Page 57

FIFTY-SIX

Overcooked sausages, undercooked chicken and the lurking spectre of botulism would not normally be Thorne’s idea of a Sunday afternoon out, but after a couple of beers and a few sharp nudges from Helen he’d actually begun to enjoy himself.

He was glad he’d worn a coat, though.

There were perhaps thirty people gathered in Brigstocke’s small back garden and Thorne knew most of them, by sight at least. Charita Desai was there and Dipak Chall.

Thorne was quite surprised to see Stephen Pallister enjoying the DCI’s hospitality, even if he looked a little sheepish when Thorne caught his eye.

A good few of the guests were former colleagues Brigstocke had worked with before joining his current MIT and Thorne presumed that those he didn’t recognise were friends or neighbours.

He chatted briefly to several of the guests he didn’t know, did his best to sound interested in golf and gardening, but gravitated eventually to the group he felt most comfortable with.

Phil Hendricks and his boyfriend Liam seemed to be engaged in a competition to see who could eat the most chicken wings. Tanner had brought the not remotely freaky-looking Fiona along and Holland was there with Pippa.

Everyone was making an effort not to talk shop.

‘See that bloke over there?’ Hendricks nodded towards a man spooning salad on to a paper plate; the same man who’d talked at Thorne for ten minutes about the problems with his swing and the fantastic new putter he hoped would improve his game on the greens.

‘Keen golfer,’ Thorne said.

‘Keen drinker an’ all . . . look at the colour of him. His liver’s knackered, I reckon. I give him six months at the most.’

Some people were making less of an effort than others.

‘Bloody hell, Phil,’ Tanner said.

‘I’m telling you. If he’s booked himself a summer holiday, that’s money he might as well have flushed straight down the shitter.’

‘Nice.’

Next to Tanner, Fiona grinned and leaned in to whisper something.

Hendricks was a picture of innocence. ‘What?’

‘Just . . . you’re exactly like I’d thought you’d be,’ Fiona said. ‘That’s all.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Hendricks dropped the remains of another chicken wing on to his plate and stared at Tanner. ‘Been telling you all about me, has she? I mean, obviously I’m even more impressive in the flesh.’

Liam rolled his eyes at Thorne.

‘Definitely,’ Fiona said. ‘Nic’s description didn’t do you justice.’

‘I’ve heard a fair bit about you, too.’ Hendricks smirked, ignoring the glare from Tanner.

‘OK, and am I what you were expecting?’

‘Yeah, I’d say so.’ Hendricks shrugged and wiped his mouth with a serviette. ‘Give or take the odd nipple clamp.’

Thorne almost spat his beer out as Fiona laughed, providing the cue for Holland and the others to do the same, while Tanner stepped smartly across to punch Hendricks on the arm.

Brigstocke walked across to join them, carrying a plate of predictably blackened sausages. ‘Sounds like everyone’s enjoying themselves,’ he said.

‘Yeah, it’s a good do,’ Thorne said.

Everyone nodded and murmured their agreement.

‘I did have one bit of chicken that was a bit pink,’ Hendricks said. ‘But I don’t think I’ll sue.’

Brigstocke bit into a sausage and told him that he couldn’t give a toss either way.

‘Thanks for inviting us,’ Pippa said.

Tanner leaned to touch Brigstocke’s arm. ‘Yes, and happy birthday by the way.’

‘You still haven’t told us how old you are,’ Thorne said.

Brigstocke smiled. ‘It’s nice to get together away from . . . everything, don’t you think?’ He looked at Thorne and Tanner. ‘Just for a few bloody hours?’

‘Shit, were we supposed to bring presents?’ Hendricks asked.

‘Well, yeah, it’s a birthday party and unless you’re ignorant northern scum that’s what people normally do,’ Thorne said. He and Helen had brought a bottle, same as most of the other guests had done, judging by the sizeable collection of bottle-shaped parcels on a table inside.

Hendricks nodded. ‘Well, in which case my present’s going to be the whole not suing you for food poisoning thing. Fair enough?’ He leaned across, touched his beer can to Brigstocke’s. ‘Many happy returns, mate.’

‘I think I might get a bit teary,’ Brigstocke said.

Thorne looked across to see Brigstocke’s wife, Sally, moving between the guests, handing out fresh cans and topping up glasses. He walked across to join her, gave her a hug.

‘How’s life, Tom?’

‘I’m good,’ Thorne said. ‘This is great, by the way. I’m guessing it was your idea.’

She smiled, nodded. ‘You warm enough?’

‘Well—’

‘A very stupid idea. A barbecue, I mean.’

They stared across at the group Thorne had just left. Brigstocke was laughing at Hendricks’s usual twisted cabaret turn.

‘How’s your old man doing?’ Thorne asked.

Sally looked at him. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’

‘Oh.’ Thorne remembered what Holland had said about spouses knowing their other halves better than anyone else.

That said, coppers often chose to leave the darker elements of their days behind them at the office, to keep work and home lives separate.

So it was perhaps unsurprising that Russell Brigstocke’s wife might know less about her husband’s state of mind than those he worked with every day. ‘He’s a bit stressed,’ he said.

Sally was still watching her husband. ‘Yeah, he’s definitely not himself.’

‘We’ve got a pig of a job on.’

‘Dead police officers, right?’

‘Right,’ Thorne said. Thinking: Well, that’s how it started .

She nodded and twisted the wine bottle in her hand. ‘It’s got to him, you know?’ She leaned in close to whisper. ‘He’s actually been dropping hints about retiring. He probably won’t, knowing him, but all the same . . . ’

Thorne said nothing, not altogether surprised considering some of the things Brigstocke had said recently. The force he no longer felt part of.

‘One of the reasons I wanted to do this ,’ Sally said.

They carried on staring for a few seconds before Thorne felt the need to change the subject. ‘Kids not here?’

Sally laughed. ‘No bloody chance.’

Their eldest boy was just finishing his second year at university while their youngest was about to start his first. Their daughter was training to be a teacher somewhere up north.

They’d lost a fourth child to meningitis fifteen years before.

Thorne knew just how devastated the family had been, though Brigstocke had not talked about it for a long time.

Work life, home life . . .

‘We all had a little Zoom get-together the other night,’ she said. ‘But even if they were around, I doubt very much they would have come. A party with your parents’ friends is every teenager’s nightmare, isn’t it? I think the music would have given them the heebie-jeebies for a kick-off.’

‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Thorne said. They’d brought a speaker out on to the patio and Thorne’s reaction to some of the music had been no less extreme than the kids’ would have been.

Why was ‘easy listening’ always so bloody difficult?

Ed Sheeran and the fucking Eagles. There had been a Coldplay track a few minutes earlier, about which, Thorne decided, he would have serious words with the DCI when the chance presented itself.

There was no need to spoil his birthday party.

Thorne was about to say something else when he saw Tanner and Holland walking towards him, a phone clutched in Tanner’s hand and expressions that told him their break from shop talk was well and truly over.

‘I’d best let you get on,’ Thorne said.

Sally squeezed his arm and took a step away, then turned back and nodded towards the jaundiced golfer. ‘Try and avoid Alan from next door,’ she said. ‘He’s dull as fuck.’

Tanner pointed towards a quiet corner.

‘Greg Hobbs just called,’ she said, once Thorne had joined them. ‘Alex Brightwell’s posted another message to Emily Mead.’ She tapped at the screen on her phone then held it out for Thorne to look at.

A safe house isn’t always safe as houses.

‘What’s he playing at?’ Thorne asked.

Holland shook his head. ‘It’s like Hobbs said. He must know we’re monitoring this stuff, so he’s just winding us up; winding Emily up. What the hell can he actually do ?’ He looked from Thorne to Tanner. ‘Nothing, right?’

‘Right,’ Tanner said.

‘It’s solid,’ Thorne said. ‘She’s safe.’

Holland was nodding. ‘Talk me through it.’

‘Really?’ Tanner said.

‘I mean, it can’t hurt to go over this stuff, can it?

’ Holland had not visited the safe house in Edgware.

Since the list of approved visitors had been cut down, only Thorne and Tanner had been granted access.

‘Just run me through the set-up then we can all relax and go back to the barbie and a few more of Phil’s dirty stories. ’

Tanner looked at Thorne and shrugged. ‘Other than that visit to the ground floor when Hobbs came over, Emily’s not left the flat since she was first taken there.

Not for a minute. She has access to one phone and that’s only to call us or Hobbs.

She’s got no access to a computer and nobody in her family knows she’s there. ’

‘They’ve been told she’s travelling,’ Thorne said.

‘There’s a rotating team of officers stationed outside the building, front and back, and more officers inside.

Umpteen ID checks and CCTV cameras inside the building.

Food is delivered twice a day directly to the officers outside, as per a rota which we agreed on when Emily was first taken to the flat.

Nothing gets to her door until the officer carrying it has passed through all the ID and camera checks.

’ Tanner held out her arms. ‘I don’t think she could be any safer unless we locked her up in our incident room.

Actually, scratch that . . . she’s way safer. ’

‘OK,’ Holland said. ‘Never a bad idea to talk it through.’

‘No, you’re right.’

‘I wish I could have food delivered every night.’ Holland leaned in, conspiratorially. ‘Cooking isn’t exactly Pippa’s strong point, though please don’t tell her I said that.’

‘Not a word,’ Tanner said.

‘So, what’s on the menu in Edgware tonight?’

Tanner thought for a moment. ‘Sunday is . . . burgers. Large cheeseburger, fries and a Diet Coke with no ice. Emily’s very demanding.’

‘What d’you reckon, Tom? I don’t think you’d miss home cooking, would you? Not the stuff that you cook, anyway.’

Thorne wasn’t listening. He was looking across at the others, thinking about Hendricks’s non-existent birthday present; what he wasn’t going to sue Brigstocke for. Trying to stay calm as the prickle took hold at the nape of his neck and began to spread.

From nowhere; sudden and shocking, all too familiar.

Like the softest brush of cold, thin fingers against his skin.