Chris Simms - Shifting Skin

‘And how did he seem to you? You mentioned he had a new haircut.’

‘Yes. Very short and sticking up. His moustache had gone also. He looked like a new man, much younger.’

‘Did he seem happy?’

‘Of course.’ The manager spread his hands. ‘Always happy. But yes, he ordered a glass of champagne, even though he had no one to toast it with.’

Back at the station they started typing. A couple of hours later their reports were ready for handing to the receiver, who would read them for any vital information before passing them on to the indexer for entering into HOLMES.

Leaning back in his seat, Rick stretched his arms above his head. ‘So, next stop, Gordon’s choice of late-night venues?’

Gay Village here I come, Jon thought uneasily. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

Rick glanced outside at the darkening sky. ‘There’s no point in going now — far too early. A swift one instead?’

Jon rubbed the back of his hand across his lips, thinking of Pete Gray’s duty roster. His shift at Stepping Hill finished at eight o’clock. Under an hour’s time. He wondered whether to suggest they follow him, see what he got up to after work.

But then he imagined Rick’s response: their orders were to investigate Gordon Dean’s disappearance, and that’s what they should stick to until instructed otherwise.

Jon clicked his tongue. ‘Actually, I’d better show my face at home. My other half will be forgetting who I am.’

‘No problem, I’ve got some stuff to sort out.’ Rick’s smile was overdone and Jon suddenly wondered if he had someone waiting for him wherever he lived. Rick looked at his watch.

‘Shall we meet at around nine?’

Jon was putting his jacket on. ‘Sounds fine. Whereabouts?’

‘Will you get the train in?’ Jon nodded.

‘The Yates’s in Piccadilly station, then?’

‘OK. See you there.’

Jon followed the A6 all the way to Stepping Hill hospital. The car park was three-quarters empty and he reversed into a shadowy corner space from where he could watch the porter’s lodge unobserved.

I should be at home, he thought guiltily, picturing Alice sitting on her own yet again. Outside, splinters of rain started lacing the air. They hit the windscreen, fragmenting into diagonal lines of minuscule droplets. A swirl of wind pushed a flurry of little needles against the glass from another direction, cutting the lines and creating a crosshatch effect. Seconds later the shower picked up in strength and the delicate effect was lost forever.

Bang on eight o’clock Pete Gray emerged through the doors, a US-style leather flying jacket over his uniform. He made straight for a Staff Only bay and got into a pale blue mini van. Its lights came on and he pulled out, heading for the main road. Keeping his distance, Jon shadowed him back on to the A6, then to a terraced house near Davenport train station.

Jon parked on the opposite side of the road and turned his lights off. The droplets clinging to his windows twinkled under the streetlights as he watched Pete Gray unlock his front door and go into the dark house. The hall lit up, quickly followed by the front room. Gray walked across to the corner, stooped to turn the telly on, then plucked the remote control from a shelf crowded with large books. Standing there, he flicked through a few channels, his other hand wandering round to his buttocks, where it began a lazy scratching.

The flickering light abruptly died and he put the remote back on the shelf, walked over to the front windows and drew the curtains.

Jon’s eyes shifted to the blue van parked on the drive. The rear windows were facing him and he could see a Confederate flag in the corner of one of them. There were another two stickers in the other window, but the writing was too small to be legible.

Jon waited until an upstairs light went on, then climbed out and crossed the road. From the end of the driveway the writing on the stickers was plain to see: Shaggin’ Wagon and If it’s a-rockin’ don’t come a-knockin’ . He tried to see into the back, but the windows were heavily tinted. Perfect for ferrying around cargos you didn’t want anyone else to see, Jon thought. Back in his car, he jotted down the house number and the van’s registration.

‘Hi, babe, it’s me.’

‘In here.’ Alice’s voice floated back to him from the kitchen. He shut the front door behind him, eyes fixed on the corridor. Punch’s head appeared in the doorway to the living room a second later. Jon dropped to one knee and slapped his thigh.

‘Come here, you stupid boy!’

Once their customary wrestling match was over, Jon planted a big kiss on Punch’s muzzle, then stood up and walked into the kitchen. Alice’s back was to him as she passed the iron over one of his shirts.

‘You’re late,’ she said, looking at him over her shoulder.

‘Yeah, I know. Sorry. It’s this case.’ He stood behind her and slid his hands across her stomach. ‘How’s you and the bump?’

‘We’re fine.’ Alice smiled, hooking a hand round to stroke his cheek. ‘Been snogging your dog again?’

‘No,’ said Jon guiltily. OK, then, he thought, I’m a liar.

‘Well, someone’s given you dog-breath.’

Jon glanced down at Punch. ‘Haven’t you brushed your teeth?’

The dog looked upwards, the skin above its eyes wrinkled into a frown.

Alice resumed her ironing. ‘Seriously, Jon, you’ll have to be careful about playing around with Punch once the baby arrives. I was reading about these parasites dogs can carry. They can make a baby go blind.’

Jon knew the parasites were only found in dog faeces, but he didn’t want to reply in case doing so opened up a wider discussion that led to whether they should keep Punch at all.

‘Did you hear me?’ Alice said.

‘People have kept dogs in family homes for centuries. I’ve never heard of babies going blind.’

‘It’s true. I read about it in Joys of Motherhood .’

Fucking stupid magazines, Jon thought. Filling their pages with any old shit, nothing more than a vehicle to carry advertisements for extortionate baby equipment. He unwrapped his arms and addressed the back of her head. ‘I’ll wash my hands each time I’ve touched Punch.’

‘And no kissing him, either. It can’t be healthy.’

Still behind her, Jon made a face, then looked down at his dog and gave him a big wink.

‘Have you eaten?’ Alice asked, folding up the shirt.

‘No, but don’t worry. I’ll just grab a sandwich — I’ve got to go back out.’

‘Again?’ Alice’s voice had gone up a notch.

Jon sighed and moved into her line of vision. ‘We need to trawl some of the bars a suspect was last seen drinking in. See if anyone knows where he is.’

‘Which bars?’

‘Just some around Canal Street.’

A smirk appeared on Alice’s face. ‘With your new partner?’

‘Yeah, why?’ Jon replied, not liking where this was going.

‘People will think you’re a couple.’

Jon rolled his eyes. ‘I hadn’t thought about that.’ Alice grinned. ‘You’ll look lovely together.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Actually, what should I wear? I forgot to ask him.’

Alice wasn’t able to drop her smile completely. ‘For Canal Street? That white ribbed T-shirt I got you from Gap. The fitted one — it shows off your muscles. And your old 501s — they hug your arse beautifully.’

Jon shook his head. ‘You’re bloody loving this aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she giggled. ‘It’s hilarious watching you squirm. What if any of your rugby mates see you?’

‘Well, they’re not going to, are they? The last place any of them would drink in is the Gay Village.’