Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘Of course.’

‘I’ve got to see someone at six, so I’ll be leaving here at five.’

‘I’ll put your dinner in the oven,’ said Katra. She waved goodbye and went out again.

Shepherd sat down opposite Gift. She was smiling at him. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘That knowing smile. It says you think something’s going on.’

‘She’s a pretty girl, that’s all.’

‘She’s twenty-three.’

‘You’re… what? Thirty-five?’

‘You know exactly how old I am,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s in my file.’

‘It’s been almost two years since your wife died,’ said Gift, quietly.

‘So?’

‘It’s a long time.’ They heard Katra drive away.

‘I’m not going to jump on the au pair, if that’s what you mean. I already told you, the only relationship I’m concerned with is being a father.’

‘She seems to have made herself at home,’ said Gift.

‘She lives in,’ said Shepherd, then cursed himself inwardly – he had sounded defensive. Kathy Gift had the knack of making him feel guilty even when he knew there was no reason for it.

‘Two years is a long time to grieve.’

‘I’m not grieving,’ said Shepherd, quickly. ‘Sue died. Since then I’ve been working flat out. And when I’m not working, I’m with Liam. Anyway, you’re the unit’s psychologist, not a Relate counsellor.’

‘I need to look at the whole person,’ said Gift, patiently. ‘When you’re undercover you have to adopt a complete personality, don’t you? If one thing isn’t right, your cover can be blown.’

‘And because I’m not going around bonking everything in a skirt, I’ve got a problem?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being celibate, provided it’s for the right reason.’

Shepherd leaned back and grinned. ‘Is that what I am? A monk?’

‘We’re just talking here, Dan. I’d be more worried if you were having a string of one-night stands.’

‘That’s something,’ said Shepherd. He finished his toast. ‘You never ask about the important stuff, do you?’

‘Such as?’

‘My performance on the range. My fitness. I’m as good a shot as I was in the SAS, and I’m faster over five miles than I was a year ago.’

‘You have an annual physical, don’t you?’ said Gift. ‘I’m solely concerned with your mental well-being.’

‘So, show me some ink blots or something.’

‘You always use humour as a defence mechanism, don’t you?’

‘Damn right,’ said Shepherd. ‘Guns are just plain messy.’

Gift smiled. She put her notepad and pen into her briefcase, drank the last of her coffee and stood up.

‘That’s it?’ said Shepherd.

‘You seem fine to me,’ said Gift, putting on her raincoat. ‘As bloody-minded as always, but in your line of work…’ She left the sentence unfinished, but extended her hand. Shepherd stood up and shook it, then walked her to the front door. ‘Joking apart, Dan, you should get out more.’

‘I run,’ he said.

‘You know what I mean. Socialise.’

‘You’re not asking me out, are you?’ said Shepherd, with a grin.

Gift’s cheeks reddened, but she laughed. ‘There’s your defence mechanism kicking in again,’ she said.

Shepherd held open the door for her. ‘What if I did ask you out?’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Dinner. Or a movie.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Sure. We never have a problem finding something to talk about, do we?’

Gift frowned, evidently trying to work out if he was serious or not. ‘It’s against protocol,’ she said eventually.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Okay.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Pity.’

Her frown deepened. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

Shepherd watched her walk down the path, high heels pecking at the flagstones. As she reached the car she dropped her keys and bent down hurriedly to retrieve them. She glanced over her shoulder as she straightened, then looked away quickly when she saw that Shepherd was watching her.

Shepherd smiled to himself as he walked back to the kitchen. He’d been joking at first, but once he saw that she was considering his offer he’d wanted her to say yes. She was right, of course: there was no way that a police psychologist could go out with a man she was monitoring. She had to be impartial and independent: a date would be a clear conflict of interest.

And she was right that it had been a long time since he’d gone out with a woman for anything other than professional reasons. The last time he’d seen a movie it had been with Sue. The last time he’d eaten Chinese food it had been with Sue. He hadn’t been on holiday since Sue’s death.

He made himself a fresh cup of coffee. As he put away the milk and closed the fridge, he gazed at a photograph of his wife and son stuck to the door with a magnet in the shape of an apple. Liam was in fancy dress, wearing a pirate’s outfit and brandishing a plastic cutlass. Sue had her arm round him and she was smiling proudly at the camera. They’d taken the picture using a timer because Shepherd had been away on a job in the West Country. He had been away so much when Liam was growing up, always on some job or other. If he’d known then how little time he had left with Sue he’d have spent every minute with her. Now it was too late. She was gone and he and Liam had each other.

He took his mug of coffee out into the garden and sat down at the wooden table by the hedge. Sue had chosen it and the two wooden bench seats at the local garden centre, but the instructions for putting them together had been in Chinese or Japanese so it had taken him several attempts. The benches still weren’t right and he had to stick pieces of folded cardboard under the legs to stop them wobbling. Sue had been pregnant with Liam and she’d used it as an excuse to avoid the heavy work, standing behind him with one hand on her swelling belly as she laughed at his D-I-Y efforts.

‘Oh, Sue, I miss you,’ Shepherd whispered. He remembered the last time he’d seen her as vividly as if it had been yesterday. He’d been undercover in a high-security prison, posing as an armed robber on remand so that he could get close to a drugs baron. Sue had come in with Liam for a visit, but to stay in character it had been vital to make it look as if they were having marital problems. As she left, she’d yelled at him, her voice loaded with venom, ‘I hate you! I hope I never see you again, ever! You can rot in here for all I care!’ They had been the last words she had ever said to him. Tears stung his eyes. He knew she had been playing a role, which he’d asked her to play, and he knew, too, that she had loved him and he loved her, and that she hadn’t meant what she’d said, but it was so damned unfair that it was his last memory of her. He hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye properly, to tell her how much he loved her and how important she was to him…

It was futile to accuse life of being unfair. Life wasn’t fair or unfair, it was just life. You played the hand you were dealt, and that was it.

Shepherd looked around the garden. The grass had to be cut and the fruit trees pruned, while the rockeries that Sue had tended so lovingly needed weeding. The garden had always been Sue’s province, and he hadn’t touched it since her death. Katra had planted a few herbs by the kitchen and she’d told Shepherd that she’d mow the lawn but he’d said he’d take care of it. He would, too, as soon as he had time.

He looked at the unkempt lawn where Liam had taken his first steps, where he’d taught him to kick a football, where they’d played cowboys and Indians until Sue had said she didn’t want Liam messing around with guns, even make-believe ones. Shepherd couldn’t remember the last time he’d played with his son. Really played, the way they had when Sue was alive. He promised himself he’d spend more time with his boy. Quality time, as the TV psychologists put it. And he’d cut the grass. He sipped his coffee. Tomorrow.