Lonely Hearts

Thirty-Four

It was the first time Resnick had ever caught the superintendent at it, but there he was, running, head up, even swing of the arms, straight as a die back to the station. Resnick leaned against the post near the foot of the steps and waited. The superintendent’s running suit was light gray, loose-fitting, with fluorescent strips along the arms and down the legs for use at night. A small wallet was velcroed to the tongue of one shoe for his key and some small change. Not one to be caught short, the Super.

He eased his pace down with twenty yards to go, raising a hand in greeting.

“Lovely morning, Charlie.”

“Brisk, sir.”

“Just been round the lake. Moorhens, deer standing out in the water with the last mist still round them-beautiful.”

Resnick knew that round the lake meant a run of some mile and a half or more down to the park, along a straight avenue of trees past the golf club, another mile from there and then the same distance back, the last section of that up a hill steep enough to make casual cyclists get off and push. And Skelton was barely short of breath.

“Sorry about the other day, Charlie. That business over the university.” He was limbering down, jogging gently on the spot, stretching his calf muscles and his thighs. “Tell the truth, I’d had a bit of an argument at home that morning. That daughter of mine.” He shook his head a trace self-consciously: it wasn’t usual for him to admit to colleagues that he had a private life. “Happens in the best-regulated of families.”

“Yes, sir. Of course it does. Everything okay now, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. Storm in a teacup.”

Resnick nodded understandingly. “Good.”

“Better have a session later, Charlie. Now that things will be getting back to normal.”

“Yes, sir.” Resnick followed him into the station. “Normal it is.”

Divine was still filtering information into the files, messages and movements; he glanced up and said good morning to Resnick with his usual hearty belligerence. Typical, Resnick thought, going on into his own office: the files aren’t sorted, but the kettle’s simmering ready for a top-up and the tea’s been brewed these five minutes. Maybe he should try having a word with Divine about priorities, about his future. Though he doubted if the future for Divine stretched far beyond opening time or closing time, whichever was the nearer.

He sat behind his desk, wondering if Kevin Naylor and his Debbie had come any closer to making a decision about moving. He supposed he’d be sad enough to lose the lad, although to be truthful Naylor needed a bit of shaking-up before he’d ever get to make a good detective. Though getting out from under Divine’s guidance wouldn’t come amiss. Maybe he should send Lynn Kellogg out with Divine? Resnick allowed himself a smile: he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that Divine was terrified of her.

“Sir?”

Millington came round the door with a freshly trimmed mustache and a couple of extra-strong mints underneath his tongue.

“Good weekend, Graham?”

“Not bad, sir. Wife got me doing a bit of grouting.”

“Sounds fun.”

“She’s been on at me since summer. Wants it right for when her mother comes at Christmas.” He moved the mints into his cheek. “Meant to ask you about that, sir. Any chance of getting on the roster over the holiday? Wouldn’t mind doing quite a bit and there must be lots want it off.”

“See what I can do,” said Resnick. “Anything before we get started?”

“One thing, sir. You remember those break-ins?”

“Videos and so on?”

“The Boulevard, yes. I had a call from that bloke I know.”

“The fence, you mean?”

“That’s him. He reckons there’s something iffy coming in later today. I know he’s said that before and it fell flat, but this time, might be kosher.”

“He’s calling you?”

“Yes, sir. I thought, if it’s all right with you, I’d get young Divine to stick around. He’s handy if anything turns nasty.”

“All right, Graham. Now let’s get that tea in here before it sticks to the cup.”

He’s in a cheerful mood this morning, thought Millington, going out into the main office. If I didn’t know him better, I’d reckon he’d had his leg over the right side of breakfast.

“How did it go?”

Rachel glanced up from the sheaf of messages that had come through from the emergency duty team. A fourteen-year-old lad with a history of solvent abuse found unconscious in an underground car park; an old lady of eighty-seven who was taken into casualty as an emergency and was found to have severe bruising which she claimed to have been caused by her sixty-three-year-old daughter; a ten-year-old boy who phoned through to the local radio talk-in program and said that his uncle and his elder brother were both sexually abusing him.

“Fine.”

“I presumed last night was that at least.”

“What’s that…? Oh, Carole, I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me. I should have phoned.”

Carole went to her desk. “It’s only that you said you were popping round for an hour for a chat.”

Rachel made a face. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s stupid of me, I know,” said Carole. “I know you’re free, white, and over twenty-one and all that, but…”

“Don’t let the anti-racist development officer hear you using that expression,” smiled Rachel.

“Oh, God!”

“But I didn’t mean to worry you. I know what it’s like when you’re sharing. If it happens again, I’ll make sure and let you know. Then at least you can bolt the door.”

“To tell the truth, I was going to look up the number and ring there, but that made me feel too much like your mother.” She turned over a page of her diary. “Anyway, if you’re going to start spending weekends there, it’ll be…”

“Carole!”

“What?”

“Hang on a minute!”

“I was only going to say it will make things clearer.”

“Carole,” said Rachel, on her feet, “I am not going to start spending weekends at his house. Not. What’s the matter with everybody?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re as bad as he is, that’s what I mean. You can’t get me in there fast enough.”

“Is that what he wants then?”

“Does a cat have fleas?”

“Then where’s the harm? You do like him, don’t you?”

“Of course I like him. I’m not in the habit of going to bed with men I don’t like. But that’s not the same as…Carole, I’ve only just got out of one relationship.”

“You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

“Maybe that’s because sometimes it felt like that.”

Carole looked away towards the window. She was biting down into her lower lip and thinking it was a sentence she wouldn’t mind serving. Three years now since Mike had handed her the envelope because he hadn’t been able to say the words out loud.

“Look,” Rachel said.

“What is it?”

“He slipped this into my bag this morning when I wasn’t looking.”

Rachel put the two keys on the desk, one mortice, one yale.

“What are you going to do?” Carole asked.

“Take them back.”

Graham Millington was jubilant. Not only had he been proved right about Simms, the dirty little pervert, even though they were having some difficulties getting his stories to tally, now this. Proceeds from ten or more burglaries for certain; Naylor and Patel were round at a lockup in Hucknall now making an inventory of the rest. VCRs, stereos, televisions, Walkmans up the wazoo! Brilliant! Even the dust-up had been fun in its own way.

“Where’s Divine?” Resnick asked.

“Off at casualty, sir. Suspected broken collarbone.”

“And you?”

Millington shrugged. “Bumps and bruises, sir. I’m okay.”

“You’ve seen the doctor?”

“No need.”

Millington had a swelling on his left cheek, flakes of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. His clothes looked as if they’d been round in the dryer without being washed first.

“See him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I just had a word with the custody sergeant. He said it needed four of them to get Sloman into a cell.”

“He caught hold of the radiator and wouldn’t let go. Nearly wrenched it out of the wall.”

“His colleague’s got a nasty cut over his eye. I take it your report will account for how that happened?”

“No problem, sir. Sloman did it.”

“Sloman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Try telling that to Civil Liberties.”

“No, it’s right. What happened, Divine and I walked in on them, well, I had no idea it was going to be that pair, how could I? Course, they knew me straight off from the other business. Sloman panics, turns fast with a cassette deck in his arms, and catches Jilkes smack in the face. He’s down and moaning and Sloman goes for the door like he’s bouncing off the ropes and looking for a knock-down. It was all Divine and I could do to hang on to him. I mean, sir, he may not be in training any more but he’s still a big lad.”

“Talking, though, I understand?”

“Reams of it, sir. Once he’d calmed down in the cells for a bit he couldn’t stop. Sounds like this garage of his has got enough in it to restock Lasky’s.” Millington touched his cheek gingerly. “Tell you what did come out, sir.”

“Yes?”

“All those records that were nicked-you remember, that James Brown. He kept them at his place. Priceless, he says. Original American pressings some of them. Worth a bomb.”

“Don’t forget to see the doctor, Graham.”

“No, sir. Oh, and, sir, there was a call for you.”

“Man?”

“No, sir, female. Name of Chaplin. Said she’d ring back later, either that or she’d catch you at home this evening.”

Resnick turned away quickly but not quickly enough to hide the look of pleasure that had come to his face. The randy old sod! thought Millington. He is having it off after all.