Page 47 of One Left Alive

‘Are you fucking nuts?’

His face appeared at the window and she bent down to pick up a loose rock. She clutched it in her hand.

‘I might well be. Let me in or I’ll smash another window.’

‘Go away, Morgan, before I call the police.’

‘I am the police, you idiot, let me in.’

He stared at her and his face broke into a smile as he began to laugh. He moved away and she heard the back door being unlocked. He threw open the door.

‘Drop the rock or you’re not coming in.’

She dropped it and pushed her way inside.

‘Sorry about the window, but I looked in and saw you sitting there. I got scared.’

He was bending down, trying to pick up the pieces of broken glass.

‘Yeah, thanks for your concern. Who bloody tutored you by the way?’

‘Dan, why?’

‘He taught you to do this?’

She shrugged. ‘Not really, well maybe a little. I didn’t need a tutor to show me how to be a decent human being.’

‘What do you want anyway? What’s so important you had to break my window to get into my house? You’re not some crazy stalker, are you?’

‘You should be so lucky. I needed to talk to you about the case.’

‘Morgan, take a look around you. Where are we?’

‘At your house.’

‘Correct. Therefore, that means on the rare occasion that I’m not in the station or at a crime scene then I’m off duty. Although technically my kitchen now resembles a crime scene. I need you to convince me why I shouldn’t arrest you for criminal damage.’

‘It was a concern for welfare, under section seventeen of PACE to save life and limb.’

He grinned at her. ‘You know you’re pretty good, crazy but good. I like you.’

He flopped down onto the chair, using his arm to swipe the tablets to one side. Morgan spied a dustpan and brush next to the overflowing bin and grabbed it. She began to sweep up the broken glass.

‘Want a whisky? I haven’t got anything to go with it, though, I drink it neat.’

She shook her head, emptied the pan full of glass shards into the bin and turned around, taking the bottle from him.

‘No, thanks and you don’t need any more. I’ll make you a coffee.’

‘What? Are you my mother?’

She ignored him, filled the kettle and began searching the cupboards for coffee and mugs. When she had two steaming mugs of strong coffee, she sat opposite him, sliding one across the table.

‘No, I’m your colleague. I’d like to think we could be friends. I have no idea what’s going on in your life, but I care about you so maybe you could tell me.’

They sat in silence, sipping their drinks, looking at each other. Eventually he reached across the table and patted her hand.

‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time. Thank you, I am still pissed at you for breaking my window though.’