Eeny Meeny

61

He really needed a drink. The last few days had been torture and his body, his brain, his soul ached for the release of alcohol. The first sip was always the best – you didn’t have to be an alcoholic to know that – and he was straining every sinew now to resist the short walk to the off licence.

He was out in the cold and had no idea why. Was it because he was weak? At the time crying on Helen had seemed the natural thing to do – open, honest, real – but perhaps she now despised him for his vulnerability. Did she regret sleeping with him? Or was it something else?

He hadn’t seen Charlie or Helen for days. They’d been out of the station, or locked in interview rooms together. The atmosphere between them was even more troubled than usual – Helen was short with Charlie at the best of times – something was going on. But at least Charlie existed in Helen’s world, which is more than Mark did.

It was late now, but Mark knew Charlie never missed her boxing class at the police gym. Come hell or high water she’d be there, which is why he was now loitering in the gym car park, drawing inquisitive looks from those that passed.

And here she was. Mark hurried over, calling her name. Charlie – who seconds earlier had been marching across the car park towards the gym – seemed to slow her pace a little. Was she panicking, buying herself a few seconds to work out how to deal with him? Who cares, thought Mark, and he dived straight in.

‘I don’t want to put you in an awkward spot, but I’ve got to know what’s going on, Charlie. What have I done?’

A brief pause, then:

‘I don’t know, Mark. She’s being a bitch to all of us at the moment. If I knew I’d tell you, I promise.’

She stumbled on – speaking a lot, but saying very little. Mark knew she was lying. She had never been a very good actress. But why? They had always got on, always been mates. What had Helen said to her?

‘Please, Charlie. However embarrassing it is, or bad it is, I have to know what I’ve done. This job is all I’ve got. If I lose it, I can kiss goodbye to seeing Elsie, to all the good things in my life, so if you know anything at all…’

She lied to him again, claiming ignorance whilst averting her eyes from his disbelieving gaze. Mark let her go – his better judgement for once mastering his rising fury. He returned to the station in a deep funk. Wherever he went now he was under a cloud but it was safer for him in the station. Less temptation. And it was as he was sitting at his desk, mentally drafting his CV, that the call came through. It was Jim Grieves.

‘Just thought you ought to know that she was a he.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Martina, the prostitute. She may have been well stacked and all that, but there’s no doubt she was a chap. Probably had the surgery in the last couple of years and by the look of his arse, he may very well have been in this line of work before, albeit for a different clientele. I’d start looking there if I were you.’

So Martina was born a boy. Immediately Mark was energized – a little crumb which if it yielded anything might start the process of defrosting Helen. Suddenly Mark was back in the game.