Read Online Precious Thing by Colette McBeth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colette McBeth
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always twitched when I was nervous. And knowing that made my heart beat faster. I was out of breath by the time I reached his office.
‘Please,’ said DCI Gunn, pointing to a seat opposite his desk. His voice was starchy, formal. It was not going to be a ‘Roger’ kind of day.
I sat down and looked at the neat stacks of paper and files on his desk. On each side of his PC were two lines of yellow Post-it notes, almost flawless in their symmetry. The computer was on an angle, away from me, so I couldn’t see what was written on them. On his desk a Parker pen was positioned parallel to his keyboard; a stapler was on a right angle next to it. I was struck by the perfection of it.
It’s funny, isn’t it, what a desk can say about someone. Looking at the papers and the pen and the stapler I saw in DCI Gunn a man beaten by the vagaries, the randomness of his job, desperate to instil order wherever he could. Or maybe he was just tidy.
‘So,’ he said, making the word last longer than it should, ‘it must have come as a shock, yesterday.’ He let that hang in the air. My eye twitched again.
‘I … seeing her face, in that room …’ I let my sentence trail off and tried to compose myself. ‘I’m still waiting for someone to tell me it’s all a mistake.’
I’m not sure what I hoped to find in his face, Clara. Hope? Reassurance? I found neither.
He wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was fixed on a red elastic band that he stretched out between his fingers which were thin and surprisingly feminine. He kept his nails long, too long for a man’s, and I saw they were thick and yellowing at the tip.
‘Good report last night,’ he said, finally looking up.
‘You saw it?’ I asked. I always assumed police had better things to do than watch themselves on the TV news.
‘I was around all day,’ he said. He took the elastic band from between his fingers and put it in a drawer in his desk. I had his full attention.
‘I wasn’t really thinking straight. Everything happened so quickly, after the press conference I was straight on air. I tried to tell them … I didn’t even know what I was saying.’ I paused. He was still staring at me. His stare would not let me go. I didn’t know where to put my eyes so I rummaged in my bag, pulled out my phone and handed it to him.
‘I was in Cantina Latina on Friday night. I didn’t want to go but Clara went on and on about meeting up with these girls we used to go to school with. Her new friends. Then she sent this.’ I pointed to the phone, which he still had in his hand. ‘And that was it.’
‘But she did turn up, didn’t she?’
He was leaning back in the chair, with his hands clasped behind his back, a pose that stretched his shirt more than seemed wise. TIME TO CUT BACK ON THE POACHER’S CHOICE.
‘So you say, but I don’t understand. I tried to call her all night. Why didn’t she call me?’ I asked.
He made no attempt to answer.
‘Clara’s my oldest friend. The thought of something happening to her … We were always so close.’ My voice was quiet, thin.
‘Were?’ DCI Gunn.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that, Clara. You were my oldest friend, you were part of me, that would never change, but we had drifted away from each other. I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t know you properly any more, not bone-deep the way I used to. That was when I made the decision to tell DCI Gunn about your history in case it had a bearing on what happened. It’s not what you would have wanted, but he would have found out anyway and now wasn’t the time for secrets. You were missing. The police needed to be armed with all the facts.
‘She went away,’ I said, ‘when she was nineteen, for treatment.’ I expected that to cause a ripple of interest, but his face gave nothing away. ‘Psychiatric treatment, she had a breakdown.’ I stopped, aware that the situation called for tears. My tears. And Jesus, I could cry buckets watching
The X Factor
but for some
‘Please,’ said DCI Gunn, pointing to a seat opposite his desk. His voice was starchy, formal. It was not going to be a ‘Roger’ kind of day.
I sat down and looked at the neat stacks of paper and files on his desk. On each side of his PC were two lines of yellow Post-it notes, almost flawless in their symmetry. The computer was on an angle, away from me, so I couldn’t see what was written on them. On his desk a Parker pen was positioned parallel to his keyboard; a stapler was on a right angle next to it. I was struck by the perfection of it.
It’s funny, isn’t it, what a desk can say about someone. Looking at the papers and the pen and the stapler I saw in DCI Gunn a man beaten by the vagaries, the randomness of his job, desperate to instil order wherever he could. Or maybe he was just tidy.
‘So,’ he said, making the word last longer than it should, ‘it must have come as a shock, yesterday.’ He let that hang in the air. My eye twitched again.
‘I … seeing her face, in that room …’ I let my sentence trail off and tried to compose myself. ‘I’m still waiting for someone to tell me it’s all a mistake.’
I’m not sure what I hoped to find in his face, Clara. Hope? Reassurance? I found neither.
He wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was fixed on a red elastic band that he stretched out between his fingers which were thin and surprisingly feminine. He kept his nails long, too long for a man’s, and I saw they were thick and yellowing at the tip.
‘Good report last night,’ he said, finally looking up.
‘You saw it?’ I asked. I always assumed police had better things to do than watch themselves on the TV news.
‘I was around all day,’ he said. He took the elastic band from between his fingers and put it in a drawer in his desk. I had his full attention.
‘I wasn’t really thinking straight. Everything happened so quickly, after the press conference I was straight on air. I tried to tell them … I didn’t even know what I was saying.’ I paused. He was still staring at me. His stare would not let me go. I didn’t know where to put my eyes so I rummaged in my bag, pulled out my phone and handed it to him.
‘I was in Cantina Latina on Friday night. I didn’t want to go but Clara went on and on about meeting up with these girls we used to go to school with. Her new friends. Then she sent this.’ I pointed to the phone, which he still had in his hand. ‘And that was it.’
‘But she did turn up, didn’t she?’
He was leaning back in the chair, with his hands clasped behind his back, a pose that stretched his shirt more than seemed wise. TIME TO CUT BACK ON THE POACHER’S CHOICE.
‘So you say, but I don’t understand. I tried to call her all night. Why didn’t she call me?’ I asked.
He made no attempt to answer.
‘Clara’s my oldest friend. The thought of something happening to her … We were always so close.’ My voice was quiet, thin.
‘Were?’ DCI Gunn.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that, Clara. You were my oldest friend, you were part of me, that would never change, but we had drifted away from each other. I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t know you properly any more, not bone-deep the way I used to. That was when I made the decision to tell DCI Gunn about your history in case it had a bearing on what happened. It’s not what you would have wanted, but he would have found out anyway and now wasn’t the time for secrets. You were missing. The police needed to be armed with all the facts.
‘She went away,’ I said, ‘when she was nineteen, for treatment.’ I expected that to cause a ripple of interest, but his face gave nothing away. ‘Psychiatric treatment, she had a breakdown.’ I stopped, aware that the situation called for tears. My tears. And Jesus, I could cry buckets watching
The X Factor
but for some
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