Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [68]
There was less anger in him than usual, probably a result of their having had a blazing row in the kitchen last night, followed by an hour‟s vigorous sexual gymnastics in the bedroom. That always went some way towards a temporary healing of the eternal rift between them.
„Sleep well?‟ she queried.
Bob grunted.
Joanna paused, turning things over in her mind.
Everything always seemed better in the mornings, but she knew that they‟d made too many fresh starts down the years.
None of them had ever amounted to much. „Bob,‟ she said at last, „we really ought to talk.‟
„What about?‟ he said through slurred lips, his eyes still closed.
„God knows we‟ve had our ups and downs, but... well, they had this guest on Danny Baker’s Dozen yesterday. A psychologist.‟
„Bloody daytime TV,‟ muttered Bob.
„He made me think. You‟re sailing pretty close to the wind at the moment.‟
Bob opened an eye. „What do you mean?‟
„This business with the Chens. Everyone knows that you were the one who -‟
„Look,‟ said Bob sharply. „Don‟t spoil the day before it‟s even begun, for crying out loud.‟
Joanna sighed. „I still love you. I‟m just trying to look out for you - I‟m the only one who will. You‟re too handy with your fists, Bob. If you don‟t sort out that anger of yours, you‟ll pay a terrible price.‟
Bob Matson snorted and rolled over. „Damn the consequences,‟ he said.
Trevor Winstone strolled past Shanks‟s secretary and into his office. Shanks had called earlier that morning to say he had to „sort a few things out‟. Winstone was to go ahead and meet their contacts on the local papers.
As expected, the journalists had lapped up the revelations about Denman and his daughter, just as keen to hear the hinted innuendos as the objective facts. Within moments, the hacks had been on the phone to editors, photographers, friends in the Smoke. The tabloids felt that they had made Denman a public figure, and so were happy to break him now he‟d had his fifteen minutes of fame. Wapping editors always loved and loathed outspoken coppers in equal measure.
Winstone had returned to Shanks‟s office, but he still wasn‟t back. No one had seen Shanks all morning. Despite his impatience, Trevor settled down to wait.
When the phone rang, Winstone could hear the secretary‟s gasp of surprise in reception. „He‟s dead,‟ she babbled, pushing the door open. „Up at the reservoir.‟
„What?‟ exclaimed Winstone.
„Drowned.‟
„Shanks said he had some work to do,‟ said Winstone, having already guessed exactly what that meant. „Why the hell didn‟t he take his bodyguards?‟
The secretary stood open-mouthed, as if she was expected to answer the rhetorical question.
Winstone strode over to the nearest filing cabinet, pulling open the top drawer. „Right, phone Matthew Hatch. Tell him that Shanks is dead. He can put two and two together. And then you‟d better get clear of the building. Push a fire alarm button on your way.‟
„Why? There‟s no fire.‟
Trevor pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket. „There will be in a minute,‟ he said.
Ace had spent the morning walking around the village, searching for evidence of the scarecrows she and Steven Chen had encountered. However, once the broken window and door had been discovered, she thought it best to avoid the area around the church.
She found herself walking towards the school. The sound of children playing filled the village with whoops and cries of delight. The building was less sinister in daylight, a low weather-beaten wall ringing the playground of the lower school. Children teemed over every available square inch of boiling tarmac, playing hopscotch and tag and re-enacting unknown wars. Three girls were playing skipping games.
They looked up as Ace‟s shadow fell across them.
„Hello,‟ said Ace brightly. „I‟m looking for Miss Baber. Do you -‟
„What the hell do you want?‟ asked one of the girls, her angelic complexion changing in an instant.
„I just want to -‟
„Go away!‟ snarled one of the others.