep you there. My love slave.”

Annie laughed and pushed him.

“Seriously,” he said. “I’ll drop you off there in the morning. I have to pick up the Turners to take them to London, anyway.”

“You’re going back down?”

“Have to.”

“Pity.”

“Work goes on. Anyway, how about it?”

“You’ll bring me back in the morning? You’ll do that?”

“Of course. Unless I decide to keep you prisoner.”

“Go on, then.”

“But I’m warning you. I know you’ve had a bit too much to drink, and I might take advantage of you.”

Annie felt better than she had in a long while about that prospect, but she was damned if she was going to let Phil know it. “I’m not that drunk,” she said. “And I’m definitely not that easy.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find some way of keeping your mind off your work for a few hours more, at least.”

Annie tightened her arm around his and they turned the corner onto King Street.

“Dad? I’m sorry to ring so late, but I just got back in.”

Banks glanced at his watch. Almost midnight. “Where’ve you been?”

“The pictures. With Jane and Ravi.”

“What did you see?”

“The new Lord of the Rings .”

“Was it good?”

“Brilliant. But very long. Look, Dad…”

Banks turned down the old Jesse Winchester CD he was playing and settled back in the armchair with his glass of Laphroaig, his used paperback copy of Ambler’s The Mask of Dimitrius open facedown beside him. The peat fire crackled and filled the small living room with its warmth, the acrid smell harmonizing with the taste of whiskey. He didn’t like the ominous tone of his daughter’s “Look, Dad.” “What?” he asked.

“I was talking to Mum earlier today,” Tracy went on.

“And?”