Murder Club - Mark Pearson [18]
‘And how old is he now?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Really? He doesn’t look older than eighteen,’ said Kate, surprised.
Dave Matthews shrugged. ‘I guess some people have all the luck.’
‘It’s the kind of luck that won’t see him making thirty.’
The sergeant shook his head as they headed towards the custody area. ‘I’m not so sure. The thing is, he only does it now and again. Most of the year he’s as good as gold. Works for the post office, volunteers at a local charity shop most Saturdays.’
‘So what sets him off?’
Dave Matthews jerked his thumb to the moonlight shining through the front window of the police station. ‘The full moon. Brings all the loonies out.’ He twiddled his finger round his temple in case Kate had missed his point.
Laura, who was putting a report behind the reception desk, turned round and frowned at him.
‘Not a term we in the medical profession entirely endorse, sergeant.’
Kate walked across and looked out of the window at the night sky. The moon hung clear for a moment or two, as it had all evening, and then clouds began to drift around it, quicker than she would have thought, and soon the moon was wrapped and hidden and the night was dark.
‘They reckon we’re due snow any time now,’ she said.
‘Shouldn’t wonder,’ the sergeant grunted, looking none too happy at the prospect.
‘Not looking forward to a white Christmas, Dave?’ asked Bob Wilkinson cheerily for a change. ‘Not going all “bah humbug!” on us, are you?’
Dave Matthews’ scowl deepened. ‘We’re spending it at the in-laws’.’
‘Ah,’ Bob nodded sympathetically.
‘Ah, indeed.’
The telephone on the front desk rang and PC Wilkinson snatched it up.
‘White City Police Station?’ he said and listened for a moment or two. ‘Okay, Peggy. Show me as attending.’
He hung up and nodded to Dr Laura. ‘You’re with me.’
Laura looked at her watch. ‘I’m off soon. Can’t you go, Kate?’
‘Sorry. I’m off shift, and I’ve got a pile of paperwork to process before I can get home.’ Kate shrugged apologetically.
‘It’s only Edgware Road,’ said Bob Wilkinson to Laura. ‘Come on, Doctor, the sooner we go, the sooner we’ll be back.’
12.
A SHORT, FAST ride later and Laura Chilvers and Bob Wilkinson were walking down Edgware Road.
There were plenty of people out on the streets. London doesn’t stop for the cold; it doesn’t stop for anything, particularly at Christmas. The restaurants were packed with office parties, and the sound of their celebrations spilled out into the street as doors were opened and closed. A lot of sore heads in the morning, if the raucous laughter and the unsteady balance of people leaving and waving drunkenly for taxis were anything to go by, in Laura’s considered, professional opinion. She stepped aside as one drunken man in his twenties staggered out of McDonald’s and lurched by, clutching a hand to his mouth and hurrying to the kerb looking like he was about to be violently sick. She left him to it. Taking the Hippocratic Oath didn’t mean she had to rush to the aid of every binge-drinking idiot in London. She’d be working round the clock from here to Michaelmas if she did.
Bob Wilkinson was chatting to her as they made their way down the road, moaning about something or other as usual, but she wasn’t really listening. She was thinking about partying herself and the night ahead that she had planned. A new, fashionable fetish-club was opening in the West End and she was looking forward to paying it a visit. A young woman she had met last week at a gay bar in Soho had invited her. Laura had coolly told her she might be there, she might not! The woman was clearly the submissive type, but absolutely gorgeous, and Laura liked to play mind-games, as well as the other games. Mind-fuck them first, she thought to herself, and she was happy to take the dominant role if that was what was required. It wasn’t always her thing, but if the mood took her she’d get into