Read Online The Bee's Kiss by Barbara Cleverly - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Cleverly
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‘Look, it’s late, Sarge.’ He stifled a yawn. ‘I’m going downstairs to the office to put through the dreaded call to the lady’s mother in Surrey. I’m driving there tomorrow afternoon and I’d like you to come along. It’ll be another long day, I’m afraid, Bill, and I’m not sure what your domestic arrangements are . . . a wife to placate, perhaps?’
‘Single, sir. I’ve managed to stay single. I’m living with my old father down the East End.’ He grinned. ‘The old feller would worry if I
didn’t
stay out late some evenings.’
‘That’s fine then. Look, can you lock up here and liaise with the hotel staff? And there’s a night duty copper from the Vine Street station on his way and he’ll need briefing.’
‘I can manage, sir!’
Chapter Five
Armitage left by the staff entrance. Looking doubtfully at the rain-wet street and the dangling lights swinging in the wind, he stood for a moment fastening his police cape tightly about his shoulders. He patted his pockets and checked his belongings then pulled a fashionably rakish peaked service cap on to his head and adjusted the neb to the angle he favoured. He’d begged it from a mate who served with the Thames Police and those boys knew about weatherproofing. He glanced up and down Piccadilly, all senses still alert. The night’s events had given his nerves a shaking and he had too many thoughts chasing each other through his head to allow him to slope quietly off back to the rat hole he called home and get a few hours’ sleep.
He wondered what impression he’d made on the Commander. And what a turn of fate that he, of all people, should be in charge of the case! Best officer Armitage had come across in the four years of fighting, but that was ten years ago near enough and Armitage was too experienced to think you could rely on past goodwill.
He
never did. What had Sandilands said? ‘We must have a pint and a chat sometime.’ Oh, yer! Friendly enough but meaningless. Just a polite formula. Armitage’s lips curled in derision. What did he expect his response to be? ‘Delighted! Your club or mine?’ He shrugged his shoulders. Take the Commander for a jar to his own local, the Dog and Duck? That’d show him how the other nine tenths live!
With a cynical smile, he set off east down the almost deserted but still brightly lit street. Nearly all the revellers had gone home or into the smoky dark depths of some nightclub. He passed a couple in fancy dress, wandering drunk and disoriented, hand in hand, shivering and giggling. Armitage approached them, putting on a copper’s voice, firm but jocular. ‘’Allo, ’allo! Captain Hook and Miss Tinkerbell, is it? May I direct you to the nearest taxi stand before the lady’s wings get wet?’ He pointed and pushed them in the right direction and went on his way.
He managed to keep the rhythm of his stride when he first became aware that he was being followed. He did not look back. He slowed to exchange a few words with a street washer. Boots and oilskin apron shining under a streetlight, the workman was directing his powerful jet at the pavement, washing the day’s and night’s accumulated filth into the gutter. He grinned a toothless grin at the sergeant and was pleased to turn off his hose to share a companionable moment.
‘Wild old night, Sarge!’
‘Still – no May flowers without your April showers.’
‘Did you hear who’d won the cup, then?’
‘Some bloody northern team,’ Armitage grinned.
‘Bolton Wanderers!’
‘Sod it! I had a bob on Man. City.’
‘Didn’t we all? Working late, sir?’
‘No rest for the wicked.’
The reassuring platitudes flowed, bonding two fellow workers through the small hours.
Turning to raise a hand in final salute, Armitage took the opportunity to scan the deserted street behind him. Not quite deserted. Three weary ladies of the night were gathered together in a disgruntled group under a lamp on the pavement across the road, screaming
‘Single, sir. I’ve managed to stay single. I’m living with my old father down the East End.’ He grinned. ‘The old feller would worry if I
didn’t
stay out late some evenings.’
‘That’s fine then. Look, can you lock up here and liaise with the hotel staff? And there’s a night duty copper from the Vine Street station on his way and he’ll need briefing.’
‘I can manage, sir!’
Chapter Five
Armitage left by the staff entrance. Looking doubtfully at the rain-wet street and the dangling lights swinging in the wind, he stood for a moment fastening his police cape tightly about his shoulders. He patted his pockets and checked his belongings then pulled a fashionably rakish peaked service cap on to his head and adjusted the neb to the angle he favoured. He’d begged it from a mate who served with the Thames Police and those boys knew about weatherproofing. He glanced up and down Piccadilly, all senses still alert. The night’s events had given his nerves a shaking and he had too many thoughts chasing each other through his head to allow him to slope quietly off back to the rat hole he called home and get a few hours’ sleep.
He wondered what impression he’d made on the Commander. And what a turn of fate that he, of all people, should be in charge of the case! Best officer Armitage had come across in the four years of fighting, but that was ten years ago near enough and Armitage was too experienced to think you could rely on past goodwill.
He
never did. What had Sandilands said? ‘We must have a pint and a chat sometime.’ Oh, yer! Friendly enough but meaningless. Just a polite formula. Armitage’s lips curled in derision. What did he expect his response to be? ‘Delighted! Your club or mine?’ He shrugged his shoulders. Take the Commander for a jar to his own local, the Dog and Duck? That’d show him how the other nine tenths live!
With a cynical smile, he set off east down the almost deserted but still brightly lit street. Nearly all the revellers had gone home or into the smoky dark depths of some nightclub. He passed a couple in fancy dress, wandering drunk and disoriented, hand in hand, shivering and giggling. Armitage approached them, putting on a copper’s voice, firm but jocular. ‘’Allo, ’allo! Captain Hook and Miss Tinkerbell, is it? May I direct you to the nearest taxi stand before the lady’s wings get wet?’ He pointed and pushed them in the right direction and went on his way.
He managed to keep the rhythm of his stride when he first became aware that he was being followed. He did not look back. He slowed to exchange a few words with a street washer. Boots and oilskin apron shining under a streetlight, the workman was directing his powerful jet at the pavement, washing the day’s and night’s accumulated filth into the gutter. He grinned a toothless grin at the sergeant and was pleased to turn off his hose to share a companionable moment.
‘Wild old night, Sarge!’
‘Still – no May flowers without your April showers.’
‘Did you hear who’d won the cup, then?’
‘Some bloody northern team,’ Armitage grinned.
‘Bolton Wanderers!’
‘Sod it! I had a bob on Man. City.’
‘Didn’t we all? Working late, sir?’
‘No rest for the wicked.’
The reassuring platitudes flowed, bonding two fellow workers through the small hours.
Turning to raise a hand in final salute, Armitage took the opportunity to scan the deserted street behind him. Not quite deserted. Three weary ladies of the night were gathered together in a disgruntled group under a lamp on the pavement across the road, screaming
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