Clarke had phoned Mrs Riley and informed her that her son was distracted from his work by calls from his mother. There had been some silence in response to this communication, but Clarke thought she had not sounded too unfriendly. It was her job to ensure her teams worked to the best of their abilities and she made sure to stress that. Mothers unnerving their sons by phoning them did not contribute to an optimal work environment.
It was not her job to placate the mothers of said sons and she kept that in mind. For a moment it crossed her mind that one was not generally so blunt to the mother of someone one had slept with, but she closed her eyes hard and deleted that memory. Besides, Mrs Riley had no idea. To Mrs Riley she was only James' boss. She should be that to anybody, even to herself.
She wished he were a little better at running his own life, because so far he seemed to focus far too much on hers. It must be difficult, though, to tell one's mother to back off. It was not a problem she recognised. Her mother was not interfering.
"Let's discuss this before you go," Riley said as Clarke drove them to her flat. He had wanted to go to his own flat that evening to put away the mail, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. There was not enough time today. "How are you going?"
She was cool, as usual. "On foot. I can see the restaurant from my window."
"At least that means he can't drive you home." The man might try to walk her home, but it was much more difficult to abduct somebody on foot.
"Exactly."
"Will you change your clothes?" He hoped she would not get into that skirt with the clinging top again.
"No."
"At least those are two wise decisions," he commented doubtfully.
She laughed and sounded confident. "I'll give you my spare keys. Look, I don't plan to go anywhere but from my front door to the restaurant and back. I don't plan to take him inside. I don't plan to leave room for anyone else to come inside with me either. And you will be inside waiting for me, won't you? Or you will be close behind."
That was true. It sounded as if very little could happen, but he still had no faith in the plan. "And what are you going to tell this bloke?"
"Nothing. I'm trying to tell him as little as possible in return for a promise that he won't endanger our case."
"And is he stupid enough to fall for that, do you think? He wants to dine with you because he wants information. Or because he wants something else." He frowned darkly as he spoke. Something might happen if the man did not get what he wanted. Something might also happen if the man was close to getting what he wanted.
"Yes, he's a man. Does he know you?"
"I'm not sure. I'll sit at another table, so I don't intrude on your date, but I can still interfere if it gets out of hand."
"You're paranoid."
He was either paranoid or jealous. He did not know precisely. Perhaps he was both. "How many courses will you be ordering? I don't want to finish too soon."
"Soup, main course, dessert. Unless you think I'll put on too much weight if I eat all that?"
"I doubt I'm going to have to lift you again, so what do I care?" Riley said provocatively.
She smiled. "We're going again on Friday. Better prepare yourself."
"Oh, that's the deal, is it? I do as you say in return for being tolerated in your vicinity."
Her smile grew wider. "You do as I say, yes."
They had gone home at a decent hour to prepare themselves, which consisted of Riley going over various scenarios and Clarke stoically doing her laundry. He had followed her everywhere because she kept escaping him and he had ended up in her bedroom, where she began to sort through a pile of clothes on her bed.
"Won't you listen?" he asked in frustration. They needed to discuss this.
"I am listening -- and I'm doing laundry at the same time. Nobody else is going to do it for me."
"I wonder that you don't think my seeing it intrusive."
"I do, but I think it more objectionable not to tidy it away. Next time you run into your dear colleagues," she said unexpectedly vehemently, tossing a few bras his way, "I want you to remember that I didn't wash so many of these because they look good in the washing machine, but because I actually wear them."
He hardly dared to look at them. "Yes, ma'am. You did that to make me uncomfortable, didn't you? I'd be so impressed by the sight that I'd stop instructing you about tonight."
She would almost laugh at the idea that Riley was being made uncomfortable by a few pieces of underwear. "You don't have to instruct me. I have a brain."
"Yes, but --"
"I have a brain."
"Seriously? Why then do you think mine stops functioning because you wave a few bras in front of my eyes?"
"Because I think that maybe it does. But I've heard your plans. I have nothing to add. Trust me." She had listened and his plans had been sound. She had no idea why he had kept repeating them. Maybe he had expected her to protest and he had assumed that she was not listening when she did not.
And no one was going to do her laundry for her, certainly not Riley.
Riley let Clarke walk to the restaurant first. Nothing would happen to her when she crossed the street, he trusted, nor when she waited outside the entrance for Jonathan Kerry. He waited in a doorway on the other side of the street, pretending to be on the phone.
She sat on a low wall outside the restaurant, looking at ease. He wondered if she was. His concern had seemed to annoy her, although there had been glimpses of uncertainty. She could not be as cool as she pretended to be, although he was willing to believe no one had ever followed up on a threat before.
Some ten minutes later, Jonathan Kerry arrived in a red sports car. Riley would have preferred something blue, but having a sports car by no means precluded his having another one for more mundane trips. Tomorrow he could have someone find out how many cars Kerry had.
Clarke knew the man, but he detected nothing extraordinary in her greeting. He had asked her about Kerry, but he had not been able to unearth more than that she guessed he was between forty and fifty. Googling had not taught him anything about the man's personality. The sports car was a bad sign, though.
When the pair had gone in, he crossed the street. He hoped the restaurant was not crowded, although Clarke had said it rarely was on a Thursday. She had been right and he could get a table that gave him a good view of Clarke's face and Kerry's back. If they spoke loudly he might even overhear them. He wondered if she had been responsible for choosing their table. If so, she had done well.
He studied the menu and ordered a beer, because men going to restaurants on their own must make it enjoyable for themselves. After his order had been taken, he walked towards the table with the magazines and newspapers and picked some up. As he returned to his table, he made sure to get a good look at Kerry's face. He had seen it before, but he was not sure he had seen the man often enough for him to be recognised himself -- if Kerry was paying attention to him at all, which was not the case.
"Wine?" asked Kerry.
"No, I don't drink wine, sorry," Clarke replied very politely.
She did not drink wine? That was surprising. Riley wondered if she had given up wine after their encounter, although the wine had been in no way to blame. One glass. A member of the wine lovers society could probably handle much more.
For several minutes they were occupied in selecting dishes. Riley was glad he had asked Clarke about this beforehand. It spared him the trouble of guessing how much they ordered.
"Do you never drink?" asked Kerry.
"It's not compatible with my medication." Clarke had decided she would remain cool and sober, even if there were other reasons not to drink. She did not know what Kerry wanted, but she was not going to give him anything. He was charming and he had certainly turned up the charm even more this evening, opening the door and pulling out her chair. "And you are driving."
"I forgot you are with the police," he said with a smile, although he had addressed her as Superintendent Clarke earlier.
"I thought that was why you asked to speak to me." She managed to look slightly puzzled.
"It was...although I'm very glad I have the chance to meet you in an informal setting as well."
She knew someone who was less glad and she could not help but smile. She had dared one look at Riley, but he had been glaring from behind a stupid magazine. It was silly. She was not going to be cut to pieces here in the Lotus Garden and nobody was going to attack her on the short stretch from the restaurant to her front door. She simply could not imagine it, even without Riley looking out for her.
"I have always been interested in what you were really like," Kerry continued, encouraged by her smile. "But there is never any time for that in a professional setting, is there? You're very busy."
Riley's words came to her. Had there ever been anyone who had wanted something from her? Here might be someone, although it was probably far more innocent than what Riley had meant. "Yes, I'm very busy."
"But not too busy to dine with me."
"It's work, actually," she said charmingly. "It's part of my job. You rang me."
"Has nothing been found yet?"
"Now..." she said with a slow smile. She wanted to know his intentions before she gave him an answer. "If I say yes, you'd wonder why nobody knows, but if I say no, you'd wonder why we haven't found it, because you think it should have been there."
"Exactly."
"Why are you so sure something should have been found?"
"Hadn't your team realised all these body parts were found ten days apart? And that ten days have passed since the last one? More than ten?"
That was what he had said over the phone. She had been non-committal about it then and she could be the same now. "Maybe."
"Or will they pass this off as their own thinking work now?" He looked a little indignant.
"Maybe."
"That's not very nice of you," he complained.
"I'm sorry. Though we're always glad for tips from the public, whether it was something we already knew or not. We like some involvement from the public. What made you look at the dates?"
"Me?" Kerry looked a little confused. He had not expected her to question him.
"I can imagine that not everyone would. It's very clever that you did."
"Well, I don't know. It just seemed obvious to me when I looked at the dates."
It would have been very obvious if it had been the first, the eleventh and then the twenty-first of the month, but not all discoveries had taken place in the same month. Someone taking only a casual interest in the case, or someone simply writing what he had been told at a press briefing would not have noticed. Clarke knew exactly what had been said to the press; she had done that herself and she had never mentioned the intervals.
"It was nice of you not to write about it. Why didn't you?" They usually wrote more than they knew, not less. She could not think his reticence could only be due to a wish to be nice to her. It was simply not logical. There must be something else.
"I thought there must be something up if you hadn't mentioned it to the media." Kerry looked inquisitive. "Some clever plan of yours, no doubt."
"Oh, of mine?" She was not even in charge of the investigation; that was Riley. Maybe he did not know that.
"Aren't you clever? Or just beautiful?"
Clarke had not expected anything like that and she was a little taken aback, especially because he was gazing intensely into her eyes. This came rather out of the blue. "Er..."
"Are you surprised I said that? Is modesty another of your virtues?"
"Apart from the fact that I think you're highly exaggerating, it has nothing to do with the case," she smiled, recovering herself. It was pleasant to hear, but it was of course not true. "Of course I was surprised."
"Well, I wasn't lying. You're very beautiful."
She needed to adapt her strategy now and she smiled as she wondered how.
Riley had already paid. His warrant card had unobtrusively been shown and the waiter had been most helpful. Consequently he was able to leave his table quietly when Kerry asked for the bill. Kerry did not see him, but Clarke did. She was letting Kerry pay, of course. That kept his attention off the rest of the restaurant.
Not that he had much attention for that before. Riley scowled when he thought of how the man had taken Clarke's hand. To see where he might cut it off best, naturally.
He slipped out of the door and quickly crossed the street. Earlier he had seen a good spot for himself, the roof above the entrance to Clarke's building. The entrance protruded a little and there was just enough space to lie down behind the two large eights that constituted the house number. It was dark and nobody would see him climb up.
From here he had a good view of the street; he could even see the Lotus Garden. Two people came out of it now, a man and a woman, and they walked in his direction. He was pleased to see it. Should Kerry somehow have tried to drag Clarke to his car, he would have been too far away to do anything about it. He could only have jumped off the roof and run to his own car. Fortunately none of that was necessary.
It did not take long for Clarke and Kerry to reach the front door. Riley was now directly above them. He braced himself. She had better not be so stupid as to let the man in, yet he could not imagine Kerry had accompanied her for another reason. Clarke was not the sort who felt she needed an escort to cross the street. She was perfectly capable of coldly saying goodbye in a car park -- but perhaps not to a man who had been allowed to hold her hands. This had bothered him.
"Well..." said Clarke, digging in her pocket for her keys.
"I had a lovely evening, Sophia," the man said warmly.
Riley felt his meal rise. Sophia. Had she offered that privilege to him or had he asked if he could call her that? She always seemed comfortable with merely being Superintendent, even with men who knew her intimately. Of course he only knew her body somewhat intimately; her mind was still a mystery at best.
"It was very nice," she agreed and her eyes gleamed.
"I'm sorry we've finished our dinner. I'd be sorry to give up the pleasure of your company so soon already."
She said nothing.
He took her hand. "Sophia...do you think..."
"Hmm?"
"I wish we could talk just a little bit longer."
It was clear to Riley what the man was after, but Clarke was merely smiling dumbly as if she had no idea. He wanted to warn her to be careful, but such a thing was of course impossible without giving away that he was nearby. And she had a brain, she stressed so often. He should not forget that.
"You're probably not the kind of woman to ask men very often if they'd like to continue the conversation inside," said Kerry.
"Well..."
"I see you believe it's safer to go home with a man, because that gives you the opportunity to leave whenever you like. Yes, you'd be clever like that."
She smiled. "I don't believe in getting to know somebody in a living room."
Riley could see he and Kerry had the same idea, but they reacted rather differently to it. Riley wanted to jump on Kerry and give him a good punch, but he suspected that Kerry would rather jump on Clarke -- in something more private than a living room.
She had not finished speaking, however. Or perhaps she had sensed she was not getting her point across very well. "I prefer neutral spaces like restaurants."
"I like you all the better for that," Kerry said warmly once he had recovered from the disappointment he must have felt. "You're not a woman who chooses lightly. You're a very special woman. You have saved yourself for that one special man, haven't you?"
Riley wondered where he got that idea. Naturally if she did not want Kerry it must be because she did not want any men at all. He had been tempted to think the same himself with regard to Clarke's cool reaction to their little encounter, but from what he had heard Kerry had no reason to base his assumption on anything. It was nothing she had said and certainly nothing he could have personally experienced.
Clarke was probably wondering the same. She hesitated and her eyes grew considerably wider, they even flickered briefly towards the roof, but she said nothing. Then she cast down her eyes like a demure and slightly embarrassed virgin -- or rather, like Riley's idea of one.
"Don't worry about telling me the truth. I know it may be embarrassing, but I'm very understanding. It's amazing that such a beautiful woman hasn't yet been snatched away, but I'm very impressed. My dear Sophia, I'm not going to pressure you." He briefly touched her cheek.
Riley shuddered in disgust. He could not think Clarke would take the absence of pressure as a hint to take the initiative. She would not. She could not be so stupid.
"I'm going to say goodbye here," said Kerry, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. "Good night."
"Good night," said Clarke.
Riley waited until Kerry had gone back to his car. Then he lowered himself off the roof and entered the building with Clarke's spare key. He ran up the first flight of stairs, hoping that Clarke would not have been so foolish as to go into her flat without him.
She was not. She was sitting on the stairs, out of sight of the front door. "I thought you wouldn't want me to go any further," she said, although it was not clear to what she referred precisely.
"What do you mean? What did you find out? What were you doing?"
She looked away. "I need a bath first. I have to make sense of some things."
"He -- he -- he completely bedazzled you!" cried Riley as he followed her up the stairs. He even had to open her door for her because she could not stick her key into the lock. He wanted to shake her and tell her not to be so stupid.
"Oh, he is so suspicious," Clarke said dreamily.
"I beg your pardon?" He was certainly suspicious of that man and of her reaction to him, and he really did not think that strange or worthy of mockery at all.
"Suspicious."
"Is it any wonder that I am?"
Clarke's dreamy eyes focused a little more. "You? I meant Jonathan Kerry."
"You're in love with his suspiciousness?" It began to dawn on him that her eyes gleamed in the same manner as on their snooping trip. She could not be turned on by humans, only by mysteries and puzzles. That was a relief. She was not affected by Kerry.
"I'm thrilled that I may be onto something."
"You looked as if you were thrilled that he was hitting on you," he said accusingly. And she had allowed the man far too many liberties.
"Men and their desires never thrill me."
Riley sulked. He was even too put out to remember neither of them wanted to talk about it. "I'm glad you enjoyed us too."
"I'm not surprised women never call you back if you expect them to enjoy one minute of selfishness," Clarke said bluntly. "Or was it more like fifteen seconds of fame?"
He was speechless.
"It wasn't that bad, though, but I'm strange." Immediately she disappeared into the bathroom.
He followed her after a second and wanted to hear more about that. "It wasn't?"
She turned on the taps and took off her shoes. "Jimmy," she said, pausing in her attempt to take off her tights without removing her skirt. "I'm about to take a bath. Would you mind leaving? Or...hand me my swimwear. Then you can stay and listen. It's in that drawer."
He was not ready to make the switch to something completely different. Not as quickly and coolly as she was, anyway. "You are indeed strange. And you said nothing when that man said you had saved yourself. Now he's still applying for the position of special man!"
"His chauvinistic train of thought was fascinating. All these conclusions about the extent of my experience when I never said anything one way or the other," she said in a very thoughtful voice. "Should I have told him about the man on the roof? He would have hit me over the head with that pedestal he pretended to have put me on. Give me my swimwear."
He looked in the drawer and pulled out a pink bikini top. "Wow, Superintendent!"
"The black thing, please. That pink thing dates from my younger days."
The black thing was indeed more suitable for a superintendent. Riley grinned in spite of the fact that he felt frustrated by her unwillingness to speak about them. "Get changed. I'll be back in a few minutes. Wine?" he offered.
"No. I'm not drinking that for a while."
He went to the kitchen and made them some hot chocolate, which was highly suitable for older ladies, but perhaps not for people drinking decadently in the bathroom. He supposed she was not drinking wine to avoid a repetition of events. Although she had spoken about it now, he thought she would rather have avoided the subject. It was not going to return and he could be sorry or he could accept it. He would have to accept it and return to it later. After all, she had said it was not that bad, whatever that meant. He wondered why, if it was not that bad, it was not good enough to be discussed.
When he returned she was in the bath, though it was still running. "So..." he said. He would leave the introduction of a topic up to her.
"That man is definitely suspicious."
Riley sat down on a stool and placed her mug on the edge of the bath. "I told you so."
"He flattered me senseless. Tried to make me think I was beautiful and all that."
He studied her reclining form. This was not the right moment to comment on her looks, although it would be grossly naive of her to think she was ugly, especially if she was in the bath. The jeans and the gleaming eyes had only been the first indicators. After that it had only got worse -- or better.
Clarke missed his scrutiny because she had her eyes closed. "I pretended to be flattered. It's not something you hear every day, is it, although personally I'd rather have more trustworthy admiration. Then when he thought he had me, I threw out some bait of my own. I couldn't get a good answer to why he didn't write about our not finding anything or our being silent about the second foot. I never gave him one answer or the other, but I felt he knew or suspected that was something indeed. He certainly knew there should have been something, but he says that was because it was obvious." She paused. "Are you still following me?"
"A little." He was trying, but there were distractions.
"Obviously I didn't ask him if he knew because he was involved."
"No," he agreed. That would not have done much good. "But you think he was?"
"I'm not sure, but he evaded my remarks about freezers."
"Like that, freezers?"
"I have a brain!" she protested.
"I forgot. Sorry."
"He asked if I often ate at the Lotus Garden and I said I sometimes got a takeaway, but that I always had to put the leftovers in the freezer and that it was never enough for a full meal, so that I needed room for three containers, which I didn't have, so that I didn't often get a takeaway."
"In a less rambling manner," he hoped.
"Of course. But he said nothing that was remotely connected to anything I said. He changed the subject. Just like that. When he flattered me about everything else. He should have praised me for my economy, or something like that, because he certainly praised me for other daft stuff. Even my choice of clothing and I know from my dear colleagues that there is a lot wrong with my taste."
He could not suppress a smile. There was nothing wrong with her taste in casual clothing. "So you think he has a freezer."
"Obviously he was clever enough to realise he shouldn't reveal how many takeaway containers he could store in it."
"If he didn't have a body in there already."
There were disadvantages to playing Clarke's bodyguard, notably because she refused to spend the night at his flat the next day. Riley, who had things to do there, had suggested this, but she had considered that a good opportunity to be rid of her watchdog. He had not understood her at first, because she had chatted with him normally -- as much as chatting with a woman who was taking a bath in swimwear could be considered normal. It had been agreeable. Too agreeable, perhaps, and she had needed some distance.
The moment she was out of the bath and dressed in her bathrobe, she stopped being agreeable. He did not mind her needing some distance -- he understood -- as long as she was not home all by herself. He therefore suggested she visit her parents.
"My mother," Clarke corrected a little incredulously. "Would you stay with your mother simply because I thought it a good idea?"
"You cannot have the same type of mother, or you would not have complained about mine," he pointed out. Of course he would not stay with his mother. She was right about that, but her mother would be different. "Is it possible for you to stay with her?"
"She lives in a home."
"Oh, right. You told me she was old."
"She doesn't live in a home because she's old, but because she can't be bothered to take an interest in earthly concerns," Clarke said sarcastically.
"Don't be so contrary." He could hardly believe he was speaking to his boss in that manner, but the lines had blurred somewhat. "Could you stay with her or not?"
"I could, but why should I? Simply because some man is suspicious it doesn't mean he's going to come over this weekend to kill me."
"I don't know why you're putting up so much resistance. Your brain -- the one you mention all the time -- knows I'm right. Would you be so annoying if it wasn't me? Go and stay with someone this weekend if you don't want to stay with me. See? It's not about me."
She said nothing and began to brush her teeth.
Riley sighed and took the mugs back to the kitchen so she could change. If she insisted on being stupid he might have to think of something else, but he hoped she would see reason. He did not think she was in danger of being killed this weekend, but the danger of being asked out by Jonathan Kerry, for whatever purpose, was rather large. And he did not like that.
"There are too many men trying to get me into bed," she said when he returned to the bathroom to brush his own teeth. "I don't like it."
"Are there more besides Jonathan Kerry?" he wondered. Although it was good to hear she had no intention of falling for the man, it was not so good she did not seem to like getting into bed with anyone. He did not want for it to happen again, but she could at least have enjoyed that one time somewhat if she cared about his ego. Pathetically he thought it had been beautiful.
She pushed past him without looking him in the face. "I'll go and stay with my mother."
He would almost cheer that she had given in. "I'll drive you there tomorrow afternoon."
Clarke turned back to give him a reply. "Why do I think it's pointless to argue with you? This annoys me. But I don't think you should meet my mother. She's rather conservative."
"What does that mean? You're not allowed to go anywhere with unmarried men?"
"No, my mother is -- the problem is that I have no idea whether she is genuine or not, or simply taking advantage of her age, but she would -- I have seen this with my sister -- but she would be so nice to you that you'd feel extremely guilty for not..." She screwed up her face. "...not doing what she thinks you will do. And she will think you will do that because there's no room for other notions in her conservative world view and because, of course, she cannot imagine there are other notions in mine."
"That sounds intriguing. Is that why you don't like taking men home? Because your mother will be nice to them?"
"Oh no. That's because my family have a talent for abstinence; my mother used to be a nun. Good night."
A nun? He stared after her.
Clarke had retreated into her bedroom. She had left the door merely ajar this time, more likely feeling a lot safer tonight. Riley was left to go over what she had told him as he prepared himself for bed. He thought it was rather good of him that he remembered to transfer the laundry from the washing machine to the dryer, something she had forgotten.
Arousing Clarke's suspicions was no great feat in itself, since she seemed to have a rather fertile imagination -- the Treminster Club came to mind. Nevertheless, Riley thought her current suspicions very significant. As he was well aware, that was not in the least because they coincided with his.
They had nothing very real to go on even now. So Jonathan Kerry had, or pretended to have, the hots for Clarke. Riley more than Clarke thought there might be a grain of truth in that, although he had to keep in mind that he had likely seen far more of Clarke than Kerry had. This included Clarke in swimwear, which was rather nicer than it ought to be at her age and nicer than it appeared under those awful jackets and skirts. But Kerry could not know about it.
Kerry would be exaggerating a little with his admiration. Or more than a little, if you asked Clarke. He could still be after information and not after a new body, and she had said she had given him nothing. If he was really determined, he would ask her again why they had not made the discovery of the last body part public. Clarke at least seemed convinced he was certain there had been a body part.
Riley reviewed this. One did not have to be a genius to find out all discoveries had been ten days apart. Kerry could certainly have managed that on his own if he was innocent. However, it was more plausible for this pattern to have been broken than for the police to have hushed up the last find. Was it not? But perhaps Clarke and he were not the geniuses they believed themselves to be and an amateur had no problems second-guessing them.
So Kerry was second-guessing them, who were second-guessing the murderer. Clarke had not said anything about Kerry mentioning the murderer. How significant was that? If the man was doing some thinking of his own, should he not have kept the murderer in mind? It should be abundantly clear that any reticence on their part had to do with catching the murderer, not with pestering reporters. Yet he had not got the impression from Clarke that Kerry cared about this distinction.
It was possible that Kerry did not care because he was the murderer, in which case he was not out to help at all.
He was suspicious because he hit on Clarke and because, she said, he had evaded her comment about freezers. Riley hoped she had sounded more innocent and less rambling than she had to him, because everyone would evade giving reactions to rambling comments. But since she did not usually talk like an airhead, perhaps she had pulled that off. So freezers were a no-go area in conversation.
But why was he targeting Clarke and her district? Or had he targeted the district he lived and worked in and was Clarke the fortunate consequence? He might have to dig in her past. She would love that. Her mother used to be a nun, she had said. The idea of a naughty nun leaving the convent to give birth to Clarke was intriguing, only he could not imagine she was the least bit naughty if her daughter took after her. The superintendent would not have been up to very much, but she might have left a few frustrated men behind.
The next morning Riley was woken by someone shaking his shoulder. He sat up instantly. "What is it?"
"I'm so hungry. For food," Clarke quickly clarified lest she give him the wrong impression. "I thought I'd let you know I'm going to the kitchen to prepare something. If you hear something, don't worry."
He groaned and fell back onto his pillow. "What time is it?"
"Half past four," she said guiltily. It was far too early to be awake, but she was so hungry. She had woken once and ignored the grumbling of her stomach, but the second time she had looked at the clock and realised she would keep waking if she did not eat something.
He groaned again. "Should I have let you order more courses last night?"
"I thought it was enough. Well, sleep on." She hoped she would be able to do the same after eating, but she might be tempted to look out of the kitchen window to look out for herself. She could not leave everything to him. It would make her feel better if she did not.
"Don't turn on the light, don't --"
"Shut up. I have a brain." She nearly ruffled his hair.
She was back at six o'clock. He was pleased to see she was still alive. Although he had tried to listen for odd sounds, he had fallen asleep again earlier. While she went to do her exercising, he went to the kitchen to look out of the window. There were no suspicious cars, as far as he could tell, not even when he switched on the light in the living room.
"I'm going to take a long shower because it all looks safe," he said to Clarke on her exercise machine. "I'll leave the door open."
"I'm too busy to look," she replied.
Clarke joined him in the kitchen at 6:40. He was surprised. "Your routine is all out of order now," he said.
"I was too tired to exercise properly. I thought of something in the shower. It may be your mother, you know. She could be eliminating all women you've been seeing who are not to her liking. And she could be stalking me," she mused.
Riley pondered this notion. There were some flaws in it.
She thought so too. "But where did she leave the other bodies?"
"Oh yes, the multitude of bodies." It was interesting to wonder just how many she thought there were. "My mother and I have been busy then. Was I an accomplice?"
"No. It was all her doing. She simply doesn't trust you to make your own decisions, so she removes all unworthy women before you could tie yourself down."
"I don't need my mother for that," Riley snorted. "The job has done a good job of that so far, always interrupting my second dates. Or are you suggesting my mother had a hand in all those crimes?" She would be of unrivalled omnipotence and evilness if that were the case, but he thought she was simply worried and a little interfering.
"What is so significant about second dates?"
"Nothing, except that they take place well before I could tie myself down." Obviously. Or he might have tied himself down already if that was possible with his job. He suspected that not everyone thought it was. Even Clarke had not given the good example.
"I find it hard to believe the job always interfered. You must have reached the third date sometimes."
"Well, if your mother was a nun perhaps you'd prefer to ascribe the punctual interference to a higher power." He would be surprised if she did. Higher powers were not her thing, he guessed.
"I'm an atheist," Clarke said coolly. "But very well. Your mother is not involved. It would be too much for her to arrange all that."
"You, as my boss, could be involved," Riley suggested. "Especially since you were the ultimate beneficiary. Not that you would see it as such, of course," he added, remembering she had spoken of one minute of selfishness. Nobody could feel a beneficiary of that, not even if his opinion differed radically from hers.
"No, I wouldn't." She devoted her attention to her breakfast. It was wiser to eat -- and she was still hungry.
He did not see much of her at work that day. She spoke a lot to Patterson and Quinn, as if to make up for having spent so much attention on Riley's case. She left him out of that, which they might think strange because he was their direct superior, although there was always the excuse of having a case of his own now. He set Bradley to work on unearthing as much about Jonathan Kerry as he could, however, and he did some more paperwork. There was never a shortage of that.
Some of the others on his team were looking up number plates they had seen in Pell and he did not think anybody was looking for something to do. After all, several of them still had exams to pass and at dull moments a little studying was allowed. He could set them all to work on Jonathan Kerry, but how was he to explain that? That he thought Kerry suspicious because he had dined with Clarke was rather revealing and for her part Clarke would not like it to become known that she had received a threatening note and that she had an admirer.
At least Riley did not think so. Clarke was not the sort to boast of male attention. She ignored it, whether something had dared to happen or not. He had given Bradley a vague reason that had luckily not been questioned.
After a few hours he received a report from Bradley. Jonathan Kerry did not have a second car. He had a house just outside town in which he presumably lived alone. His hobbies were apparently easy to discover, as well as what he usually wrote about. None of this was very suspicious at a glance, although in light of their suspicions the man's fascination for crime was interesting. And he hunted. Riley wondered if he cut up his own catches and if he stored them in a freezer.
Bradley had waited. "Do we think it's him, sir?"
He would not give an elaborate answer to that yet. "He's writing about the case."
"Yes, I saw that."
"Get Lewis to find all his articles of the past months or years. I don't know how many there'd be. She can ignore the ones that have nothing to do with crime, the police, cutting up people or animals, fame --"
"Fame?" Bradley cut in.
"Maybe he wants to become famous with a really good piece about this case. Maybe this desire shines through in his work. Who knows?"
"He has a website to promote himself already. I thought it was for freelancing. I got some info off it. The address is on the sheet."
"I want you and Lewis, and maybe someone else if you need one, to read his articles. See how he writes about us, too. I realise it's Friday afternoon, but note down all you've got before you leave and continue on Monday, all right?" When he had first needed to give people such orders he had thought anyone would be so clever as to think of that on his own, but he had found that reminding them was rather necessary or they would have to start completely anew on Monday.
"If this is a serious suspect, everyone would want to help."
"The zeal!" Riley was surprised. "Come and tell me if you need more hands and I'll give it some consideration." He was not sure it was wise to have it leak out that they were investigating Jonathan Kerry and the more people knew about it, the greater that chance.
After reading through the web log, he set to work on turning the information about Kerry into an anonymous profile. Maybe the psycho babe could compare it to a profile of the murderer. Clarke would still be highly suspicious of her, but it might be a step they needed to take.
At four o'clock Clarke came to say she was going home. It was considerate that she did not take off in secret and it was equally considerate that he was in his own office when she told him. Telling him in front of everybody that he should get a move on was something she would probably not have done, yet she did need him to come with her because they had come in his car.
They had come too early to be seen, but now they were leaving too early not to be seen. He shrugged and concluded she must not care, but he could not help thinking of an excuse should someone ask them where they were going together.
"My mother doesn't go to sleep very late," she said when he caught up with her downstairs. "I still have to pack and we have to get you something to eat."
"Did you notify your mother?"
"She'd only be worried that I drove into a ditch, never mind that I pass no ditches on the way and that I've never driven into anything at all," she said dryly. "She's worse than you, really."
"Then you shouldn't be minding me all that much," he shot back. "How far is it?"
"Half an hour. You'll be back in time for dinner."
"I'll pick something up on my way back."
"Oh, no. You must eat something healthy."
"Yes, mother. Why?" He was amused. He never regularly ate anything really unhealthy, but she probably thought he did.
"Because..." She looked surprised that she would have to explain. "That's good for everybody. I'll give you something from my fridge. Someone needs to eat it if I'm away anyway. It would be a waste to throw it away."
Riley rolled his eyes, but he said nothing. He drove to her flat, where she packed a bag for herself and then a small bag with food from the fridge for him. He spent that time looking out of the kitchen window. Jonathan Kerry's car had not been in sight and he had not seen any blue cars either. None at all, not even innocent ones.
When Clarke had packed, they went downstairs to the car. He kept an eye out to see if anyone followed him as he drove away, but there was no one. She would be safe this weekend and that was a relief. "If that guy phones you..."
"He can't. Besides, I have a brain."
"Oh, right. Does that mean he doesn't have your number?"
"Precisely. I don't want everyone to call me on my mobile number. I need it for work. Can you imagine being disturbed by random people while someone is trying to get through with something important?"
"Random people, as in people you have dated?" He chuckled, perhaps because people she had dated were referred to as random. "I've found that refusing to take numbers of random people ensures that said random people will refuse to call me. I can't clog up my phone with random numbers because finding important numbers would take too long. I tell them straight away that I won't phone. Do you think that's too blunt? I prefer to think of it as honest, but I don't know."
"You in fact tell them straight away that you don't give a toss about them and then you wonder why they don't call?" She laughed. "Who would call a man who says he won't call?"
"You? Because you don't want to be called." There had to be more types like her, only he had never met any.
"No, but -- never mind."
The drive was a little more than half an hour on Friday afternoon and it was a quarter past five when he pulled up outside a new-looking building called Roseview Residence. During the drive Riley had been wondering if he was allowed to meet Clarke's mother, but he had not asked. When he stopped, however, he received his answer.
"I can go alone," she said, fumbling with her bag. "When are you coming back?"
"Sunday evening. Better than Monday morning at 6:30..." He wondered if her mother was going to come outside to say goodbye. He was still curious.
"I'll call you Sunday afternoon," she decided.
"See? You call men who don't call you."
"But you have my number and you use it, because I'm not random but work."
She was certainly not random. "Still! Enjoy your weekend."
He was home half an hour later and looked into the bag she had given him. How was he supposed to cook a dinner from a collection of loose vegetables and a wrapped up piece of meat alone? He did not see any sauce in the bag. He could call Clarke, of course, but she would no doubt tell him he ought to know. He had never imagined he would once make use of the cookbooks his mother had given him.
Either Riley had made her paranoid or she was truly in need of a weekend away, even if this was at her mother's. Amazingly Clarke was looking forward to doing nothing at all among a bunch of elderly people. She carried her bag into the building and put away her key. She had one, because her mother usually spent more time gardening than in her apartment, but this time she was in. She was greeted warmly.
But there was a catch. "Who was that man who dropped you off, sweetie?"
Clearly her mother was sometimes not gardening, but looking out on the street. She should have looked up. "It could have been a woman."
"It's a male thing to do. Who was he?"
She could at that moment not think of good reasons for a woman to drop her off and she capitulated. "A colleague."
"What a sweet colleague! Why didn't you ask him up for a cup of tea?"
Because he would probably be made to stay as well and they would have to share the couch -- because what else could he be except her boyfriend -- with her mother in the next room. Or both of them in her mother's bed and her mother on the couch, but she would never allow her mother to sleep there. "He had somewhere to go."
"It was very sweet of him to drop you off if he had somewhere to go. You must ask him in when he comes to pick you up."
"Who says he will?" She was being contrary. Of course someone was going to pick her up again and it was logical for that to be the same man.
"He's a nice man; he won't let you walk home. When is he going to pick you up?"
"Sunday." She wondered how her mother could know it was a nice man. And why was she not asked if anything had happened to her car? Her mother seemed to think it absolutely normal for nice men to give her rides because they were nice men.
"Lovely. Are you really staying here that long? That is lovely. You really must ask him in."
"Yes, Mum," Clarke said dutifully.
It was a quiet weekend. Riley did some work around the house without being disturbed about the case or anything else. Nobody rang him until Sunday afternoon, when Clarke did. Apparently her mother insisted on asking him in if he came to pick her up and she warned him that he must have dinner with them. She did not sound as opposed to the idea as he would have expected, but she mentioned flirtatious old men at meals.
He was too curious about everything to say no. A former nun for a mother and flirtatious ninety-year-olds going after Clarke -- he was never going to turn down the opportunity.
He presented himself at Roseview Residence at four o'clock as requested. Clarke opened the door for him, in spite of there being an intercom and a buzzer. Presumably she wanted to instruct him before seeing her mother, but he had something to tell her as well. "I can see why ninety-year-olds think you a sprightly young thing. I've only just rung the bell and here you are already."
She had to laugh in spite of herself. "Spare me your amusement. Did anything happen this weekend? Nobody called me."
"Nothing at all. Oh, I cooked. Twice." Surprisingly it had come out fine.
"Amazing. I'm very proud. My mother is in the garden, by the way. I wonder if you could be of any use. I forbade her to climb up a ladder into the pear tree and I'm not dressed for going up myself, although my new octogenarian friends are all offering to hold the ladder."
Riley glanced at her skirt.
She caught his glance. "I see you see why. My mother thinks they simply want to be helpful."
"I'll climb. Are you sure there are no old ladies er..."
"I'm sure you won't mind and we can see everything even if you're not on a ladder anyway." She led him past a lounge where a few people were either dozing off or watching television, into the garden. At the far end of it a group of old men were sitting on garden chairs some distance from a woman who was plucking pears off the lower branches of a tree. That was Clarke's mother, he supposed.
"Hello!" said the woman, who did look as if she was Clarke's mother, even if she looked much younger than his grandmother. There was a faint resemblance to Clarke in spite of the grey hair and the glasses. Contrary to her daughter, though, she was all smiles. "How lovely to meet a colleague of Sophia's. It was very sweet of you to give her a ride."
"I'm pleased to meet you," Riley said politely. He wondered what had been said about him. But at least Clarke's suspicions about her mother's niceness had been correct. He did not yet know what to make of it. It might be embarrassing to Clarke, but he thought it was genuine.
"I wonder if you could do me a favour as well. Sophia refuses to go up that ladder and she won't allow me to go either. Could you? She said you would."
He gave Clarke a look. Had she said that before she asked him? "All right." He did not want Clarke's mother to fall down, nor for any old men to make Clarke uncomfortable.
"That would be very sweet of you."
He climbed up the ladder and got as many pears as he could.
Clarke sat by her mother, because he had assured them he was fine. She saw no point in standing under the tree, thanking him politely for each pear, which she knew her mother would do. He would soon start to think of it as absurd, because there were rather too many pears.
"What a lovely young man," said her mother. "How nice to have such young men at work. So helpful and such a nice smile. And so polite."
"I'm his boss. Of course he's polite to my mother."
"Something has been bothering you all weekend. It wasn't him, surely?"
Something had been bothering her indeed and she had almost confided in her mother, because she was almost sure she would not be judged. There had been no reason to speak yet. Maybe there was now. "In five days I'll know if I'm pregnant," she said in a low voice.
"That's nice, dear."
"No, it's not." She had wanted a different sort of reaction, even if she had not counted on it. It would not even make a difference to exaggerate it into immoral proportions. It was very disheartening.
"You have the advantage of not being a nun."
"Hmph." People would understand a nun choosing to have babies, she assumed, whereas they would snicker and gossip behind her back, especially at her age and lack of a husband. Even if they did know about the father they would gossip. And she was aware of her nickname. It seemed so incompatible with motherhood. Her whole life was incompatible with it.
Her mother was unable to read her mind. "Cheer up, Sophia. As I said, you're not a nun."
"I think it would be better to be a nun wanting babies than not to be a nun and not wanting them."
"There are no men available to a nun wanting babies, but perhaps there are too many men available to a woman not wanting them. Yes, of course."
Clarke still was not cheered up. It was impossible to cheer her up, unless someone invented a time machine that took her back two weeks.
"Wonderful," said Mrs Clarke when Riley came towards them. He had just descended the ladder with the basket. "We've never had so much. We could never climb so high. What is your name, dear? Sophia never told me."
"Jimmy." He carefully emptied his basket in the grass and returned to his ladder.
"Nice fellow, Jimmy. Look at him. He's going again."
Clarke had only been hearing about nice people that weekend, so she rolled her eyes. There was always something positive that could be said about a person and her mother never neglected to do it. There was no need to call him dear, though. This was exactly what she had feared. Her mother would treat him as a family friend or as a member of the family, which was even worse. She never should have spoken to her mother, but it was her mother and the only one she could speak to.
Riley ignored Clarke's dissatisfied face. She must not like people being friendly to him, but it was deserved. He was being very good. She said nothing to him until they went inside. Her mother began to sort through the pears in the lounge, while she and Riley were asked for a game of cards by two old men who had followed them inside.
It was amusing. It was unclear what they thought of him or his connection to Clarke, but they kept calling her sweet Sophia. Contrary to what he expected she did not mind this very much and she was very good-natured about it. Perhaps it was exactly what she needed to melt a little.
He very civilly called her Superintendent, which amused the elderly gentlemen just as much, although when he received a very dry Detective Chief Inspector from the superintendent herself he thought she might be fine with a little less formality. "May I say Sophia?" he asked.
"Sure," she replied. "But it won't mean I'll do as you say."
The two old men loved her for it. They praised cheeky Sophia. Riley wanted to tell her that such behaviour was never going to end if she encouraged it, but it would not do to say that in front of them. Instead he sat back and let them have their fun.
They dined with two elderly ladies, but after dinner the old men were back instantly. There were three of them now and they whisked Clarke away before she was even able to reply, as they had apparently done the two preceding nights as well. Riley watched it all in amusement. He was left to sit with Clarke's mother.
"Sophia is so sweet to indulge them whenever she comes here," she said.
"How often does she come here?" He was curious. She was always at work. Where did she find the time to clean her house and go here?
"At least once a month, but she rarely stays the night. They are taking advantage of it in full. The staff here are nice, but they see them every day and they are not as pretty."
The girl behind the counter had certainly been nothing special, but she had been at least twenty years Clarke's junior, Riley had thought. Age apparently did not matter. Everyone was young.
"And you're a colleague of Sophia's?" she said.
"Yes, she's my boss." He wondered what she would think of that. She might think people should not be friends with their bosses -- or even more. He wondered what Clarke had told her.
"Is she a good boss? I can't imagine she'd be bossy enough."
"She can be bossy if she likes," he said, remembering that the old men had certainly thought her bossy towards him, even if they called her sweet Sophia. The truth was probably somewhere in the middle. "But I don't know if she really means it."
"I doubt it, since you don't seem to be at her beck and call." She looked at him inquiringly. "Whose idea was it really to come here?"
So under all that niceness there was some sharpness as well. He was intrigued. "Er...I merely suggested it. I did not force her. How did you know?"
She leant towards him and spoken in a confidential tone. "Well, you see, Sophia always avoids being here on Sunday morning. It is not that I do not love her being here, but it is odd, wouldn't you say?"
If she always did the same thing, maybe it was indeed odd if she did something else for a change. "Why does she avoid it?"
"My dear boy, all the old people go to church then and she does not. There is nothing to do when we are gone. Suddenly she is dropped off instead of driving herself and she stays the entire weekend without saying why. Doesn't that call for questions? She was a little preoccupied, too."
"I thought she would be safer here. But you mustn't worry about that." And he certainly did not want her to ask any questions. He would rather not say that someone had threatened her daughter and that this person might be someone who had cut up another woman before. "I'll pay close attention. Nothing will happen if she does as I say."
She patted his hand. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm very happy someone is looking out for her. She may not think men are useful, but I do."
He saw some irony in a former nun thinking men useful, but he did not comment on it. And why indeed could they not think men useful in a protective capacity? They could do more than be husbands and fathers.
"Just keep being nice, sweetie," she advised. "It always pays off, even with modern women."
"I'm not being nice for a reward," he protested. "I'm doing my duty."
"Then it will be all the nicer in the end."
He tried not to colour, but it was difficult. "Are you really eighty-six?" he wondered. "You don't look it."
"How charming of you. That would be because I have no worries. Sophia handles everything and I don't even have to worry about what to cook." She smiled and looked perfectly happy with it.
"That's nice of her." He wondered who had handled everything before she had come to live here. Her husband? But he was probably dead. Clarke had not mentioned him. "Is Clarke -- I mean, Sophia -- your only child?" He was still a little uncomfortable with calling her Sophia.
"No, she has a younger sister who lives abroad. And two half sisters who are much older. Have you got any brothers or sisters?"
"I have a younger sister." He wondered why with a younger sister his mother still treated him like a baby. Clarke thought she did. It was probably because his sister would not accept it at all if her mother did it to her. He should be less nice.
"Did you do some work on your place?" asked Clarke after she had decided at eight o'clock that it was time to go home. She had played cards and Riley had chatted to her mother. This had made her curious, but it had been impossible to leave the card game. There was no point in doing so anyway, because they would hardly still talk about the same things if she was sitting with them.
She did not think her mother had revealed her secret. Such a thing was safe with her mother, she hoped, especially because she had not given the name of the father. As far as her mother knew it might well be someone else.
She had not expected to be criticised, but merely hearing that it was nice and that she was not a nun had been a little frustrating. That she was not a nun did not make it any easier, although her mother seemed to think she would simply smile and embrace the very nice and helpful young man with the nice smile, and store the baby very nicely somewhere in the corner of an office.
Riley had not argued with her. He was ready to go home too. "Yes, but you won't have to set foot in it. We'll go to your place."
"What did you think of my mother? You seemed to get along with her."
He had loved how Clarke had given her mother pocket money and how her mother had in turn tried to make Clarke take home peppermints. After she had taken one roll, her mother had stuffed the other two in the back pockets of Riley's jeans, something that had made him laugh.
"She eats carrots on surveillance, not peppermints," he had said to her. "They're better for your teeth."
"Peppermints are good for your breath," she had whispered. "Maybe she needs to pretend to kiss someone."
And now Clarke asked him what he thought of her mother. There was only one possible answer. "Very nice."
"Good grief. Not you too."
He laughed. "She was very funny. What was your father like? How did he manage to meet a nun?"
"Of course you've never met any strange people in the course of duty..."
"Was she a criminal nun? I thought she was just naughty."
"I dare you to ask her that herself, but I think you would not dare." As she spoke, she wondered when he would have that chance. If the threatening situation -- in his perception -- went on long enough he might have to drop her off at her mother's another time, but she hoped it would be resolved or forgotten very soon. "What sort of work did you do on your flat?" she asked.
"I pretended I was moving in with you, so I tossed out everything you'd frown at and everything I didn't really want to move. It was a lot." He had been surprised at how little of his stuff was really necessary and he was proud of himself for having thrown so much out. Pretending she was judging his stuff had worked really well, although he did not doubt there was much more she would have thrown out had she been there in person.
"You're not moving in with me," she stressed again. She was curious what he believed would make her frown, but she did not want to take the bait. "Are you still determined to protect me?"
"I am. It's not because I enjoy annoying you, although sometimes I do, but because I don't think I could live with --"
"Well, let's hope you solve the case quickly then. I didn't have the opportunity to read all of what you emailed me on Friday. What was that all about?" She felt negligent, although he would have told her if it had been very important and she had not thought it fair towards her mother if she was thinking about work all weekend.
"I had Bradley dig up some things about Jonathan Kerry. I'm having them read his articles to see if he's got a particular focus or obsession. I didn't mention you, because I didn't think you'd be comfortable with it."
She was a little surprised at his insight. "Thanks." She did not want to imagine what the men would say if they heard she had been out on a date. Her nickname did not make her angry, but it did make her a little bit sad. "And I don't want there to be any comments about my possibly being pinned up alongside the other body, which I'm sure would be right up some people's alley."
"You're not that unpopular," he said. "They might want to see you naked, but not dead."
Clarke let out a whimper. "Do you have to put it like that?"
"It was meant to be uplifting."
She whimpered again at his way of lifting her spirits. "I could do without the idea that people, people I work with, want to see me naked."
"Actually, I'd rather be naked than dead in people's imaginations," said Riley. "Wouldn't you?"
"Well, if you put it like that..." She sighed. She would have to agree with him, as horrible as it was. "And I've never cared, but would they really rather see me naked than dead or are you just projecting?"
"Actually I'd rather see you dressed, because that means we can leave the bathroom," he grinned. "One's movements are so limited when naked."
"I hope you behaved yourself a little better while talking to my mother. What did you talk about?"
"You." He grinned again and waited for her to ask. She did not, but it cost her some trouble. He decided to be nice. "She asked if you were bossy enough and things like that."
"Am I?"
Clarke insisted on cleaning her bathroom the moment she arrived home because she said it was getting more use now. Riley was still in a domestic mood after his productive weekend and he remembered there was still some laundry in the dryer. He had turned it off on Friday morning, but there had not been any time to take it out.
Clarke watched him in fascination as he carried the load in his arms. "Oh my goodness, James. What happened to you this weekend?"
"Nothing." He pushed her bedroom door open with his foot. That was where she liked her laundry to be, he had seen. "But I'm not going to iron anything, just so you know."
"What do you do to your own shirts?"
"My mother buys wrinkle-free because she knows I don't iron," he winked.
"Your mother? You need a wife," she exclaimed with a shake of her head and went into the bathroom.
He shook his head too and entered her bedroom. He dropped the clothes on the bed. For a moment he contemplated folding them, but there were some items among them that he would rather not touch -- or have her know that he had touched them. He pushed it all to the side of the bed she would not be using and went to make them some hot chocolate.
What did he need a wife for? To iron his shirts? That begged the question of whether a wife would volunteer to iron his shirts. He did not think he would be able to ask it of her, but maybe it was an innate urge women had.
He asked Clarke when she came out of the bathroom. "Do women have an innate urge to iron shirts, like tidying bedrooms?"
She washed her hands and then sat down at the kitchen table with him. "It's not an innate urge. I don't go looking for untidy bedrooms, which I should if it were innate."
"What a relief."
"Why can't you buy your own clothes?"
"No time. This weekend I was tidying because my boss had complained. Sometimes after work I have to accompany her on secret missions, so I don't have time then either."
She narrowed her eyes. "Clever, but do you realise that one of the next secret missions may be a shopping trip?"
"Only if I can advise you on some less frumpy clothes."
"Not all my clothes are frumpy."
"No, but you don't wear those to work."
"Maybe what you think I should wear is not practicable at work, like pink bikinis," she said in a sarcastic voice. "You seemed to like that one."
"Yes, because it was pink and you never wear pink. Oh! The first time we went to the Treminster Club you wore a pink blouse. I liked that outfit too. It would be appropriate for work."
"You know, James," she said a little tiredly. "If I wear frumpy jackets and skirts, I'm an ice cube; if I wear trousers, I'm a lesbian; if I wear mini skirts, I'm a tart; if I wear jeans, I'm not taken seriously."
"Ice cube. You know?" He wondered what she thought of it.
"Of course I know. There are some unintelligent characters on your team -- and on the other teams -- who were so kind as to let that slip. I wouldn't have put it past you to inform me by way of some backhanded compliment either."
Riley considered that. "I'm unintelligent like that, yes, although I'd mean to compliment you."
On Monday morning there was again no car outside Clarke's flat. Riley had again got up before half past five, but Clarke's strong coffee had made him sufficiently awake. He could get used to having breakfast at her place, with a leisurely cup of coffee and something to eat, even if he had to get up early. The advantage was that Clarke went to bed very early as well and he had little to do but follow suit.
At work he first read Bradley's findings so far, which had very kindly been deposited on his desk after he had left on Friday. According to Bradley the latest articles on small cases had all been normal, but there were articles about a larger case that had received more public attention that were potentially interesting. Lewis had not liked the tone of them, although Bradley had not noticed much. They had not yet got very far in their reading, so there was not much to go on.
He would have to talk to Lewis about it. The notes were not very clear. They did not say why she did not like the tone of the article, only that she did not.
"What do you mean?" he asked her when he had called her in.
She looked at it to refresh her memory. "It's just very look at me, if I were with the police I would have solved it long ago. Wouldn't you say?"
"Does it mean anything? Maybe you should talk to the superintendent about it because she's an auspicious community figure. She actually knows the bloke." Kerry might even have had the same attitude during their dinner date. They had focused on the flattery so far, but there might have been more. He might have been too preoccupied to ask, but Clarke might remember it now.
"Why?"
"Because she's had to speak to him." But then he guessed she was a little afraid to bother Clarke. "And you're shopping pals."
"Why is she auspicious?"
"I have no idea. She's on committees and forums of local interest, probably."
When Lewis was gone he remembered that tomorrow was the tenth day and he had planned to send some people to Pell in the morning. He checked who were available and then went to instruct them.
Lewis had gone to Clarke's office and hoped she would not be thought a disturbance. She spoke very reverently. They were not shopping pals, whatever the DCI said. This was work again. "Ma'am? The DCI sent me to ask your opinion about these articles. He says you know Jonathan Kerry."
Clarke closed the file she was reading, but she did not look disturbed at all. "Which articles?"
"There are a few about small cases that I thought were objective, but there are also a few about that rape case of two months ago that were a bit arrogant and provocative towards us."
"Let me see. Is this all you've got?"
"Bradley is still reading. It doesn't go very quickly to look them up, read them and print them if necessary. The printer is always jammed or busy." Lewis handed her a few printed sheets. She had underlined some sentences and she walked around the desk to point at them.
Clarke scanned them. She would agree that the sentences were not very objective, but she did not know if it was meaningful that Kerry went for the sensational and accusatory angle. It happened more often, she would say. "It could be due to the size of the case and the effect on the public. They always feel a greater need to prod us then."
Lewis understood. "But the DCI asked --"
"Well, he does not like Mr Kerry -- though he may be right. Could you find anything else in which he speaks more directly of us? Something that isn't entirely prompted by a serial rapist on the loose. That would support your idea." She wondered if she needed to meet Kerry again to find out what he really thought of them. Riley would not like that. She was not sure she did either, although she would go to some lengths to solve this case. Dinner or another meeting were acceptable.
"But I don't really know what my idea is, ma'am," Lewis said in embarrassment. "DS Bradley told me we had to see how we were written about, but he wasn't very clear as to why. Something about seeing if Jonathan Kerry was out for fame too. I wasn't sure I understood him correctly, but I thought that if something struck me about the articles I'd get the idea."
She read the sentences again. "I think you got the point." It was nothing very useful yet, but Lewis had clearly been looking in the right direction.
"But how do you know?"
"Riley told me the point."
Riley came to see her as well. "This is interesting. Bradley just found a passage about the frosty Detective Superintendent Clarke, dating from three months back and I was just reading Kerry's web log. It was updated since I read it on Friday. It now includes his dinner with the...er...no longer frosty but in fact delicious Sophia." He walked around the desk too to see what they were reading.
"I'm not delicious," Clarke said frostily.
Riley only smirked.
"Let's summarise this," she said briskly, putting the web log out of her mind. "Judy thinks Mr Kerry wrote a little arrogantly about us and James thinks Mr Kerry actually thinks me frosty but asked me to dinner anyway so he could kill me. I don't see what purpose it serves to kill me. He may threaten me to thwart our investigation so he could write we are incompetent and whatnot, and he could possibly pretend to be much better, but why should he kill me?"
"Well, if you keep refusing to go further he may kill you out of spite. Not that I want you to go further." She had said James. He wondered what Lewis was thinking, but Lewis looked completely awed by everything.
"I'm convinced he only wanted to find out how much we knew and it's easier to ask me out than you. And since all men like getting women into bed, that would be a nice extra."
"And auspicious community figures or policewomen may be worth an extra notch on his bedpost, but I'm not going to allow murderers to sleep with the girls on my team." He conveniently had one on either side and he placed his arms around them protectively.
"James, I'm not a girl on your team; you're a boy on my team," Clarke corrected. "Emphasis on boy."
He grinned. "I still won't allow anyone to sleep with you. I'll go back and do some work."
"What are you looking at?" Clarke wondered when Lewis was looking at her very strangely when Riley had left the room. He had had his arm around her and he had squeezed her shoulder. It had almost made her blush. Lewis might have noticed.
"N-N-Nothing. I didn't know. That's all."
"What didn't you know?"
"About you and the DCI. Does everyone know?"
Clarke was sure she was blushing furiously now. "There is nothing to know! He's almost eight years younger than I am." The almost mattered a great deal. It made it closer to seven.
"My boyfriend is eight years older than I am," Lewis said with a shrug. "Sorry if I saw it wrong, ma'am. But the lady you said was the mother of your lover wasn't very old, was she?"
Clarke opened and closed her mouth. She had neglected to consider that Lewis might take a look at the woman and estimate her age. Of course the woman's age fitted exactly with the age James' mother must be, because she was James' mother. "I don't remember."
"Sorry," the girl murmured.
Around lunchtime Riley received O'Neill's list of owners of blue cars that had been seen around Pell. They had neatly been sorted by whether they were French cars or not and then by sex and age of the registered owner. The advantage of having very little to go on ensured at least that the little they did have was done perfectly.
Riley first looked through the French cars. At the bottom of the list was a name that drew his attention. Madeline Kerry, age seventy-eight.
He rang Clarke. "It wasn't my mother, but his."
"What?" Clarke said.
"He may have used his mother's car -- if it was his mother. But there are not that many people called Kerry, are there? To find two in one case cannot be a coincidence. It has to be his mother, because she's seventy-eight."
"It would be the right age."
"Yes, I'll get back to you about that."
Because he had a meeting in the afternoon it cost him his lunch break to find out if Madeline was Jonathan Kerry's mother. She was. He asked O'Neill where the car had been seen and when. It was unlikely that Madeline Kerry herself had driven around at ungodly hours at her age. He set them to work on finding out more about Madeline and the relationship with her son and then hurried to his meeting.
"You're late. Is it your birthday again?" asked Clarke, who was about to take the stairs up to the conference rooms, but who chose the lift when he did.
"No, I was working." She never took the lift and he was surprised. He was even more surprised when her face began to look like thunder when a group of men in suits approached them. He knew them and nodded respectfully at the Chief Constable and other bigwigs. The advantage of being based at headquarters was that they ought to have seen him before, but they never knew a mere chief inspector.
Clarke, on the other hand, was greeted with smiles and inquiries. He had never noticed she had problems with these men and slowly the thunder storm blew over, but it still puzzled him. "What was it?" he whispered when they were walking again. He had nudged her before they left the lift and she had nearly jumped. This was very strange.
"Nothing."
He gave her a look. "Claustrophobic?"
"No."
He dropped his papers on the floor. Fortunately he had very few loose sheets, but it all scattered nicely nevertheless. "Help me," he said with a compelling look.
"How can you be sure they won't help you?" she hissed, referring to the senior officers walking in front of them.
"Help a chief inspector? I think not." He was right. One or two turned to see what was happening, but none stopped walking. He could speak to her without being overheard. "What was it? The men or the lift?"
She handed him one of his papers without looking at him. "Men in lifts."
He stopped picking them up. "Them?"
"No, Halburton. But still."
He was shocked. "You need to tell me about that." He did not know what to think precisely about men in lifts, except that it could not be any good.
"Not now. It was nothing. Just on the wrong side of borderline."
He was not sure about that. Her face had looked troubled and it was not anger, as he had first thought. Whatever she said about it now did not matter. Someone had bothered her and this bothered him tremendously. "The wrong side? That's not nothing."
"Not now," she repeated. "Why did I tell you anything at all?"
"Halburton, where you reputedly slept your way up, but you were instead fondled on your way up in the lift."
"You have such a way with words," she muttered.
"But if you say things like fifteen seconds of fame you make me think I was the same." He sounded pathetic, but he did not want it to be the same. He would be wondering all through the meeting if he did not bring this up now. And he still had a few moments. There were still a few things on the floor.
"You did not make me uncomfortable," she said in a strangled voice. "But leave it now. Please."
He had not made her uncomfortable. Great. He did not know what that meant. It was clear she did not want to talk anymore, because she left him to pick up the rest of his papers on his own. But whatever else she said about it, she had now said twice that it had apparently not been bad.
Men fondling her in lifts filled him with anger and loathing. After the meeting, on which he had not been able to concentrate, he was glad she stayed behind.
"It was nothing," she said again when she saw his face.
"It's not nothing if you're still nervous."
"My trust is conditional. But I'm too old to let anything inappropriate take place without immediate repercussions."
He was not reassured. "I'm now fearing I did something wrong as well." He had said some inappropriate things and he had certainly done one, but the last thing he wanted was to make her nervous or afraid. He still wanted her to reassure him.
She took his hand. "Jimmy, if I didn't say anything instantly, it was probably not bad enough. I didn't tolerate it then and I wouldn't tolerate it now. I kept going up until I found someone who took me seriously."
And that someone had supported her, he supposed. "But then they said you slept your way up."
"Apparently. But it's all part of one's education. You must not worry if I occasionally remember it. You can't change my past, but you can make sure someone else isn't made uncomfortable. Oh and damn it, Judy thinks we are having an affair and everyone knew already except her. What am I to do?" she ended in a very different tone, one that was much less self-assured.
"I'm going to hug you," he warned. He had felt that urge before, but now he thought she might be open to one. It was a lot better than apologising for his fifteen seconds and insulting her in the process by mentioning her age. That age might not matter. He did not feel it in a hug.
She did not move away, but she even lightly wrapped her arms around him after a moment. "When I mentioned men in lifts, I wasn't including you. Unless you intended to do something to me between the fifth and the sixth floor, in which case I was including you, but I thought you'd only talk to me."
He started. "What? Of course I'd only talk to you! In a lift!"
She laughed. "I now know you're indeed only talk, or how did you put it when we went to the Treminster Club? Purely verbal? I wasn't sure then. All those stories about your dates."
"I've been thinking about it, but I think I should bring it up," he said a little hesitantly. "You're my boss, I like you and I don't want to see you killed or harassed, but that incident was physical. You'd call me tactless, but I'd say it was because we hadn't done it for decades or maybe never at all. It's now done for another long time and I wouldn't like for it to ruin everything else because you fear I'm still desperate."
Riley had always been an attractive young man, of course, but Clarke had never been someone who could not handle that. The incident, as he so nicely called it, had occurred for the reason he had mentioned. Something else had counted for her as well, though, and she had not been able to tell him. It was better for him to think she had been equally desperate, but her body had been at its most fertile and it had simply seized that chance. Clarke believed that such a biological necessity was a good deal more likely than that she had suddenly developed a capacity for lust and pleasure, and desperation about not being satisfied.
She told herself there had not been time for that sort of pleasure anyway. Cuddling did not count. Her body had acted against her will -- though of course not completely against it, because it was evil how a body could be lured by affection. Affection was pleasant and James was rather nice.
But he was right. She should not worry about him. It was still mortifying that it had happened, but she should not be afraid. "Shall we go home? What am I saying?" She was asking him to come home with her? Did that mean she had accepted his protectiveness?
"I didn't hear it," Riley replied with a grin. "You're not going anywhere with me; I'm merely following you. We're not having an affair. I may have to check if they found anything before you go, though."
"All right." She could see he was very relieved he had broached that difficult subject. His side of the matter was now completely cleared up, of course, and she was happy for him, but she could not yet feel the same. She could only pretend.
They found that everyone who had been working on important things had gone home. Riley was a little baffled to find his incident room almost completely empty. "Did they think I wouldn't be back here after my meeting?"
"It's after five o'clock, sir," said one of the people who was still at work. "And some were called out to a murder."
"Damn," said Riley. He had been trying to sort out his private life while murders were being committed. So far the sex, drugs and robberies had all been for other teams, and he had only had to cede two constables to them. A murder meant that a new team would have to be formed, with people he had to conjure up somehow. That was rather more troublesome than the interruption of his private life.
"I'm behind on my strategic policy stuff," said Clarke, who had been listening.
"I'm always behind on my strategic policy stuff," he retorted. "But nobody knows what it means anyway."
"It means work. Overtime. But if you want the official definition, formulating crime-related strategies and overseeing their implementation," she said solemnly.
"Yes, I saw that in your profile online and wondered what it meant."
She did not take him seriously and she laughed. "It also means I'm going to my office until I get hungry. Which may be soon," she added as an afterthought. "No point in formulating a strategy for dealing with body choppers until we've caught him, because only then we'll know what works."
Riley sighed and set to finding out who had gone in response to the murder. He would have to ring them and see how many men were needed. Very few, he hoped. He appreciated Clarke's cooperation. She would be working on her strategies until he could leave, which was very considerate of her.
There was a note on his desk from O'Neill. Madeline Kerry's car had been seen driving into Pell twice from the east. Pell was to the north-east of them, so it made no sense to enter it from the east. She had driven there on consecutive days, both around half past seven. That was rather early for a shopper, although there was no mention of what the occupant had looked like.
Tomorrow someone would have to go and ask Madeline Kerry what she had been doing.
"I'm too hungry." Clarke appeared in his office just after six o'clock. "I really can't stay."
Riley put down the phone. "You're in luck then. Mann and Baker thought it was fairly straightforward, so they got uniform to help them with some inquiries. Nothing we need to do. Your hair is down," he suddenly observed when he had picked up his bag. Now that he saw that every day it no longer struck him as odd.
She pushed it behind her ears, as if that mattered. "Yes, it got stuck under my desk when I was trying to pick up a pen and it was pulled out of the bun. I thought I'd take everything out completely because there's hardly anyone left to see it."
"What can I say?" he wondered out loud. "After what you told me before there is nothing I can say, except that it looks much better like this. I hope that's not inappropriate."
"You know, I was wondering," she said. "I've been lucky last week because I didn't have many meetings, but I do have some this week and not all of them are in this building."
"I suppose I could allow you to go to them."
"Well, I suppose you must." She kept her voice low because they walked towards the stairs. "I may be promoted, if they can figure out a new structure. It would work in my favour if I actually attended meetings that dealt with that."
"You don't look enthusiastic. Does a new structure mean you could stay?" The current structure did not include a detective chief superintendent. Promotion would mean a transfer. He would not be enthusiastic about a transfer. Not at all, he realised.
"There may be other things throwing a spanner in the works," she replied.
She could be pregnant. The new structure would not benefit from a detective chief superintendent if she went on maternity leave. If they got to hear about a lengthy absence, they might consider taking someone else. An abortion would be better for her career, but she might regret that later. Hopefully in a few days it would turn out to be nothing, or would she even regret that in spite of not wanting a child? She was so undecided that it really annoyed her.
"Oh. But you can't tell me what?"
"Not yet." She could see he did not like that answer. He would keep asking her, no doubt.
"Me? I don't see why I could be a problem for your promotion. We're not having an affair, after all. I think that might even be allowed. There are even people who are married."
Of course he had no idea if he did not know she might be pregnant. He would have to be told some time, though, if it turned out to be true and she found she could not deal with this on top of everything else without telling anybody. It weighed upon her too much. He looked sympathetic and one could say he was involved. "My office," she ordered. She was nervous and it translated into a very cool and sharp manner. Emotions were not welcome, least of all her own.
It was no wonder that Riley looked taken aback. "What did I do?"
She pushed him down on her couch. It was in a corner and could not easily be seen by someone who glanced in through the window or door. "I may be pregnant."
"Huh," he said, dropping with a thud. "How did that happen?"
"You were there."
"But pregnancies over fifty are never natural."
The plan she had had to tell him coolly what her options were had to be abandoned upon this unexpected reaction. "Natural," she repeated, wondering what on earth he thought had not been natural about it. "Over fifty what?"
"Over fifty years of age. They had artificial insemination and the like." He frowned. Such cases always made the newspaper because they were unnatural -- and he had only done natural things.
"And people over a hundred years of age tend to die pretty soon. What are you talking about?"
"But you're over fifty. How could you be pregnant?"
"I'm not over fifty." Was this his sense of humour? If so, she did not enjoy it, but he did not look as if he was teasing. He was looking as uncomprehending at her as she was looking at him. "Do I look as if I'm over fifty?" she exclaimed. That was possibly even more horrible than that she might be pregnant. It could not be cured with an abortion.
He shook his head. "No, not at all."
"How old do I look?" She hardly dared to ask.
"I don't know. Thirty-eight maybe?" he guessed, though that was probably on the low side. "Though not in these clothes. Older than I am, but not terribly much."
"Then why, if I don't look fifty, do you think I am?"
"Because it's in your profile on our website."
"What does it say?" She looked horrified. He must be talking the truth about that, because he would not insult her deliberately, she hoped. He was tactless on occasion, but he was not hurtful. "I provided the text for that myself, but I never gave my age because that changes every year."
"Fifty-two. Well, 1956."
She fell down on the couch beside him and closed her eyes. "I can't believe you are that stupid."
"Stupid?" He felt stupid indeed, because he had no idea of what she was talking. "Why?"
"1965," she hissed. "That should have been abundantly clear. Would you have believed it if that dyslexic moron, whoever it was, had made it 1925?"
"No, but --"
"Fifty-two," she wailed. There were no words for it. And Riley had believed it and probably felt disgusted. They were not having an affair -- no, of course not! She was too old. The age difference had bothered her, but the difference he had been thinking of was absolutely impossible. She was a little sorry for him, really.
"So you are forty-three." Riley awoke from his stupor of confusion. Forty-three was very good. It was not too old. He could handle that.
"No! Forty-two! I was born in December." That mattered, especially now.
"Even better."
"How is this better if you believed I was fifty-two? Clearly I look like an old hag." She bent over and hid her face -- her old, wrinkled face.
"No! I never cared how old you were, because you were my boss, until -- and then I wondered how you could look so good. I thought you had good facial cream. Damn. I knew it would be insulting if your age ever came up," he muttered when he saw she was not liking this one bit. "Which is why I didn't ask you."
Clarke's stomach grumbled loudly.
"We must feed you," he said in concern.
"I knew this would happen! You'll be overprotective. You won't let me do anything anymore now," she complained.
"On the contrary. I'll let you eat. Come." He stood up and pulled at her hand.
"But I'm considering an abortion. There's no need to pamper me. I don't want a child. I was going to tell you I don't want one." She supposed that in accordance with his latest attitude he was going to be deaf to her protests.
He stopped her before they left his office and gave her a kiss. "Don't think about it. Let's just eat."
© 2009 Copyright held by the author.