A Lovely Way to Burn

Sixteen

The police station was a squat, two-storey building, dwarfed by the trio of tower blocks that loomed behind it. The station had small high windows, barely larger than arrow slits, which combined with its breezeblock architecture to make the building look as if it was expecting a sudden siege. Joanie had nicknamed it ‘Precinct 13’ and the name had stuck. Stevie imagined Derek sitting beside Joanie’s body, holding her hand, and felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. She pushed it away. Derek had followed his dick, and broken Joanie’s heart, but policemen were clannish and dropping his name to someone in his squad might mean Stevie was taken seriously, or at least given a hearing.

The police-station door was locked. Stevie swore. Derek had long complained that under-manning had rendered his station a part-time concern, but she had thought it was just another of his gripes. She pressed the doorbell anyway and when there was no response hammered against the door’s reinforced glass. There was a shadow of movement somewhere beyond the reception desk. She put her finger back on the bell, kept it there, and continued banging on the door with her other fist.

‘Hello!’ Her voice was still raw from where the man had tried to strangle her and it sounded weak in the early-morning darkness. ‘Hello!’ Stevie’s hand was aching, but she thought she could see a silhouette, vague in the gloom beyond the glass. ‘I want to make a statement.’

There was another movement behind the reception desk, a white face hazed into focus and the lock buzzed open.

‘Thank fuck.’

Stevie pushed through the door and into the station. She had slipped her bare feet into the running shoes she kept in the boot of the car, but something had happened to the muscles in her right calf and she was limping. The station smelt of cheap disinfectant and too many bodies sweating poverty and fear. There was a poster on the wall behind the counter stating the police’s right to do their job without being subjected to violence or verbal abuse. The text was illustrated by a photograph of a trio of good-looking officers of assorted ethnicities, two men and a woman, each one blandly fit. Were they real, or recruited from some model agency? It was bizarre, the thoughts that came into your head when you were in fear of your life.

‘Sorry, love, normal service has been suspended.’

Derek had often boasted that police officers retired early, but the man behind the counter looked beyond pensionable age. Stevie placed the bag containing the laptop on to the counter.

‘I need to speak with someone. I’ve got evidence that might be crucial in a murder investigation.’

‘I’m sorry, darling.’ The policeman glanced at the bag but made no move to take it from her. ‘I can see you’ve been through the mill, but there’s no one here that can be of use to you tonight. The best thing you can do now is go home, lock your doors and stay put.’

Stevie clenched her grazed palms; the pain felt good.

‘What do you mean?’

The policeman’s stubble was a day or two old and a shade greyer than his hair.

‘I mean there’s no one here to take a statement from you.’

It was an effort not to vault the desk and shake him.

‘There’s you.’

‘No,’ the policeman said with the kind of patience usually reserved for children or the mentally challenged. ‘I’m not here.’

His hands rested on the reception desk, fingers splayed on the plastic countertop. Stevie touched one. The flesh was cold, but it was alive.

‘Yes you are.’

He slid his hand free.

‘No I’m not. Everyone here is dead.’

She looked into his eyes, and she could almost believe he was a ghost.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’d go now, if I were you. Before anything else happens to you.’

His tone was gentle but Stevie thought she could detect a threat in his words. She shouldered her bag and took a step backwards.

‘I know an officer who works here, Derek Caniparoli.’

‘Yes,’ the policeman nodded, ‘he’s dead too.’

‘No, he’s not.’ Her voice was rising. ‘He sent me a text ten minutes ago.’

The man’s smile slid into a smirk.

‘A lot can happen in ten minutes.’

‘Fuck you.’ Stevie turned on her heels. ‘Fuck you and fuck your police force.’ She halted at the door and faced him. ‘First sign of trouble and you fall apart. I’ve witnessed more shit in the last three days than you’ve seen in your whole career and I refuse to let it beat me.’

‘Good for you.’ The policeman’s smile was the dead calm of a sea just before a tsunami and Stevie was suddenly aware that they were alone. ‘But remember what I said: a lot of people are dying, one or two more’s not going to be missed.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You’re in a bit of a state, but you’re still a good-looking girl beneath those bruises. I’ve been very patient but I suggest you go home now, before someone decides they’d like a last thrill.’

This time Stevie didn’t hesitate. The pain in her leg was still there, but she banged out of the police station and half jogged the short distance to her car, scanning left to right as she ran, like a soldier making for fresh cover.