Nick Oldham - Psycho Alley

She gave him a half-cocked smile which he found rather attractive.

‘Boss,’ she said. ‘Am I on the team?’

‘I’ll swing it.’ He sipped his lager, then took a deep draft. It tasted amazingly wonderful, feeling like it was shooting through his lungs and stomach and every capillary. ‘Thought you only smoked at post mortems?’

‘I lied.’ She took a deep draw, held it in for what were obviously a few sweet moments, then exhaled upwards through pursed lips, reminding Henry of the pathologist’s observations of a smoking woman. She reached past Henry, deliberately closing in on him, and stubbed the cigarette out in an ashtray on the bar. To Henry, admittedly not a smoker, it seemed to take rather longer than normal to extinguish a cigarette, but he wasn’t complaining. Even though he was wearing his windjammer, he could feel Debbie’s generous curves up against him. He swallowed. She moved back, but remained well within his space, her eyes roving all over his face, completely taking him in.

Henry’s heart was pounding again, blood pressure rising.

She smiled in a way he did not understand and stepped further back, having done exactly what she had intended to do to him.

‘Can we talk?’

‘Sure,’ he said.

‘It’s quiet at the far end of the room.’ She turned, he followed at a limp, though for some reason his leg didn’t seem to be hurting him half as much now.

Squashed down snugly on a bench seat in one corner of the bar next to each other, they could converse without having to shout too loudly.

‘Think we’ll get him?’ she asked, her lips close to his ear.

‘For sure.’

‘I want to be part of it.’

‘You will be.’

‘He deserves stringing up, the molesting, murdering bastard.’

Henry nodded in agreement, though the words jarred in his ear.

‘Really got to me, that PM.’

‘Nothing to be ashamed of. They often do get to you. You’re only human,’ Henry said with empathy.

‘Did it get to you? It didn’t seem to.’

‘They all do,’ he admitted. ‘Nowadays more than ever. Must be an age thing.’

‘And just how old are you?’

Henry gave her a sidelong and told her. She raised an eyebrow in surprise and said, ‘You don’t look it.’

He guffawed at the compliment and, flattered, took a red-faced swig of his Stella.

The street outside the pub was busy with foot traffic, typical of a Saturday night in Blackpool. Music from bars drifted in the wind which whipped down the gap between the buildings. It was not a well-lit street, though, and there were plenty of places in the shadows in which a person could secrete themselves.

A dark figure stood unseen in a doorway which reeked of stale urine.

The figure waited patiently.

When last orders were called, Henry had just reached the bottom of his beer glass, amazed at his record: that must have been one of the longest lasting pints he had ever drunk.

‘Can I buy you another?’

‘No, thanks. I need to get home,’ he said and made to stand up.

‘Are you sure?’

‘No — honestly. I’m injured, old and knackered, and I need my bed.’

Debbie smiled and stood up with him. ‘I’ll walk up to the car park with you.’

With a wave at the other detectives, who seemed to have settled in for a session, he and Debbie left the pub, walking quickly across the street and into the police garage using a swipe card to gain entry.

The figure in the doorway stepped back into deeper blackness and watched the two of them enter the police building.

The person’s breathing became shallow and juddery at the sight of Henry Christie, a man loathed beyond anything ever thought possible; a man who had ruined more than one life and who, the person in the shadow had decided, would suffer as a consequence.

They rode up a floor in the lift, then walked out of the police station and across the mezzanine which led to the level in the multi-storey car park on which the police had secure parking. Henry’s leg was back to hurting like hell, probably, he guessed, due to tiredness more than anything. He was aching for sleep. They trotted down the concrete steps and through the secure gate on to the police-only parking level.

Henry’s car was the nearest, his trusty Mondeo. He clicked the remote and heard the thud of the doors unlocking.

They stopped walking.

‘Well, see you tomorrow, bright and breezy,’ Henry said, turning to Debbie. She did not respond verbally. Instead she looked up at him with one of those expressions which sent a shimmer of anticipation through him, like a bolt of electricity. There was a moment of — literally — charged silence, then she stepped close, face to face, only inches away. For the third time that evening, his heart started to beat faster than resting pace without the inconvenience of physical exercise. He hoped he didn’t have any clogged arteries.

‘Thanks for letting me on to the team.’ She sounded husky.

‘ ’S OK.’ His throat was dry.

‘I appreciate it.’ She moved closer. Her arms slid up around his neck. She rose on tiptoe, paused for the briefest of moments — for effect — before planting her lips on to his.

For a second, Henry wanted to struggle and push her away; it was only a second, because her lips tasted good, the smokiness of her breath somehow giving her a vague taste of liquorice. One of his hands encircled her and pulled her into him until the kiss ended naturally and she dropped back on to the flats of her feet.

‘I’ve wanted to do that for almost fifteen years,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Believe it or not, I’ve never kissed another cop before.’

‘Was it worth it?’

She nodded, lips slightly parted. ‘You bet. Want to do it again?’

Henry swallowed, some moisture back in his throat, making what should have been an easy decision quite hard. ‘I don’t think so, but thanks, it was nice.’

‘OK,’ she whispered, ‘I understand.’

‘Right … er … goodnight.’

She touched his jacket gently, gave him a look which he translated into something very hot. She spun and walked slowly across to her car, hips swaying gently, knowing Henry was ogling her. Henry watched her gradually disappear into the shadows before breathing out and climbing into the Mondeo. His mind rattled madly. He needed another drink now. ‘Get home, get a JD with ice, get to bed and forget this shit,’ he said to himself, inserting his key into the ignition and starting up. He drove out of the space — the one now reserved solely for him — and within less than a few feet of motion, he knew something was wrong. He stopped, got out, checked the tyres.

The rear nearside was as flat as an iron.

The words which emanated from his mouth were not pretty nor lyrical.

On the other side of the car park he heard Debbie’s car fire up. He stood uselessly by his car as she drove slowly towards him and stopped. Her electric window descended.

‘Changed your mind?’ she asked coquettishly.

‘Flat tyre.’ He indicated the offending Firestone.

‘That’s a bugger,’ she grinned.

‘Yeah. Better get on with changing it.’ He headed to the boot of the Mondeo, opened it, picked his way through assorted clothing, magazines, Wellington boots, hoping like mad the spare wasn’t flat, too. He could not even recall the last time he’d checked it.

‘Need any help?’ Debbie called.

Henry replied from the depths of the spare wheel well. ‘No, I’ll be fine, thanks.’

She drove off without another word.

Twenty sweaty, swear-laden minutes later, Henry was driving down the ramps of the car park on to Richardson Street. His hands were black with oil and grime, his face looked as if he had tried to camouflage himself. His annoyance levels were at their highest and as he sped out he almost flattened the lone pedestrian crossing through his headlights, making the poor soul break into a short dash to save himself. Henry did not stop, did not really register the person other than to grumble an obscenity in their direction. He tore away, desperate to get home. Annoyed that he had weakened enough to go to the pub, annoyed — but curious — about the kiss, seething about the flat tyre and aware that the chain of events he’d been foolish enough to put into motion now compromised his sleep time. Tomorrow would be one hell of a difficult day and he needed to be on top form to deal with it. Now he knew he wouldn’t be.