John Harvey - Lonely Hearts

He turned to her and kissed her. “Isn’t that preferable to devious?”

“Certainly.”

“In that case,” he said with an expression that was half grin, half smile, “when the coffee’s ready can we take it to bed?”

“You see,” she said.

“See what?” Her face was inches away from his, less. “Let it happen once and straightaway you’re taking it for granted.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, Charlie.”

“I’m not taking it for granted. Or you.”

“You just naturally assumed that because I jumped into your bed the last time I was here that I would again. Evening out, dance and a drink, bed. Right?”

Resnick laughed, squeezing her. “Yes.”

She kissed him. “One condition.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to make love.”

How could he stop the disappointment showing in his eyes?

“I think I’d like just to lay there with you quietly and cuddle.”

“Fine.”

“Then let’s have the coffee down here, before we go up.”

When Resnick rang, Marian picked up the phone almost immediately.

“Naturally I am home all right,” she said in answer to his question. “What is the matter with you? Why all of this concern, sweet as it is?”

Resnick told her he simply wanted to be sure.

“Sure of what?”

“Doria, is he…?”

“He left me after I had turned the key in my front door, Charles. A gentleman.”

“Good night, Marian,” Resnick said.

“Charles, you are a strange man.”

Rachel’s shoulder rested in the crook of Resnick’s arm. Pepper lay against her left hip, Bud had dared to find a space between the pillows and the bedhead. Miles made little snoring sounds from beyond her toes.

“I feel honored, Charlie.”

“Mmm?”

“Your cats, the way they accept me.”

“They sense that you like them.”

“They’re right.” She snuggled closer against him. “Where’s the fourth one?”

“Dizzy? Out prowling.”

“I saw Vera Barnett the other day, did I tell you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“She’s coping okay, except that she keeps scraping the bathroom paintwork with her chair and complaining when we won’t come and redecorate it for her. The kids seem fine, not a lot of bounce yet, but fine.”

Resnick was stroking her breast. “Doesn’t it bother you more than you’ll admit, not having any of your own?”

For several moments Rachel said nothing. Then she shrugged off his hand and pushed herself up in the bed until the cats had scattered and she was on her knees, facing him.

“You know what I am to you, Charlie, I mean, really? A vacant womb. A womb with a view to marriage.”

The garden was dark and in shadow. Slow and insinuating, Dizzy wound himself around the man’s legs, pressing his fur against them, in and out. The man paid the animal no heed: he allowed nothing to deflect his attention from the upstairs window, behind which a shaded light still burned.

It was the first time Resnick had ever caught the superintendent at it, but there he was, running, head up, even swing of the arms, straight as a die back to the station. Resnick leaned against the post near the foot of the steps and waited. The superintendent’s running suit was light gray, loose-fitting, with fluorescent strips along the arms and down the legs for use at night. A small wallet was velcroed to the tongue of one shoe for his key and some small change. Not one to be caught short, the Super.

He eased his pace down with twenty yards to go, raising a hand in greeting.

“Lovely morning, Charlie.”

“Brisk, sir.”

“Just been round the lake. Moorhens, deer standing out in the water with the last mist still round them-beautiful.”

Resnick knew that round the lake meant a run of some mile and a half or more down to the park, along a straight avenue of trees past the golf club, another mile from there and then the same distance back, the last section of that up a hill steep enough to make casual cyclists get off and push. And Skelton was barely short of breath.

“Sorry about the other day, Charlie. That business over the university.” He was limbering down, jogging gently on the spot, stretching his calf muscles and his thighs. “Tell the truth, I’d had a bit of an argument at home that morning. That daughter of mine.” He shook his head a trace self-consciously: it wasn’t usual for him to admit to colleagues that he had a private life. “Happens in the best-regulated of families.”

“Yes, sir. Of course it does. Everything okay now, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. Storm in a teacup.”

Resnick nodded understandingly. “Good.”

“Better have a session later, Charlie. Now that things will be getting back to normal.”

“Yes, sir.” Resnick followed him into the station. “Normal it is.”

Divine was still filtering information into the files, messages and movements; he glanced up and said good morning to Resnick with his usual hearty belligerence. Typical, Resnick thought, going on into his own office: the files aren’t sorted, but the kettle’s simmering ready for a top-up and the tea’s been brewed these five minutes. Maybe he should try having a word with Divine about priorities, about his future. Though he doubted if the future for Divine stretched far beyond opening time or closing time, whichever was the nearer.

He sat behind his desk, wondering if Kevin Naylor and his Debbie had come any closer to making a decision about moving. He supposed he’d be sad enough to lose the lad, although to be truthful Naylor needed a bit of shaking-up before he’d ever get to make a good detective. Though getting out from under Divine’s guidance wouldn’t come amiss. Maybe he should send Lynn Kellogg out with Divine? Resnick allowed himself a smile: he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Divine was terrified of her.

“Sir?”

Millington came round the door with a freshly trimmed mustache and a couple of extra-strong mints underneath his tongue.

“Good weekend, Graham?”

“Not bad, sir. Wife got me doing a bit of grouting.”

“Sounds fun.”

“She’s been on at me since summer. Wants it right for when her mother comes at Christmas.” He moved the mints into his cheek. “Meant to ask you about that, sir. Any chance of getting on the roster over the holiday? Wouldn’t mind doing quite a bit and there must be lots want it off.”

“See what I can do,” said Resnick. “Anything before we get started?”

“One thing, sir. You remember those break-ins?”

“Videos and so on?”

“The Boulevard, yes. I had a call from that bloke I know.”

“The fence, you mean?”

“That’s him. He reckons there’s something iffy coming in later today. I know he’s said that before and it fell flat, but this time, might be kosher.”

“He’s calling you?”

“Yes, sir. I thought, if it’s all right with you, I’d get young Divine to stick around. He’s handy if anything turns nasty.”

“All right, Graham. Now let’s get that tea in here before it sticks to the cup.”

He’s in a cheerful mood this morning, thought Millington, going out into the main office. If I didn’t know him better, I’d reckon he’d had his leg over the right side of breakfast.

“How did it go?”

Rachel glanced up from the sheaf of messages that had come through from the emergency duty team. A fourteen-year-old lad with a history of solvent abuse found unconscious in an underground car park; an old lady of eighty-seven who was taken into casualty as an emergency and was found to have severe bruising which she claimed to have been caused by her sixty-three-year-old daughter; a ten-year-old boy who phoned through to the local radio talk-in program and said that his uncle and his elder brother were both sexually abusing him.