John Harvey - Living Proof

But it was Resnick, braving another episode of happy families in order to persuade Skelton to apply for a search warrant for the end terrace in Harcourt Road.

"The whole house?" Skelton asked, when he had listened to Resnick's explanations.

"Might as well. While we're about it' While Cathy Jordan's breakfast was heavy on the grains and fruit, heavy on the coffee, Dorothy Birdweu's order, carefully enunciated, was for one poached egg " And that's poached, mind, properly poached, not steamed' – on dry whole meal toast and a pot of Assam tea.

"Cathy," Dorothy Birdwell said, once her egg had been delivered (a poor, shrivelled thing, in Cathy's opinion) to the table.

"I may call you Cathy, may I?"

"Sure, Dottie. That's fine." She could tell Dorothy didn't like that, but the older woman took it in her stride.

"You know, dear, I am not the greatest fan of the kind of thing that you write."

"Dorothy, I know."

"In fact, I would go so far as to say, in a way I find it quite pernicious. I mean, this may be old-fashioned of me, I'm sure that it is, but I do think there are certain standards we have a moral obligation to maintain."

"Standards?" Great, Cathy thought she's invited me down to receive a lecture, a grande-dame rap across the knuckles.

"Yes, dear. A certain morality."

Cathy speared a prune.

"Let me get this straight. Are we talking sex here?"

"My dear, you mustn't think me a prude. Sex is fine, in its place, I'm sure we would both agree to that." (We would? Cathy thought, surprised.) "But its most intimate details, well, I don't think we need to have those spelled out for us, you see. Not in all their personal intricacies, at least And the violence we most certainly inflict upon one another, if I wish to learn of that, I can always read the newspaper though, of course, I prefer not to1 do not wish to find myself confronting it inside an otherwise charming work of entertainment You do see my point dear?" in polite company, Cathy wondered, what did you do with a pmne stone?

Spit it out into your hand, or push it under your tongue and risk being accused of speaking with your mouth full. Either way, it didn't matter. Dorothy's question had been rhetorical.

"But I do want to say that I think the way those ghastly women have been ganging up on you is perfectly dreadful. And in no way could I ever bring myself to support their actions." She fluttered her hands above the remains of her poached egg.

"That silly business with the paint."

Cathy nodded.

"To say nothing of the rabbit."

Dorothy inclined her head forward.

"Yes, dear. It was about that I most particularly wanted to talk."

"You did?" The antennae in Cathy's brain were beginning to stand up and point, but she couldn't yet tell in which direction. She set down her spoon and fork and waited.

"Marius," Dorothy said earnestly, 'has always been such a sweet boy, so single-minded in his attentions. I really couldn't begin to tell you all the things he has done for me. " For a moment, Dorothy paused and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

"But, I now realise, there are times when he has allowed his1 suppose the only word I can use is devotion his devotion for me to, well, blind his judgement." She sipped her tea, grimaced in a ladylike way and added just a touch more milk.

"I am sorry, dear."

Cathy didn't say anything: she couldn't immediately think of anything aside from the scatological and the profane to say. She stared across the table at the older writer instead and, in return, Dorothy Birdwell smiled one of her perfunctory smiles and tipped some more hot water from the metal jug into the teapot.

"Are you telling me," Cathy finally got out, whispering because she was afraid anything else would be a shout, 'that it was Marius pulled that gross stunt with the rabbit dolled up as a fucking baby? "

It was do good, the whispering hadn't worked; she was shouting now, not quite at the top of her voice, but loud enough to have half the dining room turning round and an assistant manager heading towards them at a fast trot "Yes," Dorothy said, head bowed, 'and I'm afraid that is not all. "

"Not all? Not all? Jesus, what's the little creep done now?"

"My dear, I can only assure you, you have my deepest sympathy and apologies."

"Sympathy? Apologies?" Cathy was on her feet now, stepping back.

"With all due respect, Dorothy, your apologies, my ass!"

"Really, dear, I don't think this kind of a scene…"

"No? Well, I don't give a fuck what you think. What I do give a fuck for is where in sweet hell is your little lap dog Marius?"

"I dismissed him, of course. I'm afraid there was quite a little scene. He was very upset. Very. But in the circumstances, there was no way in which I could change my mind." Again, she paused.

"I am sorry, dear, believe me."

"Where," Cathy said, 'is Marius now? "

"I can only imagine he's gone to the station…"

Train station? He's heading for where? London? Where? "

"Is everything all right?" the assistant manager asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Keep out of my face," Cathy snapped.

"Manchester," Dorothy Birdwell said.

"He has a friend, I think, in Manchester."

"Thanks," Cathy said, 'for the breakfast. Thanks," over her shoulder, as she hurried off towards the nearest phone, 'for everything."

Resnick had just got back to his office, warrant signed and 230 delivered into his hand, when Millington beckoned him towards the phone he was holding.

"Cathy Jordan, for you. Likely wants to know if you've finished her book."

"Hello," Resnick said, and then listened. After not too many moments, he asked Cathy to stop, take several deep breaths and start again.

Slowly.

"Right," he said when she had finished.

"Right. Yes." And, "Right." He passed the receiver back into Millingtbn's hand.

"Graham," Resnick said, 'get on to the station. Manchester train, I think it's the one comes across from Norwich. Have it stopped. " He swivelled round to see who was available in the office. " Lynn, pick up this bloke at the railway station, I'll arrange back-up. Marius Gooding. Late thirties, five seven or eight, shortish hair, dark.

Smart in an old-fashioned kind of way. Maybe a blue blazer. Keep it low key, just ask him in for questioning, that's all. "

"What if he refuses?"

"Arrest him."

What charge? "

"Threatening behaviour, that'll do. Okay?"

"Right."

Millington was still talking to the stationmaster; any immediate developments he could handle here. Divine and Naylor had already gone out to relieve Sharon at the house where Marlene Kinoulton had her room. As he left to follow them, Resnick patted his inside pocket, making sure the search warrant was in place.

Forty-one They found: one three-quarter-length coat, navy blue; one leather jacket, hip-length, black, badly scuffed along one sleeve; five skirts, three short, one calf-length, one long; two sweaters; one white, ruffle-front shirt; one black- beaded fishnet top with fringing; eight other assorted tops, including two T-shirts and a blue silk blouse with what looked like blood on one sleeve; one black velvet suit; two pairs of jeans, Levi red tab and Gap denim; three pairs of ski pants, one badly torn, possibly cut; five pairs of ribbed woollen tights; seven pairs of regular tights, one red, one blue, mostly laddered or holed; three pairs of stockings, all black, two with seams; two pairs of cotton socks, off- white; eleven pairs of briefs, two of them crotchless; one black suspender belt; three brassieres; one bus tier one nurse's uniform, badly stained; one school gym slip bottle green.

Two pairs of ankle boots, a brown and a bright red; one pair of black leather lace-up boots, knee-length; two pairs of trainers, Reebok and Adidas; seven pairs of shoes.