Walking into the office, five to eight. Wide awake. Had a shower, still feel dirty. Brought Bathurst in with me and she's gone off to their locker room. She lifted the weight from her shoulders by transferring it to mine and came into work in a better frame of mind than she was in at my flat. Not that I can do anything for her, but I said the right things and she's made her confession. And now I'm stuck with the information.
The light is on in Taylor's office and I stick my head round the door. I'm glad that he wasn't part of what I've just heard about. Want to tell him, but know I can't.
'Morning.'
He looks up. Smiles, sort of.
'What were you up to last night then, you shagger? You were spotted three minutes ago promenading across the carpark with Bathurst.'
Christ, you can't do anything, can you? I'm about to go on the defensive but decide against. They can think what they like.
Don't smile. Don't feel like it.
'Any news?'
He nods.
'Aye. While you were out shagging last night, some of us were working.'
'Spare me.'
'We got your Healy character. Picked him up at a pub in town, steaming out his face, about half ten.'
What was I doing at half past ten? I was deep in the arms of Charlotte Miller. Already seems a long time ago.
'And?'
'He sobered up pretty quick. Got him in a cell overnight. Jonah's coming in to talk to him this morning.'
'And is he going to be sober?' Almost spit the words out, knowing what I now know about Jonah Bloonsbury. If Taylor notices the tone, he doesn't comment.
'Is he ever? He'll have the run of CID today without the witch in, so who knows what he'll be like.'
Nearly spring to her defence, but manage to zip it.
'What do you think of our guy?' I say instead.
He leans back in his chair, tosses a pen onto the desk. Purses his lips. Shakes his head.
'Don't know, to be honest. I see what you mean about him, but I think he's just a stupid little shit.'
Implied criticism, I shouldn't have been getting everyone excited.
'Aye, right. I wasn't sure. Bloonsbury was the one frothing at the mouth over it. Just a gut feeling.'
He nods. 'Aye, well my gut feeling says it's not him, but Jonah's the one to make the decision. Anyway, we can get a blood sample. That should sort it out.' Another shake of the head. 'Why would a guy invite the polis in?'
'To give us a false description. Lead us astray.'
'Aye, well, maybe you're right. Fuck knows, eh?'
'Aye, right. Anything else?'
'Naw. Pretty quiet, so far. The usual shite after the pubs shut last night, but not much for us. That desk of yours looks pretty crowded. Maybe you'd like to see to some of it.'
'Yes, boss,' mock salute, and out the door.
Go to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee before I face the paperwork, most of which has been put off for several weeks. I could work non-stop on it for the next month and not clear it all away. Meet Alison in the kitchen, looking far more cheerful than I care for anyone to look today. She smiles at me; I do my best to respond.
'Merry Christmas,' she says, and gives me an almost lingering kiss on the lips.
'Merry Christmas,' I say back, and the words sound totally different.
She busies herself with the kettle.
'What's the matter with you, Thomas, you miserable bastard? It's Christmas.'
'It certainly doesn't feel like it. What are you doing up here, anyway?'
'Sink's blocked downstairs. They don't want us using the kitchen. And the bloody lift's broken.'
'Aye, I know.' Don't feel like making small talk, but I'm here now. No option. The woman did use to be my wife after all. 'So, you're not spending a cosy day with McGovern?'
'Cosy night,' she says. 'We both finish at four, then we're going down to the Creggans' in Strachur for the night. Tomorrow off. What about you?'
Have to think about it. Remember the wonderful family dinner coming up. Hope I'm more in the mood for it when it comes the time.
'Dinner with Peggy and the kids after work.'
She lets out a low whistle. 'Back in favour?'
Shake my head, wait for the kettle to boil.
'Who knows?' I say eventually.
She lets me go first, and I make the coffee as strong as possible. Plenty of sugar, turn to go.
'See you around. Have a nice time tonight,' I say.
'You too. And Thomas,' she says, making me turn back, 'get some more sleep. You look fucking terrible.'
Thanks.
Back into the office, park my backside at the desk, stare at the mountain of paperwork. Not so much of a mountain, as I don't have a noticeable in-tray, more of a sprawling landscape of hills and forests. Drink coffee, feel depressed. Eventually turn the computer on and wait for it to crawl into life. Try to think of Charlotte Miller and the wonderful evening, but thoughts of what Bathurst told me insist on intruding.
They, whoever they are, say that school days are the happiest days of your life, and I always thought that was total bollocks. But now, I'd give anything to be in the middle of three weeks holiday and be about to open up a barrel load of presents.
Think of Christmases past, and start the trawl through the paper. Good Christian men rejoice, with heart and soul and voice…