Michael Robotham - Shatter

Sitting at a mirrored vanity with her back to me, she uses a hairdryer and some contraption to straighten her hair. I can see her reflection. She pulls faces and studies every line and crease on her face, stretching, plucking and poking. More creams and serums are applied.

Watching a woman dress is far sexier than seeing her undress. It’s a dance without the music; a bedroom ballet, with every movement so practised and easy. This isn’t some poxy whore stripping in a seedy bar or sex club. She’s a real woman with a real figure. A pair of knickers slides up her legs, over her thighs. White. Maybe they’ve got a blue trim. I can’t tell from here. Her arms slide into the straps of a matching bra, lifting and separating her breasts. She adjusts the under-wire, making it comfortable.

What will she wear? She holds a dress against her body… a second… a third. It’s decided. She sits on the bed and rolls tights over her right foot and ankle and up her leg. She leans back on the bed and pulls the opaque black fabric over her thighs and her buttocks.

Standing again, she shimmies into the dress, letting the fabric fall to just below her knees. She’s almost ready. A turn to the left, checking out her reflection in the window, then a turn to the right.

Her watch is sitting on the windowsill. She picks it up and slips it onto her wrist, checking out the time. Then she glances out the window at the fading light. The first star is out. Make a wish, my angel. Don’t tell anyone what you wish for.

The restaurant is on the river. There is a view across the water to factories and warehouses, reclaimed and renovated into apartments. Julianne has ordered wine.

‘Do you want to taste?’ she asks, knowing I miss it. I take a sip from her glass. The sauvignon detonates sweetly on my palate, cold and sharp, making me yearn for more. I slide the glass back towards her, touching her fingers, and think of the last person to share a bottle of wine with her. Was it Dirk? I wonder if he loved the sound of her voice, which is capable of rendering so many languages beautiful.

Julianne raises her eyes sideways a moment to look at me.

‘Would you marry me again if you had your time over?’

‘Of course I would, I love you.’

She looks away, towards the river, which is painted the colours of navigation lights. I can see her face reflected in the glass.

‘Where did the question come from?’

‘Nowhere really,’ she replies. ‘I just I wondered if you regretted not waiting a little longer. You were only twenty-five.’

‘And you were twenty-two. It made no difference.’

She takes another sip of wine and becomes aware of my concern. Smiling, she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m just feeling old, that’s all. Sometimes I look in the mirror and wish I was younger. Then I feel guilty because I have so much more to be thankful for.’

‘You’re not old. You’re beautiful.’

‘You always say that.’

‘Because it’s true.’

She shakes her head helplessly. ‘I know I shouldn’t be so vain and self-obsessed. You’re the one who has every right to be self-conscious and feel resentful.’

‘I don’t resent anything. I have you. I have the girls. That’s enough.’

She looks at me knowingly. ‘If it’s enough why did you throw yourself into this murder investigation?’

‘I was asked.’

‘You could have said no.’

‘I saw a chance to help.’

‘Oh, come on, Joe, you wanted a challenge. You were bored. You didn’t like being at home with Emma. At least be honest about it.’

I reach for my glass of water. My hand trembles.

Julianne’s voice softens. ‘I know what you’re like, Joe. You’re trying to save Darcy’s mother all over again but that’s not possible. She’s gone.’

‘I can stop it happening to someone else.’

‘Maybe you can. You’re a good man. You care about people. You care about Darcy. I love that about you. But you have to understand why I’m frightened. I don’t want you involved- not after last time. You’ve done your bit. You’ve given your time. Let someone else help the police from now on.’

I watch her eyes pool with emotion and feel a desperate desire to make her happy.

‘I didn’t ask to become involved. It just happened,’ I say.

‘By accident.’

‘Exactly. And sometimes we can’t ignore accidents. We can’t drive by without stopping or pretend we haven’t seen them. We have to stop. We call for an ambulance. We try to help…’

‘And then we leave it to the experts.’

‘What if I am one of the experts?’

Julianne frowns and her lips tighten. ‘I may have to go to Italy next week,’ she announces suddenly.

‘Why?’

‘The TV station deal has hit a snag. One of the institutional shareholders is holding out. Unless we get ninety per cent approval the deal falls over.’

‘When will you leave?’

‘Monday.’

‘You’ll go with Dirk.’

‘Yes.’ She opens the menu. ‘Imogen is here now. She’ll help you look after Emma.’

‘What’s Dirk like?’

She doesn’t look up from the menu. ‘A force of nature.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘He’s very full on. Some people find him abrasive and opinionated. I think he’s an acquired taste.’

‘Have you acquired the taste?’

‘I understand him better than most people. He’s very good at his job.’

‘Is he married?’

She laughs. ‘No.’

‘What’s so funny?’

‘The thought of Dirk being married.’

I can hear her tights scrape as she crosses her legs. Her eyes are no longer focused on the menu. She’s somewhere else. It strikes me how different she’s grown since she started working, how disengaged. In the midst of a conversation she can suddenly seem to be a thousand miles away.

‘I’d like to meet your workmates,’ I say.

Her eyes come back to me. ‘Really?’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘I am surprised. You’ve never shown any interest.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, there’s an office party next Saturday- our tenth anniversary. I didn’t think you wanted to go.’

‘Why?’

‘I told you about it weeks ago.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I do want to go. It’ll be fun.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. We can get a hotel room. Make a weekend of it.’

My foot find hers beneath the table, less gently than I’d hoped. She flinches as though I’ve tried to kick her. I apologise and feel my heart vibrating. Only it’s not my heart. It’s my phone.

I hold my hand against the pocket, wishing I’d turned it off. Julianne takes a sip of wine and ponders my dilemma. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’

‘I’m sorry.’

Her shrug is not ambivalent or open to interpretation. I know what she’s thinking. I flip open the handset. DI Cray’s number is on the screen.

‘Yes.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At a restaurant.’

‘What’s the address? I’m sending a car.’

‘Why?’

‘Maureen Bracken has been missing since six o’clock this evening. Her ex-husband found the front door wide open. Her car is gone. Her mobile is engaged.’

My heart swells and wedges in my throat.

‘Where’s her son?’

‘Home. He was late getting back from football training. Someone stole his mobile phone. When he went back to look, he got locked in the changing rooms.’

My surging stare goes straight through Julianne. DI Cray is still talking.

‘Oliver Rabb is trying to get a fix on the mobile. It’s still transmitting.’

‘Where’s Bruno?’

‘I told him to stay at the house in case his ex-wife calls. There’s an officer with him. Ten minutes, Professor. Be waiting outside.’