A Lovely Way to Burn

Seventeen

Stevie slammed the driver’s door, checked the locks, took out her phone and found Joanie’s number. She hoped Derek still had his wife’s mobile with him and that it was turned on. She pressed call and listened, swearing under her breath as it rang out. She tried again. This time Derek picked up.

‘Stephanie, yes.’

His voice was brisk and she could hear a bustle of activity in the background.

‘Derek, I’m sorry about Joanie.’

‘Me too.’

There was nothing else to be said and not-quite-silence hung on the line for a moment, a blackbird starting off the dawn chorus at her end, a babble of voices at his.

‘I’m outside your station.’

‘I’m not there.’

‘I know. There’s no one there. Just a mad-looking policeman who told me he was dead.’

‘That’ll be Phil. He should be on sick leave by rights.’ Derek gave a bitter laugh. ‘By rights most of us should be on sick leave, but it’s all hands to the pump. The Guvnor reckoned Phil would be more of a hindrance than a help out in the field, so we left him to mind the fort. I take it he’s not doing a very good job?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Best to keep out of his way. Look, Stevie, it was good of you to phone but I need to go.’

‘Wait a moment.’

‘I can’t, sorry.’

‘Derek, someone killed my boyfriend.’

His sigh sounded as if it had travelled across aeons to reach her. Stevie remembered what the policeman had said of Derek, ‘He’s dead too’, and the back of her neck tingled.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ His voice was heavy. ‘But things are in a bit of a mess, in case you’ve haven’t noticed. I’m afraid he’s not the only one.’

‘This is different. Someone deliberately organised Simon’s death and arranged things to make it look natural. Simon sent me a note, telling me he’d hidden a laptop at my flat and to deliver it to a colleague he trusted at the hospital, but his colleague caught the sweats and died before I could get it to him.’

‘Repeat that more slowly for me, please,’ Derek said. She did as he asked and he gave another sigh. ‘Are you sure?’

The question bewildered her.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Joanie said you had a habit of hooking up with rich fuckwits, all flash and no heart was how she put it. Are you sure someone isn’t playing a joke on you? Some Hooray Henries have peculiar ideas of what’s funny.’

‘Simon wasn’t a Hooray Henry, he was a surgeon and yes, I’m sure. I found Simon’s body. I smelt him before I saw him. Is that authentic enough for you?’

She thought Derek was going to find another objection, but he swore softly, ‘Jesus Christ,’ and asked, ‘What’s in the laptop?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t get past the password.’

‘Stevie, this is what a psychiatrist would call displacement activity. You’re fiddling while Rome burns. I’m sorry your boyfriend’s dead. I’m even sorrier Joanie’s dead. Whatever you think of me, I’d walk through fire to bring her back. But there’s nothing any of us can do. Forget it. Go home and keep safe. Someone told me vitamin C is good for staving off the sweats. Buy a few cartons of orange juice and then lock yourself in.’

‘It’s not as simple as that, Derek. I think someone’s after me. I was attacked by a man outside work tonight. He pretty much kicked the shit out of me. I think he would have killed me if it hadn’t been for the security guard. He saw what was happening and managed to beat him off.’

‘Are you okay?’

Derek sounded genuinely concerned and Stevie found herself blinking away tears.

‘A bit bruised, but I’ll live.’

‘What makes you think it wasn’t a straightforward mugging? The sweats is a call to all the scum of the earth to crawl out of their holes.’

It was the way Derek had always described the crowds he policed. Demonstrators, football supporters, rioters; he reduced all of them to zombies. Easier to push people around, Stevie supposed, if you thought that joining a crowd neutralised your brain. She couldn’t believe she was calling on him.

‘It wasn’t a random attack, Derek. There’s nothing and no one around the studio. This guy wasn’t just passing by, he was waiting for me. He wanted to get his hands on the laptop and he didn’t care if he killed me in the process.’

‘You should have given it to him.’

For all his shtick about law and order, that had always been Derek’s advice: If you can’t outrun them, hand over your valuables and live to fight another day. Stevie tried to keep the irritation out of her voice.

‘Maybe I should, but he doesn’t know I’ve not seen whatever it was Simon hid on it. As far as he’s concerned, I’m in on the whole story.’

She wanted to ask Derek to help her for Joanie’s sake, but Joanie was dead.

‘Hold on a minute, Stevie.’ She heard the faint sound of someone talking to Derek on the other end of the line. He said, ‘I’m going to put you on hold.’ And she was left with the hiss of dead air. When Derek returned he sounded out of breath.

‘You found one body. That was my twelfth. We’ve been in and out of houses all night checking on people reported missing.’

‘I thought you would be excused, because of Joanie.’

‘I told you, all leave’s cancelled. That includes compassionate leave.’ Derek sighed. ‘Not that I deserve much compassion.’ There was a pause and then he said, ‘You were a good friend to Joanie. You were always there for her.’

Stevie knew what Joanie would have wanted her to say and so she said it.

‘She still loved you, Derek.’

‘I didn’t deserve her.’ The policeman’s voice was gruff. He cleared his throat and asked, ‘You really think you’re in danger?’

‘I wouldn’t have phoned you otherwise.’

‘I guess not.’ He took the phone away from his mouth and Stevie heard him ask someone, ‘Have you checked the other rooms?’ There was the sound of a dog barking. Derek shouted, ‘Could someone lock fucking Fido up?’ and then he was back on the line. ‘Are you still living in Camden?’

‘Yes.’

‘Go home, lock the door and don’t open it to anyone except me. If the doorbell rings, ignore it, same for the landline. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but it may not be for a while.’ Derek’s voice had regained the sense of certainty that used to exasperate her. Now it was reassuring. ‘I’ll call you on your mobile, so make sure it’s charged. I’m just a beat bobby so don’t expect me to be Sir Galahad. If you don’t answer, I’ll assume you’ve pissed off.’

‘Thanks, Derek.’

‘Don’t thank me, I’ve not done anything.’

The line died abruptly and Stevie was left alone with the sound of birdsong. She sat there for a moment, watching the sunrise turning the tops of the high-rises pink. They looked mystical, like giant standing stones deposited there by some cosmic ancestor. She wondered if there would ever come a time when people would marvel at the civilisation that had created such giant structures, and ponder on what they had been trying to express.