We can scratch one possible pickup location off the list, at least.’
‘OK with me, boss,’ Dave replied from the far side of the hotel the hooker had mentioned.
‘I can’t see anyone I haven’t already spoken to,’ said Jane.
‘Nor me,’ Dick added.
‘Right. Nightcap’s on me.’
*
Forty-three minutes later, Pete turned into his drive for the second time that evening and stopped the car.
‘What the f…?’ He sat stock-still, staring at his white up-and-over garage door. Nearly three feet high, right in the middle of it, caught squarely in the beam of his headlights, was a drawing – a cartoon, really – in pink spray paint that, in places, had trickled into runs. A pig’s face stared out at him, underneath it the words ‘More bacon, Guv’nor?’
‘Who the bloody hell…?’
He switched off the headlights and the engine, got out of the car and went up to the garage door. He could still see the image clearly in the light of the streetlamp across the road. He reached out a finger, although, even before he touched it, he could smell that the paint was still wet. Sure enough, his fingertip came away smeared with colour.
‘Bastards,’ he muttered and marched towards the front door. Letting himself in, he dropped his briefcase in the hall and stepped into the sitting room where Louise was curled up on the sofa, watching TV.
An image flashed into his mind from a few short months ago, when all she seemed to want to do was just that. She’d barely been able to acknowledge either him or Annie. But now she looked up, a smile forming on her lips. ‘Hiya. Have you…?’ She stopped mid-sentence when she saw his expression. ‘What is it?’
He held up his finger. ‘Spray paint. All over the bloody garage. Someone’s figured out what I do for a living and decided to make an issue of it.’
Louise slumped. ‘Oh, God. Will it come off?’
‘I’ve got a can of brush cleaner in there. I’ll see if I can shift it before it dries. Little sods ought to be made to come back here and bloody lick it clean.’
Louise couldn’t help a grunt of laughter. ‘I don’t think that idea would go down too well with the bleeding heart brigade.’
‘Then maybe we ought to go and spray-paint their garage doors and see how they like it.’
‘You’re a grumpy bugger tonight. Didn’t anybody want to play with you or something?’
Pete shook his head. ‘I just don’t understand people’s attitudes sometimes. You’d think they’d want to help get a murderer off the streets. They’d feel safer for it.’
‘Yeah, but everybody’s too busy these days. Who’s got time to sit in a draughty corridor outside a courtroom for a couple of days or more, to help put someone away for not nearly long enough, who’s probably never going to be a risk to them anyway, eh? I mean, you can understand it really.’
‘You sound exactly like a lot of those girls I’ve been talking to tonight.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m just saying, there’s two sides to every argument.’
‘Yeah. Like there’s two sides to that garage door and a can of brush cleaner on one that needs to be on t’other. I’d best go and deal with it, I suppose.’
‘You want a hand?’ She nodded towards the TV. ‘This is rubbish anyway.’
Pete’s eyes widened as he recalled again the time when she’d sit there for hours, staring blankly at the TV, regardless of what was on it.
‘Or maybe it’s me,’ she continued, ignoring his expression. ‘I can’t concentrate on anything, knowing Tommy’s just a few hundred yards away now, and I can’t go to him.’
Pete sighed, nodding. ‘I know. But tomorrow’s not far off. Then you can ring them and set up a visit.’
‘It’s just so hard. It’s almost worse, having him so close, than it was not knowing where he was. The need to see him, hold him, talk to him, be a mother to him is…’ She shook her head, unable to put her feelings into words.
Pete reached for her hand. ‘Come on,’ he said, trying to pull her away from the brink. ‘We’ll do what we can out there, then a drink and bed.’
She blinked. ‘Bed? I don’t know as I want to share a bed with you after you’ve spent the evening consorting with prostitutes.’
‘Huh. None of them even wanted to talk to me, never mind consort.’
She stood up and took a step towards him. ‘Ah. Baby losing his touch?’ One hand cupping his jaw, she placed a quick kiss on his lips then squealed as he grabbed her around the waist.
*
Tommy went from breakfast, which he ate alone, to the common room, where he grabbed a bunch of felt-tip pens – pencils weren’t permitted as they were considered sharp objects – and a pad of drawing paper.
He was trying to put an image of Rosie Whitlock onto the paper when his chair was jarred abruptly from behind and a pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders, pressing him down into the seat.
‘Watcha, Titch. What you in here for then, eh? That your girlfriend, is it? Ahh. Pretty, ain’t she? I’ll do her for you when I get out of here, you being too small and all.’
Tommy went completely still. He almost felt relaxed. ‘Which order do you want me to answer all those questions in? Forwards or backwards?’
‘Smart arse, are you?’ The hands left his shoulders and a slap rocked his head. ‘Think you’re clever, do you?’
Tommy heard several sniggers. There was a bunch of them. Without even thinking about it, he turned the felt-tipped pen in his hand, gripping it tightly. A shiver ran through him as fingers ran through the hair up the back of his head. Then they gripped painfully and began to lift. He rose with them, but his chair got in the way. He pushed it back with his knees, felt it snag on the carpet and begin to tip. Rising further, the chair reaching a steeper angle, he gently, carefully raised one foot off the floor, bringing his knee up until it touched the underside of the table in front of him.
Waited an instant longer…
Then slammed his foot up and back so that it hit the underside of the chair, driving it back into his tormentor’s stomach. The boy grunted. His fingers disappeared from Tommy’s hair. Tommy spun around fast. Several boys were surrounding him, all of them bigger than he was. Their leader was just beginning to recover and straighten up, his pockmarked face twisting into a snarl of rage.
Tommy didn’t hesitate. He used the chair again, this time as a step-up, launching himself off its upturned front edge, his other knee driving at the older boy’s chest. The impact sent him staggering backwards, the group splitting to let him through. Tommy’s free hand grabbed his hair and held on tight, his momentum carrying him over the bigger lad, who stumbled and fell back. Tommy landed on top of him, his knee driving once more into his chest before slipping sideways
