Anya Lipska - Death Can’t Take a Joke

Andre opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Seating himself on the desk, facing the kid, Janusz lit a cigar. Smoking in here was probably against the law, but with a murder rap hanging over him he figured he could take the risk. ‘I suppose you’ve had the cops down here already?’

‘Yeah, they was in, asking all this and that,’ said Andre, kissing his teeth.

Janusz suppressed an urgent desire to bitch-slap him. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Ask about me, did they?’

‘Yeah. Like did you and Jim ever have a fight, stuff like that.’ He gave Janusz an assessing look. ‘I told the feds, you might be big but if Jim wanted to he could’ve put you down –’ he mimed a right hook and a left uppercut, ‘– boof boof … no contest.’

‘You’re right about that,’ chuckled Janusz, leaning across him to tap ash into the wastepaper bin. ‘Listen. Since it looks like we’re going to be working together, I need to ask you some stuff.’

‘Sure,’ said Andre, although Janusz saw a guarded look come into his eyes.

‘Did you ever see Jim with a woman, other than his wife, I mean?’

A broad grin spread across Andre’s face, revealing what looked like – but almost certainly wasn’t – a diamond, set in one of his incisors. ‘You tellin’ me Jimbo had a bit of poon on the sly?’

Janusz shrugged, non-committal. It hadn’t escaped his attention that, on hearing the line of questioning, the guy had visibly relaxed. ‘Did he ever mention a girl called Varenka? Tall, blonde, good-looking – speaks with an Eastern European accent? Maybe she’s a member of the gym?’

‘We don’t get too many ladeeez in here,’ said Andre. ‘They might find themselves a bit too popular, if you get what I’m saying.’ He pumped his arms and hips back and forth, miming rough sex, before creasing up at his own joke.

Janusz bent to grind his cigar out on the waste bin, so that Andre couldn’t see the look in his eyes. By the time he’d straightened up, he was smiling. ‘Do me a favour and have a discreet ask around, would you? You know, I’m going to need someone to manage this place once we’ve got the funeral out of the way.’

‘Absolutely. I’ll get straight on it.’ Andre jumped to his feet, doing a passable impression of the young dynamic manager. ‘And don’t worry about things here – I’m all over it.’

Janusz’s gaze swept the office. ‘Where’s Jim’s laptop, by the way?’

Andre’s gaze wavered. ‘No idea, boss. All the gym records get kept on that old piece of junk,’ he used his chin to indicate a scuffed PC in the corner. ‘Like I told the feds, he took his laptop home most nights.’

Janusz knew that Marika had already checked at home and found no sign of it. Had this little punk grabbed the chance to get a free laptop? Or might there be something on the laptop to help solve the puzzle of Jim’s murder, information someone wanted to conceal and had, perhaps, paid good money to get their hands on? Again, Janusz saw Varenka, long legs scissored across the pavement, after she’d been struck by the bullet-headed man. What did she – or her assailant – have to do with Jim?

Janusz opened his wallet and handed Andre his card, followed by two twenties. ‘Send Marika a really nice bunch of flowers,’ he said. ‘With a message, offering sincere condolences from everyone at the gym.’

Kershaw began her second day on Murder Squad with a firm resolution: to make a real effort to get to know her fellow DCs. She was aware that elbowing her way onto the Fulford case probably hadn’t been the most diplomatic way for a newbie to introduce herself. The police force was a bit like the Army: okay , bonding with your fellow detectives might not make the difference between life and death, but she’d learned the hard way that being Billy-no-mates could make a tough job a hundred times harder.

So she was making tea for everyone in the galley kitchen off the main corridor, when she felt a hand slip round her waist. She stomped backwards with her heel, a purely reflex action that brought a yelp of protest. Whipping round, she found Ben’s chocolate-brown eyes screwed up in pain.

‘Fuck! Sorry, Ben – but you really shouldn’t have done that!’

He pulled a rueful grimace. ‘I almost forgot I’m dating the woman who came top of her unarmed combat class.’

‘Remember what we said? About trying to keep out of each other’s way at work?’ she said, turning back to the kettle.

‘Yeah, ‘course. I did make sure there was no one around before coming in,’ he said, rubbing his foot.

Why was he always so goddamn reasonable?

‘Well, it’s not a very good start.’ She was surprised at the vehemence in her own voice.

They’d agreed to keep their relationship quiet at work – neither of them fancied being the butt of banter or fresh meat for canteen gossip, but for Kershaw it went deeper than that. Ever since starting basic training, her strategy for survival in what was still largely a man’s world had been to cultivate a ‘one of the boys’ persona, which, having spent her formative years hanging out with her dad and his mates, came easily to her. But the strategy had a downside: it meant never getting involved with a work colleague.

She had hoped that, with Ben working in a different part of the building, they’d barely see each other. But now, she felt as though the barriers she’d erected between her public and private lives were crumbling – and she didn’t like the feeling one bit.

‘What are you even doing on this floor, anyway?’ she asked, glancing out through the half-open door.

‘I had to see Streaky about something. Oh, and I wanted to ask if I could kip at yours tonight? I’m seeing Jamie Ryan for a drink later and I’ve got an early start at Woolwich Coroners Court – your place is closer than mine.’

That got her attention. ‘Hannah Ryan’s Dad? Has there been a development?’

It was over a year now since a paedophile picked up eleven-year-old Hannah Ryan, who’d been born with Down’s Syndrome, during a trip to her local corner shop. He’d promised her a ride in a rowing boat at a nearby lakeside beauty spot called Hollow Ponds; instead, after sexually assaulting her, he tied a plastic bag round her neck and dumped her body in the lake. But Hannah survived. Ben, who’d been the investigating officer on the case, had shown Kershaw the casefile photo of Hannah before the attack – she could still see her trusting smile under a mop of curly red hair.