They met in the corridor late afternoon, soon after Cole had returned from Hinckley. Donna had spent two hours at the North Mid but it had proved a waste of time. There was nothing to add to her original reports.
She said, “If we do it again it will start to get serious, won’t it? Three times makes it serious. It won’t be an aberration, or a requirement, or a wartime thing, or fling. It will be something else and we’ll be looking for excuses and all that shit.”
He smiled.
She softened.
He smiled again and she gave up altogether.
“Ten?”
That would give her time to get home to change and back again. Not that changing usually mattered. She nodded. She knew the place. The White Horse was the kozzer’s boozer and any other in the area could lead to trouble and indiscretion. It went with the territory. There was no point at all in inviting trouble, particularly on a wind-down. Chas Walker was half-cut and the stanchions weren’t wide enough. “Guv,” he said and looked from Cole to Donna.
“We’re just leaving,” Cole said and turned to Donna. “I’ll run you home.”
Donna smiled, sharing it.
Chas Walker nodded, guessing it.
And yet Donna looked decidedly flushed, almost embarrassed by the proposal. Chas Walker was confused and decided that maybe the DI was not nailing the seconded PC after all.
Donna Fitzgerald finished her drink and got to her feet too quickly. Over his slopping pint Chas Walker gave her a knowing look. Her look back told him that he was right the first time.
Then Cole’s mobile went and ruined it and Donna’s shoulders sagged.
Cole listened, asked a few questions then turned to the others. “Geoff Maynard’s been stabbed. He’s in the North Mid. The plods are roping the scene, taking statements.” He looked at Donna, saw the concern mixed with disappointment. “I’ve got to get over there. I’ll drop you on the way.”
Deflated she said, “I’ll come.”
He glanced at Chas Walker.
Walker lifted his hands. “I’m with you, Guv.”
In A amp;E a uniform told them, “A Stanley knife or something like it, across the face, cut his ear in two then right across the cheek to his mouth.” To elaborate he used his finger and traced a line on his own cheek.
Cole said, “Shit.”
“Agreed. It was a woman. We’ve got a description. A blonde, two legs, good looking.” He shook his head and added, “I’ve never seen so much claret. We got him here with about three minutes to spare. Didn’t wait for an ambulance.”
“What’s happening now?”
“They’ve stopped the bleeding. Surgery later on. It’s going to take some needlework, believe me.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Ouch, or something like that. He’s not saying anything else till the stitches are in. Conversation was not on his mind.”
“What’s your name?”
“Kershaw.”
“You should be in plain clothes.”
“CID?”
“No! Out of the fucking job, son. We’ve got enough comedians in CID as it is.”
They hung around while the surgeons did their bit then Cole dropped her back at the smart terraced home she shared with her fiance. He was a buyer for a civil engineering company in Victoria.
“Thanks for coming to the hospital,” he said. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Shame.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Next time leave your phone at home. It’s got to be the worst invention ever.”
“Will you be all right? It’s late.”
She glanced at the quiet house. “By now he’s got used to a copper’s hours. He’d have hit the sack hours ago.”
He nodded. “That’s what I had in mind.”
“Yeah, me too.”
The door slammed between them. He checked the dash clock. It was after four. He watched her move to the front door, concentrated on her behind. She’d been right. The call had finished it, he hadn’t. Not this time.
In these early hours with the silent streets all but empty, he was about fifteen minutes away from the White Horse. Or he could go home and grab something to eat, something from the freezer, something he could nuke.
No contest, not really. Nuked food was not like the real thing. Morning was the colour of the concrete tunnel linings that Donna’s fiance bought. He felt like shit. He shaved with Gillette’s three blades then, while the coffee dribbled from top to bottom of the Kenwood he checked with the hospital. Maynard was comfortable – their favourite word. They suggested he ring back after lunch.
Cole reached the office just as Detective Superintendent Baxter walked in. The Super was chewing on a king sized sausage roll, one hand under his chin to collect the crumbs. Through a full mouth he said, “Been talking to Billingham. His plods are interviewing witnesses. We should be over there. This woman, we’ve got a good description. When can you speak to Geoff?”
“Late afternoon. And we are over there. Chas Walker is leading the team. I’ve pulled everyone available.”
“Good.” He finished his roll, dusted the crumbs from his hands and trod them into the carpet. “What about Hinckley?”
“Nothing on the new girl. They’re checking out the members of the art class and, as you instructed, they’re starting over with the CCTV. That will keep them busy. I’m pulling in some spare from Tottenham to help out.”
“Good. Keep on top of it, Rick. It’s still our number one. But both our psychologists out of action? Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Geoff Maynard sat up in bed, tried a smile using the half of his face that wasn’t bandaged and failed. He said awkwardly, “They tell me that in a few days you won’t notice the difference. I was lucky.” “They’re letting you out in the morning. I’ll pick you up.” Maynard nodded.
“We’ve pulled some good witnesses. We’ll nail her.”
“I hope it’s soon. She isn’t going to stop. She’s on a mission. I caught up with her, she turned, and that was it.”
“It shouldn’t have happened. You made a mistake. You should never get close enough to be taken with a knife. You wrote the fucking manual.”
Cole turned and the white door swung shut and Maynard said to the empty room, “Yeah.”
It didn’t help to know that the DI was spot on.