computer, startled.
‘Sir?’ she said, scrambling to her feet.
‘Find out who did Jack Farrell’s tattoos and bring him in,’ I said.
Taking a single step made me feel better. The tattoo artist might be a dead end. But at least I was moving.
The next step was staring me in the face. A baby cop in his first day on the job would have worked it out. But I didn’t want to take it. I didn’t want to walk in on the grieving widow and start tearing her house apart.
But somebody was going to have to do it. And, like they say, better the devil you know.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
K AREN STILL LOOKED LIKE someone had ripped her heart out and handed it to her on a plate. Like it was a mistake she was still walking around, because how could she be doing anything at all when she was dead inside? I’ve seen that look before on the faces of the ones left behind after violent death. But this touched me like never before, because I cared for Karen and I had cared for the person she was mourning.
When Karen opened the door, there was a tragic flash of hope in her eyes, as if my being there might mean there had been some awful mistake and her Ben was really all right. But one look at my face and she knew there was no getting off this hook.
She fell into my arms and shivered, as if I’d brought cold air in with me. I held her close. ‘I still feel gutted too,’ I said, patting her back. But my eyes were looking around me with freshwisdom. In the past, when I had said anything nice about the house or its contents, Ben had always made a big deal out of what a great bargain hunter Karen was. I’d taken it at face value. I had never stopped to wonder how they could afford to live with quite so much style on a sergeant’s pay.
But looking at it coldly, not through the eyes of trust, it did seem like more than good taste and good shopping sense could provide. Not to mention the fact that no amount of skilled money-juggling could stretch his salary to a four-bedroomed house in the comfy end of Ealing. At the time he’d bought it, I’d accepted his story about a bequest from his mother’s sister. As if! People like us don’t have wealthy relations. But he said she’d come up on the pools, and I believed him. Because I wanted to, I suppose.
‘I still can’t take it in, Andy,’ she said. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been shouting too loud too long. ‘Married to a cop, it’s what you always fear. But the years go by and it never happens and you start to believe maybe it won’t.’
‘I know. It still seems unreal.’ I steered herinto the living room and sat her down. ‘Where are the kids?’ I sat down beside her.
‘They’ve been at my mum’s. They don’t need to see me like this.’ She sniffed. ‘What actually happened to him, Andy? Nobody will tell me and that makes me think the worst.’
I didn’t know what to say. The truth wasn’t even an option. ‘He was stabbed, Karen. We’re not even sure what he was doing down Paddington Basin. He must have been following a lead or meeting a snout. Something last-minute, because he hadn’t told me about it.’
‘Did he suffer?’
They always want to know that. Me, I’ve never thought that was the important thing. Being dead, that’s the only bit that counts. ‘Not for long, love.’ I turned so I was facing her. ‘Karen, I know Ben will have told you that the most important source of info in a murder case is the victim. So please don’t think I’m being a heartless bastard when I say I’ve got to go through Ben’s things.’
Karen frowned. ‘What do you mean, his things? What’s that got to do with him being dead?’
‘Probably nothing. But we’re not making as much progress as I’d like. And as I said, we don’t know why he was there or who he was meeting. There’s nothing in his desk to give us a clue. So I need to take a look in his study, see if there’s anything there.’
Karen folded her arms across her chest, drawing away from me. ‘Why
‘Sir?’ she said, scrambling to her feet.
‘Find out who did Jack Farrell’s tattoos and bring him in,’ I said.
Taking a single step made me feel better. The tattoo artist might be a dead end. But at least I was moving.
The next step was staring me in the face. A baby cop in his first day on the job would have worked it out. But I didn’t want to take it. I didn’t want to walk in on the grieving widow and start tearing her house apart.
But somebody was going to have to do it. And, like they say, better the devil you know.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
K AREN STILL LOOKED LIKE someone had ripped her heart out and handed it to her on a plate. Like it was a mistake she was still walking around, because how could she be doing anything at all when she was dead inside? I’ve seen that look before on the faces of the ones left behind after violent death. But this touched me like never before, because I cared for Karen and I had cared for the person she was mourning.
When Karen opened the door, there was a tragic flash of hope in her eyes, as if my being there might mean there had been some awful mistake and her Ben was really all right. But one look at my face and she knew there was no getting off this hook.
She fell into my arms and shivered, as if I’d brought cold air in with me. I held her close. ‘I still feel gutted too,’ I said, patting her back. But my eyes were looking around me with freshwisdom. In the past, when I had said anything nice about the house or its contents, Ben had always made a big deal out of what a great bargain hunter Karen was. I’d taken it at face value. I had never stopped to wonder how they could afford to live with quite so much style on a sergeant’s pay.
But looking at it coldly, not through the eyes of trust, it did seem like more than good taste and good shopping sense could provide. Not to mention the fact that no amount of skilled money-juggling could stretch his salary to a four-bedroomed house in the comfy end of Ealing. At the time he’d bought it, I’d accepted his story about a bequest from his mother’s sister. As if! People like us don’t have wealthy relations. But he said she’d come up on the pools, and I believed him. Because I wanted to, I suppose.
‘I still can’t take it in, Andy,’ she said. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been shouting too loud too long. ‘Married to a cop, it’s what you always fear. But the years go by and it never happens and you start to believe maybe it won’t.’
‘I know. It still seems unreal.’ I steered herinto the living room and sat her down. ‘Where are the kids?’ I sat down beside her.
‘They’ve been at my mum’s. They don’t need to see me like this.’ She sniffed. ‘What actually happened to him, Andy? Nobody will tell me and that makes me think the worst.’
I didn’t know what to say. The truth wasn’t even an option. ‘He was stabbed, Karen. We’re not even sure what he was doing down Paddington Basin. He must have been following a lead or meeting a snout. Something last-minute, because he hadn’t told me about it.’
‘Did he suffer?’
They always want to know that. Me, I’ve never thought that was the important thing. Being dead, that’s the only bit that counts. ‘Not for long, love.’ I turned so I was facing her. ‘Karen, I know Ben will have told you that the most important source of info in a murder case is the victim. So please don’t think I’m being a heartless bastard when I say I’ve got to go through Ben’s things.’
Karen frowned. ‘What do you mean, his things? What’s that got to do with him being dead?’
‘Probably nothing. But we’re not making as much progress as I’d like. And as I said, we don’t know why he was there or who he was meeting. There’s nothing in his desk to give us a clue. So I need to take a look in his study, see if there’s anything there.’
Karen folded her arms across her chest, drawing away from me. ‘Why
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