Read Online Cutting Edge by John Harvey - Free Book Online
Authors: John Harvey
Tags: Mystery
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…
There was one can of lager left in the back of the fridge and he opened it, tossing the ring pull on to the side and taking the can into the living room. If Debbie’s mother were there, she’d be tut-tutting, Kevin, you’re not going to drink that without a glass, surely? But she wasn’t there, was she? Back in her own little semi in Basford, caravan outside the front window and his bloody kid asleep in her spare room.
He scooped the remote control from beside the armchair and pressed Channel Three. Might as well have the whole street watching together, synchronized bloody viewing. Nothing on he wanted till the football at half past ten, bit of boxing.
Thinking of going over the side , Lynn had said in the canteen. Maybe, he thought, over the side and never coming back.
When Tim Fletcher woke he saw the roses and then he saw Sarah Leonard and he knew something wasn’t right. She was standing at an angle to the bed; her staff nurse’s uniform had been exchanged for a long, beige cotton coat, broad belt loosely tied and high epaulettes. Maybe she was still wearing the uniform underneath, but he didn’t think so.
“Karen …” he said.
“She went a long time ago.”
Fletcher nodded.
“Girls her age,” Sarah said, “they get restless. Haven’t the patience.”
She was, Fletcher thought, what, all of twenty-seven herself, twenty-eight.
“I just popped in,” she said, “to see how you were getting on.”
“How am I?”
She smiled. “You’re the doctor.”
He glanced down at his pillows. “You couldn’t …”
“Prop you up a bit? I expect so.”
She leaned him forward against her shoulder as she plumped and patted the pillows, the inside of his arm pressing against her breast. “Overtime, this.” Her face was close and he could feel her breath. Sarah leaned him back into the pillows and stood back.
“Thanks.”
“There’s nothing else you want?”
Fully awake now, the pain was back in his leg, not sharp the way he might have imagined, but dull, persistent, throbbing. A nerve twitched suddenly in his hand and he winced, twice, biting down into his bottom lip. At least there was still a nerve there to twitch. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”
She raised her head. “I’ll look in tomorrow.” She was almost out of earshot when his voice brought her back.
“You off home now?”
“Soon.”
“Walking?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful.”
Resnick arrived home to find the front door open on the latch and Miles pressing his nose against it while Pepper nervously kept watch. His immediate thought was that the house had been burgled, but a quick check proved this not to be so. Bud was lying on the top step of the stairs, ready for flight. Dizzy and Ed Silver were neither of them to be seen, off about their business, hard into the night.
Ed’s note was propped against the edge of the frying pan, Out for a quick one, back soon . He had washed the plate but not the knife and fork, rinsed out his cup and left the tea stewing dark and cold inside the pot. Three tea bags. The bacon and the sausage he had found in Resnick’s fridge, the oven chips he would have had to fetch from the grocer’s on the main road. Also, the half-bottle of cheap Greek brandy, empty between the cats’ bowls.
Resnick picked up Bud and nuzzled him, conscious of the animal’s ribs like something made from a kit, balsa wood and glue. He dropped his coat over the back of a chair and, carrying the cat with him, pulled an Ellington album from the shelf. “Jack the Bear,” “Take the A Train,” “KoKo.” His friend, Ben Riley, twelve years in the job before he left for America, had sent him a card from New York. Charlie-Finally got to take the “A” train. Head-to-toe graffiti, inside and out, and anyone white gets off below 110th Street. Stay home. Stick to the music . Ben, he’d stayed there: Resnick hadn’t heard from him in more than two years, four.
Ed Silver had scorned the Czech Budweiser and
There was one can of lager left in the back of the fridge and he opened it, tossing the ring pull on to the side and taking the can into the living room. If Debbie’s mother were there, she’d be tut-tutting, Kevin, you’re not going to drink that without a glass, surely? But she wasn’t there, was she? Back in her own little semi in Basford, caravan outside the front window and his bloody kid asleep in her spare room.
He scooped the remote control from beside the armchair and pressed Channel Three. Might as well have the whole street watching together, synchronized bloody viewing. Nothing on he wanted till the football at half past ten, bit of boxing.
Thinking of going over the side , Lynn had said in the canteen. Maybe, he thought, over the side and never coming back.
When Tim Fletcher woke he saw the roses and then he saw Sarah Leonard and he knew something wasn’t right. She was standing at an angle to the bed; her staff nurse’s uniform had been exchanged for a long, beige cotton coat, broad belt loosely tied and high epaulettes. Maybe she was still wearing the uniform underneath, but he didn’t think so.
“Karen …” he said.
“She went a long time ago.”
Fletcher nodded.
“Girls her age,” Sarah said, “they get restless. Haven’t the patience.”
She was, Fletcher thought, what, all of twenty-seven herself, twenty-eight.
“I just popped in,” she said, “to see how you were getting on.”
“How am I?”
She smiled. “You’re the doctor.”
He glanced down at his pillows. “You couldn’t …”
“Prop you up a bit? I expect so.”
She leaned him forward against her shoulder as she plumped and patted the pillows, the inside of his arm pressing against her breast. “Overtime, this.” Her face was close and he could feel her breath. Sarah leaned him back into the pillows and stood back.
“Thanks.”
“There’s nothing else you want?”
Fully awake now, the pain was back in his leg, not sharp the way he might have imagined, but dull, persistent, throbbing. A nerve twitched suddenly in his hand and he winced, twice, biting down into his bottom lip. At least there was still a nerve there to twitch. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”
She raised her head. “I’ll look in tomorrow.” She was almost out of earshot when his voice brought her back.
“You off home now?”
“Soon.”
“Walking?”
“Yes.”
“Be careful.”
Resnick arrived home to find the front door open on the latch and Miles pressing his nose against it while Pepper nervously kept watch. His immediate thought was that the house had been burgled, but a quick check proved this not to be so. Bud was lying on the top step of the stairs, ready for flight. Dizzy and Ed Silver were neither of them to be seen, off about their business, hard into the night.
Ed’s note was propped against the edge of the frying pan, Out for a quick one, back soon . He had washed the plate but not the knife and fork, rinsed out his cup and left the tea stewing dark and cold inside the pot. Three tea bags. The bacon and the sausage he had found in Resnick’s fridge, the oven chips he would have had to fetch from the grocer’s on the main road. Also, the half-bottle of cheap Greek brandy, empty between the cats’ bowls.
Resnick picked up Bud and nuzzled him, conscious of the animal’s ribs like something made from a kit, balsa wood and glue. He dropped his coat over the back of a chair and, carrying the cat with him, pulled an Ellington album from the shelf. “Jack the Bear,” “Take the A Train,” “KoKo.” His friend, Ben Riley, twelve years in the job before he left for America, had sent him a card from New York. Charlie-Finally got to take the “A” train. Head-to-toe graffiti, inside and out, and anyone white gets off below 110th Street. Stay home. Stick to the music . Ben, he’d stayed there: Resnick hadn’t heard from him in more than two years, four.
Ed Silver had scorned the Czech Budweiser and
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