Val McDermid - The Torment of Others

Twenty minutes later, they’d found a relatively quiet corner table in a cheap and cheerful Bangladeshi café on the fringes of Temple Fields, the area of the city centre where the gay village sat uneasily alongside the red-light district. Their fellow customers were a mixture of students and individuals poised to go looking for love in all the wrong places. Carol and Tony had discovered the café when they’d first worked together on a case centred on Temple Fields, and it seemed the obvious place for this reunion.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Carol said as the waiter departed to bring them a couple of bottles of Kingfisher.

He held out his arm. ‘Go on, pinch me. I’m real.’

She leaned forward and gave his shoulder a gentle punch. ‘OK, you’re real. But why are you here?’

‘I jacked the job in. I was a fish out of water there, Carol. I needed to get back to the work I know I’m good at. I’d already got an offer of consultancy work over in Europe. And when John Brandon told me you were coming back to Bradfield, I got on to Bradfield Moor and asked for part-time clinical work.’ He grinned. ‘So here I am.’

‘You came back to Bradfield because of me?’ Carol’s expression was guarded. ‘I don’t want your pity, Tony.’

‘It’s nothing to do with pity. You’re the best friend I’ve got. I have some idea of how hard this is for you, Carol. And I want to be around if you need me.’

Carol waited for the waiter to deposit their beers, then said, ‘I can manage, you know. I’ve been a cop for a long time. I’m capable of catching villains without your help.’

Tony took a long drink from the bottle of Indian lager while he considered how to deal with her wilful misunderstanding. ‘I’m not here to help you do your job. I’m here because that’s what friends do.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘And besides, it suits me to be here. You should see the nutters they’ve got locked up in Bradfield Moor. It’s a dream come true for a weirdo like me.’

Carol snorted, spraying the paper tablecloth with beer. ‘Bastard! You waited till I had a mouthful of beer to make me laugh.’

‘What do you expect? I’m trained to provoke reactions. So, where are you living?’

‘I’m camping in Michael’s spare room while I look for somewhere to rent.’ Carol studied the menu.

Tony pretended to do the same, though he already knew he’d choose the fish pakora followed by the chicken biryani. The lack of commitment implied by Carol’s decision to rent rather than to sell up in London and buy in Bradfield was understandable. She wanted to leave herself an escape route. But it troubled him nevertheless. ‘That must feel strange,’ he said. ‘It having been your flat in the first place.’

‘It’s not ideal. I don’t think Lucy’s crazy about having me there. She’s a barrister, remember? She does a lot of criminal defence work, so she has a tendency to regard me in the same light as a chicken farmer regards a fox.’ The waiter returned and they ordered their meals. As he departed, Carol met Tony’s eyes. ‘What about you? Where are you living?’

‘I was lucky. I sold my cottage in Cellardyke practically overnight. I’ve just bought a place here. Near where I used to live. A Victorian semi. Three bedrooms, two receptions. Nice big rooms, very light.’

‘Sounds good.’

The waiter plonked a plate of poppadums and a tray of relishes in front of them. Tony took the opportunity to busy himself with something other than Carol. ‘Thing is, it’s got a cellar. Pretty much self-contained. Two big rooms, natural light. Toilet and shower. And a little boxroom you could easily turn into a kitchen.’ He looked up, the question in his eyes.

Carol stared at him, clearly unsure if he was saying what she thought. She gave an uncertain laugh. ‘What would I do with a kitchen?’

‘Good point. But it does give you somewhere to put the washing machine.’

‘Are you seriously offering me your cellar?’

‘Why not? It’d solve your accommodation problem. And having a copper on the premises would give me a sense of security.’ He grinned. ‘More importantly, Nelson would keep the mice away.’

Carol fiddled with the lime pickle. ‘I don’t know. Does it have a separate entrance?’

‘Well, of course. I wouldn’t want to compromise your reputation. There’s a door that leads to a flight of steps up to the back garden. And an internal door down from the house, obviously. But it would be a simple enough thing to fit a lock to that.’ He smiled. ‘You could have bolts too, if you wanted.’

‘You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?’

Tony shrugged. ‘When I viewed the house, it seemed like a good way of making it work for a living. I didn’t know what your plans were. But the builders started work on it yesterday. And I’d rather have you living there than a stranger. Look, don’t make a decision now. Think about it. Sleep on it. There’s no hurry.’ There was an uncomfortable silence while they both tried to figure out where to take the conversation next. ‘So how was your first day back in harness? What are you working on?’ Tony asked, moving the conversation away from treacherous shoals.

‘Until we get a new major case, we’re taking a look at a bunch of unsolveds.’ Carol looked up as the waiter brought their starters.

‘That must be pretty soul-destroying.’

‘Normally it would be.’ She reached for her aloo chat. ‘But amazingly enough, we actually scored a break this afternoon. Purely by chance, a detective from another squad stumbled across a new lead. I can’t help seeing it as a positive omen.’

‘That’s a great start.’

Carol’s expression was rueful. ‘Yes and no. You remember Don Merrick? He’s the DI on my team. And the trouble is that the break came on one of his cold cases. Which makes him feel pretty sick.’

‘Not Tim Golding?’

Carol tipped her head in acknowledgement. ‘The one he called you in on. Thanks for telling me, Tony,’ she added ironically.

He looked embarrassed. ‘To tell you the truth, I was afraid of muddying the waters while you were considering coming back to Bradfield. I didn’t want to influence your decision one way or the other.’

Carol smiled. ‘Oh, you think your presence in Bradfield would have been such a draw?’

He put down the pakora that was halfway to his lips. ‘The truth, Carol? I was afraid if you knew I was here, it would be the last place on earth you’d want to be.’

Don Merrick stared glumly into his pint of Newcastle Brown Ale, his Labrador eyes sad and brooding. ‘Stop looking on the fucking bright side, Paula,’ he grumbled. ‘Because there isn’t a fucking bright side, all right?’

Paula ran her finger down the condensation on her bottle of Smirnoff Ice. They were the last survivors of the bonding session the team had decided on after DCI Jordan had called it a day. There hadn’t been much of a celebratory atmosphere, truth to tell. Stacey and Sam had excused themselves after the first round, and Kevin had been sucked into a drawn-out game of pool in the pub’s ratty back room. Neither Paula nor Merrick minded. They’d worked together long enough to slip the bonds of rank once they were on their own time. ‘Please yourself, Don.’

‘That photo…I can’t help thinking about what that lad went through before he died. And don’t try to contradict me,’ he continued, holding up a hand to fend Paula off. ‘We both know that the kind of scum who’d do that to a kid wouldn’t leave a witness. Tim Golding’s dead. But he was alive long enough to be taken off somewhere in the middle of nowhere and subjected to Christ knows what. That picture was taken in daylight, which means he was still alive the next morning. And that’s what I’m having trouble with. If I’d done my job, we’d have found him.’