Hilary Bonner - When the Dead Cry Out

Yet again the landlord, Steve Jacks, a retired policeman who in any case always had a habit of doing things his own way and at his own pace, did not seem to hear her.

Karen leaned over the bar. “Steve, Steve,” she called.

Jacks, serving demanding customers as fast as he could, waved an impatient arm, his gesture saying that he would be with her as soon as he could and not before.

“You’re not really going, boss, are you?” enquired Cooper.

“Yes, I am, before I fall over or something and make a complete prat of myself.”

“Oh yeah, boss, but when you make a prat of yourself you do it so beautifully. I mean, don’t be a spoilsport. The lads all look forward to it.”

Karen grinned again in spite of herself. “You’re a cheeky bugger, Phil Cooper.”

“Yeah, but I’m lovable with it.”

Suddenly Cooper looked about twelve.

Yes, thought Karen, you are lovable, actually, and that is the problem.

Aloud she said: “Bollocks. You’re a police detective — and with a very high opinion of yourself, too, it would seem...”

At that moment Steve finally approached.

“What’s it to be, Karen?”

“Can you get me a taxi—” she began.

“No need,” interrupted Cooper. “I really should go now, too. In any case, lemonade starts to pall a bit after the fourth pint. You’re on my way, boss. I can easily drop you off.”

Karen hesitated for just a second. Something told her she should say no. On the other hand to do so would be almost to admit that she had certain thoughts about Cooper that she knew she shouldn’t have. And a lift would be very convenient.

“Oh, fine, all right, Phil, thanks,” she muttered, gesturing to Steve Jacks that she wouldn’t need a taxi after all. The landlord who, both during his days in the force and now that he was running the local nick’s favourite boozer, had always had a disconcertingly supercilious way of looking as if he knew something others didn’t, raised one eyebrow but passed no comment.

“Right then, boss, I’ve just got to go to the gents. Car’s across the road. See you outside, shall I?”

“Right.” Karen realized that Phil was actually executing a deliberate manoeuvre here, so that the two of them would not be seen leaving the pub together. He was, of course, completely sober and therefore well able to contrive such a plan. She suspected she might not have been able to think it through.

Somewhat gratefully she followed his obliquely issued instructions, but as she waited outside the thought occurred to her that by deliberately avoiding being seen to leave together Phil was actually indicating that there really might be some significance in their doing so.

Could he possibly have been fantasizing about her in just the way that she had about him, she wondered? Could that good-night kiss which had consolidated her fantasies really have meant something, after all? She didn’t know the answer. She did know that she should put all such considerations firmly out of her mind.

In the car Cooper was his usual relaxed and funny self. If he shared any of Karen’s somewhat inappropriate and turbulent feelings, he gave absolutely no sign of it.

Karen did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She was aware that she was a little drunk, and that Cooper was completely sober — which could, of course, explain everything. During the five minutes or so it took to drive from the pub to her apartment block, Cooper talked animatedly about the Richard Marshall case. He said nothing of a remotely personal nature, and even seemed to avoid any more of the mildly humorous banter which had become pretty much the norm between them.

Gratefully, Karen followed his lead. She didn’t want or need this thing to develop. It could only lead to trouble for both of them. And when the car pulled to a halt outside West Beach Heights she opened the passenger door straight away and started to climb out.

“Many thanks—” she began.

But she was not allowed to finish her sentence.

Moving very fast Cooper switched off the engine, threw his arms around her, pulled her firmly towards him, and kissed her full on the lips. It was what she had wanted for some time now. It was also the forbidden fruit. And in addition she had been taken totally by surprise. Instinctively she tried to pull away from him. He continued to hold her tightly, to press his lips on hers. He was a big strong man. For a few seconds she thought he was not going to let go of her. She was both excited and disconcerted.

Then, as abruptly as he had grabbed her, he did let go of her, and backed right off.

“Christ, I’m really sorry, boss,” he said. There was a catch in his voice and she noticed that he was trembling.

She rubbed a hand over her mouth as if wiping him away, and sat back in the passenger seat.

“I’d say you were drunk if I didn’t know you hadn’t been drinking,” she remarked evenly.

“I am just so sorry, boss,” he repeated. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“No.”

“Look, I’d better go. I do realize that was really out of order.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t use her normal defence mechanism, make a joke of it, she just couldn’t. She opened the door and stepped out of the car. This time he did nothing to stop her.

“Goodnight then, see you in the morning,” she muttered. She suspected her face had turned bright red. God, it was so embarrassing. She was absolutely certain she was the only detective superintendent in the country, if not the world, who blushed so readily.

“Yeah, goodnight, boss.”

She shut the door and turned away. But she had only walked two or three steps when she heard the whirr of a car window opening and Cooper’s voice call out.

“Boss.”

Expectant in spite of herself, a kind of hope burgeoning up in her regardless of her fine intentions, she turned round smiling.

“I’ll understand if you report me, boss, I really will.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Phil...” she began.

Then suddenly it was all too much for her.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she repeated. But this time she was talking to herself.

She strode back to the car, flung open the passenger door, and reinstated herself next to a bewildered-looking Cooper.

“If you must know, I’ve wanted you to do that ever since we had that Indian meal the day we arrested Marshall,” she blurted out.

“Have you, boss?” Cooper was sitting very still, as if afraid to move.

“Yes, I fucking well have. But I don’t think I can continue to have this conversation with you if you insist on calling me boss.”

Cooper grinned. He really did look like a little boy. He leaned towards her again, reached out to put his arms around her.

“No,” she said.

This time, although looking a little bewildered, he pulled away at once.

“No,” she repeated. “Not here. I’m too old for necking in a car park. Let’s go inside, shall we?”

She had always considered Cooper’s wide grin to be one of his most attractive features. As she spoke it cracked his face wide open. She felt herself melt. She knew she was entering highly dangerous territory. She could not stop herself. And neither, it seemed, could Phil Cooper.

“Whatever you say, boss — I mean, Karen,” he replied.

He jumped on her as soon as she closed her front door behind them.

He caught hold of her by the shoulders, spun her round and pressed her against the wall, pushing himself into her. She could feel his hardness against her. Then he pulled away, sank down on to his knees and began scrabbling at the zip fastening of her trousers.

“Fuck, I want you,” he breathed, as he buried his head in her.