Read Online Bye Bye Baby by Fiona McIntosh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fiona McIntosh
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speed and whizzed left at Speaker’s Corner and around Marble Arch.
Jack touched a button on the CD player and Roy Orbison began crooning a sad song, one of his later ones. She smiled. Jack Hawksworth was an enigma.
‘Do you like the Big O, Kate?’ he asked, apparently reading her thoughts.
‘Haven’t heard him since I lived at home. My dad liked him.’
‘Ouch,’ he said and they laughed. ‘So did my father. I think it’s why I listen to Roy. It keeps the memories of Dad alive. Does that sound corny?’
‘No,’ she said, secretly delighted that he would mention such an intimate and obviously painful subject. She’d heard about his parents’ death and had felt sorry for him, but had never gone in for the doe-eyed sympathy of some of the other women officers. ‘And your mother? Perry Como, perhaps? Engelbert Humperdinck?’
‘Well, curiously, my mother loved The Police.’
He laughed and she noticed how clean his teeth were. Definitely a flosser and regular visitor to the dentist.
‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘No, really, it was nothing to do with my career. She just loved Sting’s music. My father never quite got it.’
‘Let me guess, “Every Breath You Take”?’
‘Mmm, yes, that’s everyone’s favourite. She loved it all in truth, and I’m glad that before she died I was able to take her to a Sting concert.’
‘Wow, hardly a blogsy mum, then.’
‘No,’ he said somewhat wistfully, ‘she was never that. Oh, here we go, the Edgeware Road for a while until we hit the A1 to Grantham, then towards Lincoln and Louth.’
‘Very cocky.’
‘I’ve done this drive many times.’
‘Dirty weekends?’
He grinned. ‘Well, my grandmother and I did love to bake together and we used to get very grubby with our hands deep in dough.’
‘Your grandmother lives in Lincoln?’
‘Used to live in Lincoln. She died last year.’
‘Oops, sorry.’
‘Don’t be. She was ninety-two and a great old girl who passed away peacefully in her sleep.’
In an effort to regain some ground from the slippery slide she felt herself permanently on this morning, Kate tried for levity. ‘And do you still bake?’ she said archly.
Tragically, he answered her seriously. ‘Occasionally. She left me her KitchenAid mixer and I can’t not use it. Besides, I find that sort of indulgent cooking relaxing.’ Then he flushed. ‘Quite embarrassing really. If Geoff knew, he’d have me publicly tarred and feathered.’
Was he for real? ‘Do you bake for anyone in particular?’
‘No.’
Ah, that thread was tied off fairly quickly , she thought.
‘Do you wear a pinny when you bake?’
‘No, just a mint and pale pink striped shirt.’
Now they both relaxed into genuine mirth. His birthday shirt had been the butt of endless jokes, which even Kate had heard about over at Richmond.
‘What do you think the blue paint means?’ She asked. It was an odd segue but she noticed he didn’t skip a beat in responding.
‘No idea. Not even a hunch, other than that it could be some form of humiliation.’
‘I agree. It seems like some kind of ritual, so we have to presume it carries significance for both killer and victims.’
‘I have a feeling that the paint will be his real message.’
‘If it’s any help, the colour blue in Feng Shui means relaxing.’
‘It’s not.’
‘Twenty pounds says it is, and you’d lose.’
‘No,’ he said with a grin, ‘I mean, it’s not any help.’
‘Oh.’
‘But you’re right, Kate. That’s how we have to think. What does blue mean to this killer, rather than what does it mean to us? What is its significance in the scheme of murder?’ He sighed. ‘It could be anything.’
‘The obvious one is woad. You know, the Pict warriors painting themselves. Although real woad is indigo in colour, almost black.’
‘Our killer has been very deliberate and organised,’ Jack mused. ‘Care has been taken in choosing when and where. One would presume he’s
Jack touched a button on the CD player and Roy Orbison began crooning a sad song, one of his later ones. She smiled. Jack Hawksworth was an enigma.
‘Do you like the Big O, Kate?’ he asked, apparently reading her thoughts.
‘Haven’t heard him since I lived at home. My dad liked him.’
‘Ouch,’ he said and they laughed. ‘So did my father. I think it’s why I listen to Roy. It keeps the memories of Dad alive. Does that sound corny?’
‘No,’ she said, secretly delighted that he would mention such an intimate and obviously painful subject. She’d heard about his parents’ death and had felt sorry for him, but had never gone in for the doe-eyed sympathy of some of the other women officers. ‘And your mother? Perry Como, perhaps? Engelbert Humperdinck?’
‘Well, curiously, my mother loved The Police.’
He laughed and she noticed how clean his teeth were. Definitely a flosser and regular visitor to the dentist.
‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘No, really, it was nothing to do with my career. She just loved Sting’s music. My father never quite got it.’
‘Let me guess, “Every Breath You Take”?’
‘Mmm, yes, that’s everyone’s favourite. She loved it all in truth, and I’m glad that before she died I was able to take her to a Sting concert.’
‘Wow, hardly a blogsy mum, then.’
‘No,’ he said somewhat wistfully, ‘she was never that. Oh, here we go, the Edgeware Road for a while until we hit the A1 to Grantham, then towards Lincoln and Louth.’
‘Very cocky.’
‘I’ve done this drive many times.’
‘Dirty weekends?’
He grinned. ‘Well, my grandmother and I did love to bake together and we used to get very grubby with our hands deep in dough.’
‘Your grandmother lives in Lincoln?’
‘Used to live in Lincoln. She died last year.’
‘Oops, sorry.’
‘Don’t be. She was ninety-two and a great old girl who passed away peacefully in her sleep.’
In an effort to regain some ground from the slippery slide she felt herself permanently on this morning, Kate tried for levity. ‘And do you still bake?’ she said archly.
Tragically, he answered her seriously. ‘Occasionally. She left me her KitchenAid mixer and I can’t not use it. Besides, I find that sort of indulgent cooking relaxing.’ Then he flushed. ‘Quite embarrassing really. If Geoff knew, he’d have me publicly tarred and feathered.’
Was he for real? ‘Do you bake for anyone in particular?’
‘No.’
Ah, that thread was tied off fairly quickly , she thought.
‘Do you wear a pinny when you bake?’
‘No, just a mint and pale pink striped shirt.’
Now they both relaxed into genuine mirth. His birthday shirt had been the butt of endless jokes, which even Kate had heard about over at Richmond.
‘What do you think the blue paint means?’ She asked. It was an odd segue but she noticed he didn’t skip a beat in responding.
‘No idea. Not even a hunch, other than that it could be some form of humiliation.’
‘I agree. It seems like some kind of ritual, so we have to presume it carries significance for both killer and victims.’
‘I have a feeling that the paint will be his real message.’
‘If it’s any help, the colour blue in Feng Shui means relaxing.’
‘It’s not.’
‘Twenty pounds says it is, and you’d lose.’
‘No,’ he said with a grin, ‘I mean, it’s not any help.’
‘Oh.’
‘But you’re right, Kate. That’s how we have to think. What does blue mean to this killer, rather than what does it mean to us? What is its significance in the scheme of murder?’ He sighed. ‘It could be anything.’
‘The obvious one is woad. You know, the Pict warriors painting themselves. Although real woad is indigo in colour, almost black.’
‘Our killer has been very deliberate and organised,’ Jack mused. ‘Care has been taken in choosing when and where. One would presume he’s
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