Val McDermid - The Last Temptation

Krasic nodded, satisfied. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll make some calls.’

The car swept past Schloss Charlottenburg and turned into the quiet side street where Tadeusz lived. ‘Talk to me in the morning,’ he said, opening the door and closing it behind him with quiet finality. He walked into the apartment building without a backward glance.

Even though the sky outside was grey and overcast, Carol’s eyes still took a few moments to adjust to the gloomy interior of the little quayside pub where Tony had suggested they meet. She blinked rapidly as she registered the quiet country music playing in the background. The barman looked up from his paper and gave her a quick smile. She glanced around, taking in the fishing nets draped from the ceiling, their brightly coloured floats dulled by years of cigarette smoke. Watercolours of East Neuk fishing harbours dotted the wood panelling of the walls. The only other customers appeared to be a couple of elderly men, their attention firmly on their game of dominoes. There was no sign of Tony.

‘What can I get you?’ the barman asked as she approached.

‘Do you do coffee?’

‘Aye.’ He turned away and switched on a kettle that perched incongruously among the bottles of liqueurs and aperitifs below the gantry of spirits.

Behind her, the door opened. Carol turned her head and felt a tightening in her chest. ‘Hi,’ she said.

Tony crossed the few yards to the bar, a slow smile spreading. He looked as out of place in the bar as he always had everywhere outside his own rooms. ‘Sorry I’m late. The phone just wouldn’t stop ringing.’ There was a moment’s hesitation, then Carol turned to face him and they hugged, her fingers remembering the familiar feel of his well-worn tweed jacket. The couple of inches he had on her made him a good fit for her five feet and six inches. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said softly, his breath whispering against her ear.

They parted and sized each other up. His hair had started to thread with silver round the temples, she noted. The wrinkles round his dark blue eyes had deepened, but the ghosts that had always flickered in his gaze seemed to be finally at rest. He looked healthier than she’d ever seen him. He remained slim and wiry, but he felt firmer in the hug, as if his compact frame had built a subtle layer of muscle. ‘You look well,’ she said.

‘It’s all this fresh sea air,’ he said. ‘But you – you look terrific. You’ve changed your hair? It’s different somehow.’

She shrugged. ‘New hairdresser. That’s all. He styles it a bit more sharply, I think.’ I can’t believe I’m talking about hairdressing, she thought incredulously. Two years since we’ve seen each other, and we’re talking as if there had never been more between us than casual acquaintance.

‘Whatever, it looks great.’

‘What can I get you?’ the barman interrupted, placing a single cup with an individual coffee filter in front of Carol. ‘Milk and sugar in the basket at the end of the bar,’ he added.

‘A pint of eighty shilling,’ Tony said, reaching for his wallet. ‘I’ll get these.’

Carol picked up her coffee and looked around. ‘Anywhere in particular?’ she asked.

‘That table in the far corner, over by the window,’ he said, paying for the drinks and following her to a spot where a high-backed settle cut them off from the rest of the room.

Carol took her time stirring her coffee, knowing he would recognize the displacement activity with his usual cool detachment, but unable to stop herself. When she looked up, she was surprised to see he was staring just as intently at his beer. Some time in the past two years he had absorbed something new into his behaviour; he’d learned to give people a break from his analytical eye. ‘I appreciate you taking the time for this,’ she said.

He looked up and smiled. ‘Carol, if this is what it takes to get you to come and visit, all I can say is it’s a small price to pay. E-mail’s all very well, but it’s also a good way to hide.’

‘For both of us.’

‘I wouldn’t deny it. But time passes.’

She returned his smile. ‘So, do you want to hear my Mission Impossible?’

‘Straight to the point, as always. Listen, what I thought, if it’s OK with you, is that we could get you settled in at your hotel then go back to my place to discuss what they’ve got lined up for you. It’s more private than a pub. I only suggested meeting here because it’s easier to find than my cottage.’

There was something more that he wasn’t saying. She could still read him, she was relieved to find. ‘Fine by me. I’d like to see where you’re living. I’ve never been here before – it’s amazingly picturesque.’

‘Oh, it’s picturesque, all right. Almost too picturesque. It’s very easy to forget that passions run as high in picture postcard fishing villages as they do on the mean streets.’

Carol sipped her coffee. It was surprisingly good. ‘An ideal place to recuperate, then?’

‘In more ways than one.’ He looked away for a moment, then turned back to face her, his mouth a straight line of resolve. She had a shrewd idea what was coming and steeled herself to show nothing but happiness. ‘I’m … I’ve been seeing someone,’ he said.

Carol was aware of every muscle it took to smile. ‘I’m pleased for you,’ she said, willing the stone in her stomach to dissolve.

Tony’s eyebrows quirked in a question. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘No, I mean it. I’m glad.’ Her eyes dropped to the gloomy brown of her coffee. ‘You deserve it.’ She looked up, forcing a brightness into her tone. ‘So, what’s she like?’

‘Her name’s Frances. She’s a teacher. She’s very calm, very smart. Very kind. I met her at the bridge club in St Andrews. I meant to tell you. But I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure something was going to come of it. And then … well, like I said, e-mail is a good place to hide.’ He spread his hands in apology.

‘It’s OK. You don’t owe me anything.’ Their eyes locked. They both knew it was a lie. She wanted to ask if he loved this Frances, but didn’t want to hear the wrong answer. ‘So, do I get to meet her?’

‘I told her we’d be working this evening, so she’s not coming over. But I could call her, ask if she’d like to join us for dinner if you’d like?’ He looked dubious.

‘I don’t think so. I really do need to pick your brains, and I have to go back tomorrow.’ Carol drained her coffee. Picking up her cue, Tony finished his drink and stood up.

‘It’s really good to see you, you know,’ he said, his voice softer than before. ‘I missed you, Carol.’

Not enough, she thought. ‘I missed you too,’ was what she said. ‘Come on, we’ve got work to do.’

All violent death is shocking. But somehow murder in a beautiful nineteenth-century house overlooking a tranquil canal, a medieval seat of learning and an impressive church spire provoked a deeper sense of outrage in Hoofdinspecteur Kees Maartens than the same event in a Rotterdam back street ever had. He’d come up the ranks in the North Sea port before finally managing a transfer back to Regio Hollands Midden, and so far his return to his childhood stamping grounds had lived up to his dreams of a quieter life. Not that there was no crime in this part of Holland; far from it. But there was less violence in the university town of Leiden, that was for sure.

Or so he’d thought until today. He was no stranger to the abuse that one human – or several combining in the same blind fury – could inflict on another. Dockside brawls, pub fights where insults real and imaginary had provoked clashes out of all proportion, assaults and even murders that turned sex workers into victims were all part of a day’s work on the Rotterdam serious crimes beat, and Maartens reckoned he had grown a second skin over years of exposure to the ravages of rage. He’d decided he was impervious to horror. But he’d been wrong about that too.