herself.’
‘And Mel couldn’t?’ Kincaide spat out Mel’s name so it hit Goodhew like a slap in the face.
They’d stopped beside their car, standing square on to each other, neither of them even aware of who might have been passing by.
‘So this is what it’s really about? You latched on to Mel when she was having a bad time with Toby, and you convinced her you were going to leave Jan.’
‘And what are you, some kind of umpire? How’s this clearing the air?’
The conversation had skewed off the narrow path marked ‘civilized’, and it was now threatening to skid out of control. But Goodhew could still see that there was some truth in
Kincaide’s point, and hit the brake. He wondered how much of his dislike for the man was fuelled by his latent feelings for Mel. He had no immediate answer. ‘Fair enough,’ he said
finally. ‘I guess it wasn’t any of my business.’
‘I don’t give a shit what you do outside work.’
It was another very good point.
‘What’s funny?’ snapped Kincaide.
Goodhew turned away. ‘Let’s just go.’
The anger had left him, and Kincaide seemed to sense this. They headed back to Parkside Station, and would have made the journey in complete silence if Kincaide’s mobile hadn’t rung.
He switched it to hands-free and they were both greeted by the voice of DI Marks.
‘Any progress, Michael?’
‘Nothing yet, sir.’
‘Goodhew with you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘No news here either,’ Marks continued. I’m leaving Kimberly Guyver’s house now, and PC Gully will stay with her. I want you two to knock it on the head for tonight and
meet me back at the station at 8 a.m. All of us will be better for a fresh start.’
Goodhew was glad he wasn’t driving, as he didn’t want to have to keep his eyes at road level. Instead he stared up above the rooftops towards the tangerine glow
that bled from the streetlamps, staining the indigo background of the sky. He then looked in the direction of Mill Road, but was unable to distinguish any difference in the light visible from that
part of the city. He wondered whether the blaze was finally over.
Their car journey was short but claustrophobic; the city seemed huge by comparison. It always held the answers for him, so it was inevitable that he chose not to make the short walk home but
instead found himself walking in the opposite direction at 3 a.m.
Every irrelevant thought regarding Kincaide was left behind in the dusty car park of Parkside Station. He knew he would end up at the Golinski house but didn’t hurry; he wanted to enjoy
the company of his thoughts along the way. They came tentatively at first, too fleeting to grasp or analyse.
A breath of unease.
The shadow of loss.
The distraction of sirens blotting out every other sound, demanding to be observed and obeyed.
A taste of fear. Not a taste for it. The pedestrian who had run towards him earlier had manifested more of it than any of the idle bystanders had displayed. And Kimberly Guyver also, before
he’d known her name. In his mind’s eye she appeared paper-thin with it. Distressed. Taut. Beautiful and brittle.
He pulled himself up short before he stepped off the kerb.
What was it that jarred?
A taxi was the only vehicle in sight, and he had plenty of time to cross the road before it reached him, but he was aware of it only in the abstract, he had no sense of its speed or distance
from him. Its headlights shone steadily and ever closer. He watched it intently, like it was delivering the answer.
A light went on, but it was nothing to do with the taxi.
Yes, Kimberly Guyver was beautiful, but with relief he realized that this adjective hadn’t come to him in the distorted glow of the fire. He’d seen her before sometime, when her
black hair had shone in the sunlight and her bare skin was tanned and radiant. Her dark and petulant features had turned many heads, including his own. But the memory was translucent, dissolving
into nothing as soon
‘And Mel couldn’t?’ Kincaide spat out Mel’s name so it hit Goodhew like a slap in the face.
They’d stopped beside their car, standing square on to each other, neither of them even aware of who might have been passing by.
‘So this is what it’s really about? You latched on to Mel when she was having a bad time with Toby, and you convinced her you were going to leave Jan.’
‘And what are you, some kind of umpire? How’s this clearing the air?’
The conversation had skewed off the narrow path marked ‘civilized’, and it was now threatening to skid out of control. But Goodhew could still see that there was some truth in
Kincaide’s point, and hit the brake. He wondered how much of his dislike for the man was fuelled by his latent feelings for Mel. He had no immediate answer. ‘Fair enough,’ he said
finally. ‘I guess it wasn’t any of my business.’
‘I don’t give a shit what you do outside work.’
It was another very good point.
‘What’s funny?’ snapped Kincaide.
Goodhew turned away. ‘Let’s just go.’
The anger had left him, and Kincaide seemed to sense this. They headed back to Parkside Station, and would have made the journey in complete silence if Kincaide’s mobile hadn’t rung.
He switched it to hands-free and they were both greeted by the voice of DI Marks.
‘Any progress, Michael?’
‘Nothing yet, sir.’
‘Goodhew with you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘No news here either,’ Marks continued. I’m leaving Kimberly Guyver’s house now, and PC Gully will stay with her. I want you two to knock it on the head for tonight and
meet me back at the station at 8 a.m. All of us will be better for a fresh start.’
Goodhew was glad he wasn’t driving, as he didn’t want to have to keep his eyes at road level. Instead he stared up above the rooftops towards the tangerine glow
that bled from the streetlamps, staining the indigo background of the sky. He then looked in the direction of Mill Road, but was unable to distinguish any difference in the light visible from that
part of the city. He wondered whether the blaze was finally over.
Their car journey was short but claustrophobic; the city seemed huge by comparison. It always held the answers for him, so it was inevitable that he chose not to make the short walk home but
instead found himself walking in the opposite direction at 3 a.m.
Every irrelevant thought regarding Kincaide was left behind in the dusty car park of Parkside Station. He knew he would end up at the Golinski house but didn’t hurry; he wanted to enjoy
the company of his thoughts along the way. They came tentatively at first, too fleeting to grasp or analyse.
A breath of unease.
The shadow of loss.
The distraction of sirens blotting out every other sound, demanding to be observed and obeyed.
A taste of fear. Not a taste for it. The pedestrian who had run towards him earlier had manifested more of it than any of the idle bystanders had displayed. And Kimberly Guyver also, before
he’d known her name. In his mind’s eye she appeared paper-thin with it. Distressed. Taut. Beautiful and brittle.
He pulled himself up short before he stepped off the kerb.
What was it that jarred?
A taxi was the only vehicle in sight, and he had plenty of time to cross the road before it reached him, but he was aware of it only in the abstract, he had no sense of its speed or distance
from him. Its headlights shone steadily and ever closer. He watched it intently, like it was delivering the answer.
A light went on, but it was nothing to do with the taxi.
Yes, Kimberly Guyver was beautiful, but with relief he realized that this adjective hadn’t come to him in the distorted glow of the fire. He’d seen her before sometime, when her
black hair had shone in the sunlight and her bare skin was tanned and radiant. Her dark and petulant features had turned many heads, including his own. But the memory was translucent, dissolving
into nothing as soon
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