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Authors: Lisa Scullard
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themselves against at the moment," he comments. "Some of the stuff I've seen in Forensics already… I blame substance abuse. Delusional on a scale that you've probably only seen a splinter of. Especially with the amount of crap feeding their imagination on the internet."
"Yeah, I imagine it starts with lucky rabbit's foot and horseshoe, and works its way up through Voodoo dolls to fatwahs," I remark.
"Something like that," he nods. "Got to go over more stuff there today. Should be fun. Someone dumped our tramp's body in the river, that we left behind 21 Black's. Must have thought it would upset the Health & Safety inspectors."
"Yeah, you hope it's that straightforward," I agree. "Perhaps they thought he died eating leftovers out of their bins."
"I'll mention that at work, sounds like it could be a motive." He switches off the oven, and takes out a small round pan. "Speaking of leftovers, this is meant to be breakfast. I do the Spanish thing and put all leftovers in an omelette next day. You can try it if you want."
"Frittata," I say.
"No need to be rude." He grins at me over his shoulder, and winks. "Want some?"
"Sure."
"Yuri said on the phone that they want to see you and the car later, so I'd give them a ring when you're finished if I were you," he suggests, pushing a plate and fork towards me, and sitting down opposite. "Then you and me have got our fake date tonight. Half Moon Inn. Remember?"
"Yeah." I nod, and take a bite of Spanish omelette. It's potato, green beans, peas and bacon. "This is nice."
"You sound surprised," he jokes. "Reckon you and me are ready to take on a fake date stakeout? Or do you think someone will clock us?"
"What, as, undercover police?" I ask. "Or escaped mental patients?"
"Either," he replies. "What with you jumping out of your skin every time I so much as breathe on you, I reckon we'll last about five minutes."
"I thought the idea was to look out for targets," I remark. "Not play Celebrity Mr . & Mrs ."
"Just that the two of us out sober, trying to look like loved-up Blues fans, with you yelling 'What?!' every look I give you isn't going to stop us standing out a mile."
"Sounds normal to me," I shrug. "I think you'll find that's why most couples who go out socializing together in the evenings in public usually get drunk. To act more relaxed together."
Connor smiles and sips his tea.
"How good is your aim drunk?" he queries.
"Depends," I say thoughtfully. "How far do I have to throw the snooker table?"
"You've been getting drunk with entirely the wrong crowd, by the sound of things," he chuckles.
"That's why I don't drink anymore," I agree.
"You'd be safe with me."
"On a fake date, maybe," I muse. "I've never drunk alcohol on a real date."
"Good," he says. "Tonight can be your test run for the real thing."
I ring Warren while Connor clears away and loads the dishwasher.
"Morning, Trouble," Warren greets me. "Pleased to hear your car got back all right. Took a few signal boosters, but it did the trick. Yuri refers to it as The Tank now. At least it's better than the espionage Citroen 2CV's we've been watching in Moscow. Like trying to navigate shopping trolleys around B&Q."
"I was worried you were going to turn it into an anti-congestion slot street car," I remark. "Where you stick your money in and destination, and it drives you there by sat-nav at three miles an hour."
"No, that's what these cars do when they retire," Warren laughs. "Moscow has a bit of a problem already with tourists, trying to get into the 2CV's thinking they're city tour taxis, while they're really out on surveillance. Twelve o'clock today, Britten Airfield for some road tests. Got it?"
"Yeah."
"Don't be late." He disconnects the call.
"I gotta go," says Connor, wiping his hands on a tea-towel. "Stupid Forensics lab to go to."
He reaches out to me as I put my phone in my pocket, and pulls me into his arms. He smiles as I try to suppress my reaction to being caught by surprise, which is mixed
"Yeah, I imagine it starts with lucky rabbit's foot and horseshoe, and works its way up through Voodoo dolls to fatwahs," I remark.
"Something like that," he nods. "Got to go over more stuff there today. Should be fun. Someone dumped our tramp's body in the river, that we left behind 21 Black's. Must have thought it would upset the Health & Safety inspectors."
"Yeah, you hope it's that straightforward," I agree. "Perhaps they thought he died eating leftovers out of their bins."
"I'll mention that at work, sounds like it could be a motive." He switches off the oven, and takes out a small round pan. "Speaking of leftovers, this is meant to be breakfast. I do the Spanish thing and put all leftovers in an omelette next day. You can try it if you want."
"Frittata," I say.
"No need to be rude." He grins at me over his shoulder, and winks. "Want some?"
"Sure."
"Yuri said on the phone that they want to see you and the car later, so I'd give them a ring when you're finished if I were you," he suggests, pushing a plate and fork towards me, and sitting down opposite. "Then you and me have got our fake date tonight. Half Moon Inn. Remember?"
"Yeah." I nod, and take a bite of Spanish omelette. It's potato, green beans, peas and bacon. "This is nice."
"You sound surprised," he jokes. "Reckon you and me are ready to take on a fake date stakeout? Or do you think someone will clock us?"
"What, as, undercover police?" I ask. "Or escaped mental patients?"
"Either," he replies. "What with you jumping out of your skin every time I so much as breathe on you, I reckon we'll last about five minutes."
"I thought the idea was to look out for targets," I remark. "Not play Celebrity Mr . & Mrs ."
"Just that the two of us out sober, trying to look like loved-up Blues fans, with you yelling 'What?!' every look I give you isn't going to stop us standing out a mile."
"Sounds normal to me," I shrug. "I think you'll find that's why most couples who go out socializing together in the evenings in public usually get drunk. To act more relaxed together."
Connor smiles and sips his tea.
"How good is your aim drunk?" he queries.
"Depends," I say thoughtfully. "How far do I have to throw the snooker table?"
"You've been getting drunk with entirely the wrong crowd, by the sound of things," he chuckles.
"That's why I don't drink anymore," I agree.
"You'd be safe with me."
"On a fake date, maybe," I muse. "I've never drunk alcohol on a real date."
"Good," he says. "Tonight can be your test run for the real thing."
I ring Warren while Connor clears away and loads the dishwasher.
"Morning, Trouble," Warren greets me. "Pleased to hear your car got back all right. Took a few signal boosters, but it did the trick. Yuri refers to it as The Tank now. At least it's better than the espionage Citroen 2CV's we've been watching in Moscow. Like trying to navigate shopping trolleys around B&Q."
"I was worried you were going to turn it into an anti-congestion slot street car," I remark. "Where you stick your money in and destination, and it drives you there by sat-nav at three miles an hour."
"No, that's what these cars do when they retire," Warren laughs. "Moscow has a bit of a problem already with tourists, trying to get into the 2CV's thinking they're city tour taxis, while they're really out on surveillance. Twelve o'clock today, Britten Airfield for some road tests. Got it?"
"Yeah."
"Don't be late." He disconnects the call.
"I gotta go," says Connor, wiping his hands on a tea-towel. "Stupid Forensics lab to go to."
He reaches out to me as I put my phone in my pocket, and pulls me into his arms. He smiles as I try to suppress my reaction to being caught by surprise, which is mixed
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