I Watson - Director's cut

Vacant looks required an explanation.

“Saw the video. Kama Sutra. Watched it with the missus. She wasn't all that. Standing on her head with a banana up her arse didn't appeal. She said we could try it again if we get double glazing. Funny, though, it wasn't Pakis in that. Still, I'd give her one…” James nodded toward Anian.

Chas Walker looked surprised.

“Well, wouldn't you?”

The DC looked from James to Ward and back again. He said, “You two are supposed to be married and pillars of the community. But no, I wouldn’t. Apart from the colour, she’s too skinny.”

“She'd be perfect for the part of Rosalind.”

Ward's ears picked up. “ As You Like It,” he said and looked pleased with himself. “The daughter’s reading it for the GCSE.”

“Yes, mine too. Forcing me to play half the parts. Surprised at how much cross-dressing old Shakespeare got up to. Quite a party they had in those days. Gwyneth Paltrow's tits…”

Walker wagged a finger. “Now you’re making sense.”

Two shots over the limit, Butler gave the DC a ride back to Hinckley where she shared a flat with two nurses who worked at the Royal Free. Their shifts were all over the place, worse even than Anian's, so life was noise free. There was always someone sleeping or trying to. In the car she said, “Tell me about him?”

Butler knew immediately that she was referring to Cole. “He’s a DI at Sheerham.”

“I know that much.”

“What then?”

“Tell me.”

“His wife left him some years ago. Went off with an American. Blamed the job, as you do. He was involved in a couple of high profile cases that… Well, they were pretty bloody nasty. He spent too much time on them and not enough on her. You know the score. Christ, Anian, you're in the job.”

“What else?” She sounded tired, as if talking was keeping her awake.

“Nothing else.”

“I heard some rumours, a certain policewoman.”

Butler nodded and checked the mirror. The roads were quiet, washed with lonely electric. The silent shop displays blazed the Christmas message of false hope

“I heard them too.” Gossip had never come easily to Sam Butler. “Well?”

“I don't know. They might have got a bit too close, but they saw sense, backed off. She's married, happily I believe, moved back to Ipswich. End of story.”

“No, no, you're not getting off there. Was it an affair?”

“I wouldn't put it like that. A daydream, maybe, a mental lapse, a day off. That's it, a day off. That's how I'd put it. Everyone's allowed a day off, just once. It's all forgotten now. It was a long time ago.” Under cover of darkness Anian Stanford nodded thoughtfully and smiled.

The phone became part of Cole’s dream.

“Guv, you better get over here.”

DS Peter Ward’s voice was vaguely familiar. “What’s happened?” “John Domey’s been on. Margaret hasn’t been home all night. He’s panicking. Rang the hospitals…”

“Give me half an hour. You better let the super know.”

“He’s already here, with the chief, and he’s not a happy chappy.” “Go on?”

“Nasty TA in the High Road. Fatality outside The British. Pedestrian was hit and dragged fifty yards. Took most of the night to pick up the pieces.”

A TA wasn’t going to bring out the super, never mind Chief Superintendent Marsh, so it had to be more than that and Margaret Domey was odds-on.

Cole hung up and checked his clock. Seven. He’d had three hours sleep. Self-inflicted, he knew, but the thought made things worse. On his way to the shower he banged on his guest’s door and heard a groan. In the mirror he faced his red eyes. Something had to give, the job, his liver, something… It felt like he’d taken a heavy boot in the side. He turned the shower to hot, until it hurt and took away the pain. It sobered him up, like it always did, as though the water was purifying. It washed away the corruption.

He was in the kitchen when Maynard appeared. Coffee was making noises and bursting bubbles. The therapist looked even worse than he did.

Maynard pulled a can of Diet Coke from the fridge. “Why the air raid siren? Tell me it’s the end of the world, at least?”

“Remember Margaret?”

“Margaret Thatcher’s twin sister? I’ll never forget her.”

“Remember Sam’s missing women, all but one pregnant?” “It’s coming back. Last night remains a little hazy.”

“Margaret Domey is pregnant and last night she didn’t come home.”

Maynard nodded and said quietly, “A sobering thought.”

Cole went on, “And she didn’t do a runner. That’s out of the question. So go through the possibilities: she’s ill, in hospital, she’s fallen through a crack in the pavement or she’s gone the way of these other women.”

Maynard’s features firmed up. “There’s a shed load of possibilities

– memory loss, disorientation, medication not taken, mental impairment, pre-natal depression and a whole bunch of psychological illnesses that aren’t necessarily obvious. Panic for one. Panic can send you to any place and reason won’t come into it. And then there’s the game of hide-and-seek: come and find me – I need some attention. Maybe she just wants some time to herself. It’s a bit early to speculate. But I do know what you mean. Most of it doesn’t fit the Margaret we know.”

“Let’s go and find her. I’ve had enough of this shit. Someone’s throwing bombs around, girls getting cut to bits, missing women. It’s time to take the gloves off.”

“Like the old days then?”

Cole levelled his gaze and nodded and in that moment the psychologist was glad that he was on Cole’s side.

Detective Superintendent Baxter’s features were set in concrete and carried the same shade of grey. He’d spent forty minutes on the top floor concentrating on the thin lips of Chief Superintendent Marsh as he weighed in with the gravity of the situation. Marsh’s deputy, Assistant Chief Superintendent Bob Deighton, involved in costeffective management, stood at the window, watching the crisp dawn break and wringing his hands at the sound of overtime. But he agreed with the chief that Margaret Domey was to be given top priority. She was, after all, part of the firm.

On his way to the office Baxter collected a coffee, left some of it in the corridor and, at the door of the incident room and with a sideways nod of the head, summoned Cole.

Settled behind his desk Baxter said, “You can tell the others that she wasn’t the most popular girl on site but Margaret is one of ours. She’s as good as on the job. Christmas has been cancelled. I know you’re busy but you’ve got to keep a close eye on Hinckley. Jack Wooderson…” He shook a downbeat head then more abrasively said, “And Sam isn’t going to win any inspirational awards, is he?” Cole knew what he meant but it wasn’t going to be easy. Coppers treated interference the same as anyone else.

Baxter went on, “We’ve got a dilemma here. No crime. Not even the suspicion of one. But we all know Margaret. She’s not going to take a hike. I’ll talk to John Domey and make sure everything’s OK. But you get Sam to pull his finger out and make sure that Jack knows the top floor’s looking over his shoulder. I want everything buttoned up, watertight. No one coming back to say we missed something.” “I’ve got Geoff Maynard here.”

Baxter had forgotten. His hesitation betrayed him. He nodded and said, “Let him loose. That’s what he’s here for. Let’s see what he comes up with. Officially, the assaults still take priority. Unofficially, one of our own is missing.”

Cole paused at the door. “Jack isn’t going to like it.”

Baxter stressed, “Frankly, I won’t lose any sleep about hurting Jack Wooderson’s feelings. Go and find Margaret. Whatever it takes. What you do best. Right? Just, be careful. In this day and age a loose cannon is not appreciated. This is a one-off, a rare gift, and it didn’t come from me. I want this little woman found, and quickly.”