Instinct (18 page)

Seeing his discomfort, she said, ‘JD on the rocks?'

‘Coming up,' he declared after a cough. He made to turn to the bar, but Alison rose to her feet and touched his arm.

‘In my room,' she said huskily. ‘It's all prepared.'

They looked at each other.

‘The time for talking's over, Henry.'

And he realized it probably was. When they had met the other night for a drink in the same location, he had poured out, for the first time to anyone, his grief about losing Kate. Alison had listened, allowed him to download, and for him it had been an incredible release. For the first time he had told someone about Kate, their ups and downs, the bad way he'd treated her, the fact that although they had divorced she stuck with him through it all and eventually they had remarried. And been happy. Then she had been struck down by something evil and ferocious which was more than a match for her grim determination to stay alive. He spoke for almost an hour, non-stop, then had suddenly looked into Alison's eyes before melting into her arms and holding her tightly. After that they talked about her husband, Robert, the soldier killed in Afghanistan.

‘So I kind of know what you're going through,' she'd said gently. ‘I know everyone's different, everyone reacts differently to the unexpected, or expected, death of a loved one  . . . but I do know what it's like.'

They parted with a hug that night.

Henry could not get her off his mind, even though he fought grimly with the guilt, the recentness of Kate's death, and about how others would react, his daughters in particular. In the end, he knew he had to be true to himself.

He took her hand as they walked out of the bar. His legs were dithery. His whole being was trembling. They rode the lift in silence, Henry just holding Alison's little finger as they stood side by side.

Moments later they were in her room.

Then they kissed and the JD on the rocks had to wait for a while.

She lay tucked into him, her arm across his chest, fingertips touching his left shoulder and the raised scars where he'd been blasted by the shotgun, now well over a year ago. Six inches to the right and his heart would have been shredded, and he would have been the first to die, not Kate. But he had survived and the wounds healed.

It had been through Alison's nursing skills that he'd come away from the incident so well.

She raised her eyes. ‘That was lovely.'

‘Short and sweet,' he admitted.

‘Just right under the circumstances.'

His head moved down and he kissed her mouth, loving the taste and texture of her very soft lips. A surge of blood gushed through him and her hand left his shoulder and slid silkily down his body to grasp him, causing a moan to emerge from the back of his throat, then from hers.

‘Gorgeous,' he whispered.

With amazing dexterity she was suddenly on top of him, moving gently, and he was entranced by her looks.

His mobile phone rang at half past midnight. Henry grunted, carefully extracted his right arm from under Alison's neck, and sat on the edge of the bed. He had been on the verge of a deep sleep. He glanced at Alison, who muttered something, but kept her eyes closed. Henry sifted through his clothing which was discarded across the floor. It had been ripped off with abandon, as had Alison's, and he grinned like a juvenile at the memory, especially when he picked up her bra. That had been one of the great moments.

The phone continued to ring – still
Miss You
by the Stones. Have to change that, he thought. Maybe
Mixed Emotions
.

Finally he found the infernal device, plucked it out of his inner jacket pocket, and it stopped ringing. He muttered a curse.

The display said, ‘Unknown number'.

‘Bugger,' he said, laid it on the bedside cabinet. He needed the toilet, but was reluctant to go, particularly when Alison reached out and scraped her fingernails gently down his back.

‘Who was it?'

‘No idea.'

‘Kiss me,' she ordered him. He twisted around and she had a lovely crooked smile on her face. ‘I need kissing.'

Henry thought about saying something witty, but decided against it. He needed kissing, too, so he lay down next to her, cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers and they explored, teeth, tongues, lips and wetness. It wasn't just a lust-driven mashing, which it had been initially. It was slow and slithery and Henry, amazing himself, found that he was responding yet again.

And then the phone rang.
Miss You
.

He snatched it up, dropped back on to the pillow and answered it. Alison propped herself up on an elbow and bit into his nipple.

‘Christie,' he hissed through clenched teeth, and Alison suppressed a wicked giggle.

‘It's me, your prime suspect.'

Henry held the phone away from his ear and squinted angrily at it. He put it back. ‘Mark – it's way past midnight. This better be good.'

‘It's about Natalie.'

‘What about her?'

‘I was going to tell you stuff about her – until that twat annoyed me.'

‘DI Dean?'

‘Yeah, him.'

‘OK – what were you going to say?'

Alison continued to suck and lick his nipple like it was a mini lollipop.

‘Her likes, her preferences.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘She liked Asians, Pakistanis  . . . well, she'd started liking them recently.'

‘And?'

‘I've seen the picture of the guy who was shot on the motorway, yeah?'

‘OK.' Henry sat up. Alison backed off as he held up a hand to keep her at bay.

‘And the picture of the lad locked up in London now, the suicide bomber guy.'

‘Yeah?'

‘They were the ones she liked.'

ELEVEN

A
fter just two hours' deep sleep, Henry stirred at six o'clock, detached himself from Alison's grip – she rolled over with a disgusted grunt – and padded into the bathroom, picking up his discarded clothing on the way. He dressed, then left without disturbing her, his mind still zinging with confused thoughts about the relationship.

He needed to get home, shower, shave and change into fresh clothing, then get into the MIR before anyone else landed. This, he thought, as he climbed into the Mercedes, was going to be a long day.

He arrived home less than ten minutes later, the streets of Blackpool virtually traffic-free at that time of day. Karl Donaldson's huge Jeep was parked on the driveway alongside Leanne's Fiat 500. This car had belonged to Kate and Leanne had inherited it. Henry swallowed a fresh gulp of guilt at the sight of the Fiat, and just for a moment he wondered how the hell he was going to explain himself to Kate, arriving home at this time of day, bedraggled and with bloodshot eyes. Then he remembered. He shook his head, but the gulp stuck in his throat as he let himself quietly into the house.

He heard the running of a shower from the main bathroom. It was unlikely to be Leanne, so Henry knew it would be Donaldson up and ready to face the world again. The guy had boundless energy and no doubt had already been for a three mile run. Fit, good-looking bastard, Henry thought.

Lifting one heavy leg after the other up the stairs, Henry sidled into his bedroom like a naughty teenager sneaking home. Still feeling the guilt. He undressed, and when he heard the other shower stop, he got into the en suite shower, turned it on hot and stood for a very long time under the driving jets.

Twenty minutes later, fresh as a daisy, newly clothed and with everything trimmed, including nose and ear hair, Henry walked into the kitchen where Donaldson was pouring a mug of freshly filtered coffee. The toaster popped up as Henry entered. His friend gave him one of those knowing looks.

‘Say nothing,' Henry warned him.

Donaldson's eyebrows arched as he considered this, then he said, ‘You know I can't do that, don't you?'

Henry poured himself a coffee whilst Donaldson buttered the toast and dropped two more slices into the toaster. He hummed irritatingly, a cheeky grin on his face, then armed with food and drink made his way to the conservatory to eat.

Henry joined him a few minutes later, similarly equipped.

‘Work colleague?' Donaldson probed. Henry remained mys-teriously silent. ‘Hooker?' Still nothing. ‘Second cousin twice removed? We are, after all, in the backwoods here?' Nothing. He squinted at Henry. ‘Can't be a cougar – you're the one who's too old.'

Henry bristled, but oddly enjoyed the tease.

‘Supermodel?' No response. ‘You know I'll find out, I'm a superb FBI agent for God's sake.'

‘Stop.' Henry raised a piece of toast threateningly. ‘Stop right there. I'm pretty screwed up about it as it stands.' This was an ironic thing for Henry to say. His history of extramarital relationships would have made most observers draw the conclusion that Henry hadn't cared very much about Kate's feelings when she had been alive, so now that she was gone, what did it matter? He just knew it did.

‘Who is she?' This time Donaldson's probe was gentle.

‘Alison Marsh.'

‘The barmaid?' Donaldson said. He had met her at the same time as Henry in the blood-soaked village of Kendleton.

‘The landlady, to be more precise. The owner of a very nice country pub stroke hotel.'

‘And a woman with a dark secret.' Donaldson made a pistol shape with his fingers.

‘Aye, maybe  . . . whatever.'

‘But she is very nice. How  . . . er?'

‘Call out of the blue.'

‘Could it be serious?'

‘Who the heck knows? I don't think I'm handling it very well.'

‘It's early days.'

‘That's part of the problem, I reckon.'

‘What? Social niceties? Henry, this is me, your biggest pal.' He leaned forwards with his toast. ‘Screw social niceties and let whatever is going to happen, happen. If it's a fling, then so be it. Screw each other senseless. If it's serious, well good for both of you. She deserves happiness and, what's more important to me, so do you.'

Henry regarded him open-mouthed. ‘I thought you were an FBI agent, not a relationship counsellor.'

‘I can turn my hand to most things  . . . except DIY, much to Karen's annoyance.'

‘OK, bud, thanks for the ass-kicking.' Henry bit into his toast, then with his mouth full said, ‘I've something that might interest you.'

‘This is a legitimate question,' Henry said to Mark Carter. ‘Are you just pissing us about, or what?'

Mark looked affronted – and angry. ‘I'm telling you the truth, man.'

‘Start talking, then.'

The interview was monitored by Rik and Donaldson via an audio/video feed into the DI's office. The picture on the monitor wasn't brilliant but the speech was clear enough, and when Henry drew the interview to a close, the two men leaned back, looked at each other, but said nothing as they watched Henry and Mark vacate the interview room down in the custody office.

Rik poured Donaldson a coffee, one for himself and one for Henry, who was expected a few minutes later when he'd re-bailed Mark.

Although Henry hadn't arrested Mark this time, he wanted to re-bail him, so he led the lad back to the custody office, only to find a man arrested on a warrant was being booked in, so they had to wait.

He and Mark stood patiently at the back of the room, waiting for the custody desk to clear. Henry had a few papers rolled up in his hand, and was tapping his chin thoughtfully when Mark said, ‘Are those the photos of the guys?' Henry nodded. ‘Can I have a look again?'

Mark had already seen the photographs of Sadiq and Rahman and confirmed they were students attending the same college that he did and that he'd seen them talking to Natalie in a more than friendly way. That was the basis of what he'd told Henry – that he knew the two Asian lads by sight, not personally, and that Natalie knocked around with them in the dining rooms and common room. And that it had got him mad.

Henry handed the photos over absent-mindedly. He was busy rolling this new information through his mind, wondering if it was important or just juvenile tittle-tattle. Mark opened the sheets and looked at them and said, ‘Yeah, these are the guys. Geeks, I'd've said.' Then he said, ‘Who's this guy?'

‘Who?' Henry looked and realized he had inadvertently handed Mark a photograph of Jamil Akram which was also in his file. Mark was studying the photograph intently. It wasn't a good one, a bit grainy and blurred, a surveillance photograph that could have been taken on the other side of the world.

‘This one.'

‘Why?' When Mark hesitated, Henry sensed he was backtracking then. ‘Why?' Henry said forcefully.

‘I  . . . er  . . . saw Sadiq and Rahman and Natalie with this guy.'

Henry dragged him by the collar straight back into the interview room they'd just vacated.

‘Speak.'

‘Uh, remember I said me and Natalie did it on her mum's rug?'

‘How could I forget – I'm constantly trying to purge my mind of the image.'

‘Well, it was for old time's sake. But I was still mad and I wanted to know what she was up to  . . .'

‘So?'

‘I hid and waited, and then followed her when she went out. She got a bus and I followed her into town, then she got another bus up to North Shore.'

‘How did you follow her?'

‘On my bike. Pretty easy. Buses don't go that fast. Anyway, she got off at North Shore, so I dumped my bike in a backyard and legged after her on foot, and next thing she's walking up to a flat, when the two geeks come out and there's a load of kissing and huggin' and stuff. Fuck, I thought
they
didn't do things like that in public. Y'know – Asians.'

Henry rolled his eyes. ‘Where was this?' Henry mentioned the name of a road and Mark confirmed it. ‘Then what happened?'