Read Online The Loving Husband by Christobel Kent - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christobel Kent
Ads: Link
me,’ said Derek mildly. ‘Long time no see, Detective Constable Compton. How was your leave? Barbados, was it?’
‘Yeah, right,’ Ali said, smiling in spite of herself. She liked Derek. ‘Can’t you tell by the tan?’ And then from behind her she heard the pneumatic hiss of the automatic doors.
Ali saw the baby first, because the woman’s head was bent, looking down at him in the car seat. Asleep, pale cheeks, she could even see eyelashes. Stubborn little mouth. Detective Sergeant Doug Gerard was coming through the door beside the woman, smooth-chinned for once and it looked like he’d scrubbed under his fingernails too. Aftershave. That walk he had, there was a word for it, lord of all he surveyed though he was no more than a DS. Not for much longer if ambition counted for anything, and it did.
Carswell bringing up the rear, surreptitiously picking his nose. Ali was already resigned to the possibility that before she knew it Ed Carswell, who had nothing going for him but low cunning and a panting desire to impress Doug Gerard, would be telling her what to do, too.
Then the woman looked up from the baby and Ali had to keep a lid on it because she knew who the aftershave was for. A woman, not quite any woman, but a vulnerable one, halfway decent would do, and Fran Hall was more than that. Even knackered, even terrified, she had one of those faces. DS Gerard had scrubbed up for that face; the swagger he took with him everywhere, whether the victim was good-looking or not.
‘This way, Mrs Hall,’ Gerard said, all reassuring, heading for the stairs behind reception, and Ali saw her take it in, the gloomy stairwell, the wall already scuffed, three years in, from surly lads scraping their boots along it as they were led down.
‘Sorry, we’re under a lot of pressure for space,’ Ali heard him lie, ‘we’ll be down in our basement interview rooms.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, as Ali came after them, ‘This is Ali Compton,’ and he glanced back at her. ‘Your FLO. The best we’ve got.’ Maybe the victim’s wife would pick up the sneer attached to that, maybe she wouldn’t.
‘Mrs Hall,’ Ali said. And the woman stopped then and although Gerard made an impatient noise she didn’t move, stubborn. ‘Fran,’ she said, and Ali thought, Not just stubborn. She’s in shock.
In shock or not Fran Hall turned to Doug Gerard then and said, ‘I want her in there too.’ Nodding at Ali, unblinking. Behind Ali, Carswell let out a nervous snigger.
‘I had thought,’ he kept his voice reasonable, but Ali could see Doug Gerard was annoyed, ‘for the preliminaries I thought it might be as well if Ali – Detective Constable Compton – took charge of … of the, of your…’
‘Ben’s asleep, though,’ said Fran Hall, holding herself very stiff. ‘And I’d like her in there. Please.’
Even Derek Butt was looking over, curious, Carswell gawking excitedly and that flat, dead look on Gerard’s face that said, She’s not a fucking nurse, you know, a chaperone , you’re not entitled, but all he said – smooth as you like, as if he was humouring her and it was all the same to him, anyway – was, ‘I don’t see why not.’
Cramped and windowless, reserved for toerags, there was barely room for a solicitor and his briefcase in interview room four, let alone three police officers and a woman with a baby seat. If the baby in it began to cry … well. That’d be Ali out of the picture.
‘Just a minute,’ said Gerard on the threshold, jerking his head to Ali to follow him out. ‘Let’s track down another chair, shall we?’ Closing the door on Carswell and Fran Hall, he stood under the corridor’s striplighting, legs braced as if he was about to go in for a tackle.
‘Right,’ he said in a level undertone, pissed off and not bothering much to disguise it now.
‘What’s the story?’ Ali said, holding her ground. ‘They’ve been here a year, he’s from round here. She found him, I know
‘Yeah, right,’ Ali said, smiling in spite of herself. She liked Derek. ‘Can’t you tell by the tan?’ And then from behind her she heard the pneumatic hiss of the automatic doors.
Ali saw the baby first, because the woman’s head was bent, looking down at him in the car seat. Asleep, pale cheeks, she could even see eyelashes. Stubborn little mouth. Detective Sergeant Doug Gerard was coming through the door beside the woman, smooth-chinned for once and it looked like he’d scrubbed under his fingernails too. Aftershave. That walk he had, there was a word for it, lord of all he surveyed though he was no more than a DS. Not for much longer if ambition counted for anything, and it did.
Carswell bringing up the rear, surreptitiously picking his nose. Ali was already resigned to the possibility that before she knew it Ed Carswell, who had nothing going for him but low cunning and a panting desire to impress Doug Gerard, would be telling her what to do, too.
Then the woman looked up from the baby and Ali had to keep a lid on it because she knew who the aftershave was for. A woman, not quite any woman, but a vulnerable one, halfway decent would do, and Fran Hall was more than that. Even knackered, even terrified, she had one of those faces. DS Gerard had scrubbed up for that face; the swagger he took with him everywhere, whether the victim was good-looking or not.
‘This way, Mrs Hall,’ Gerard said, all reassuring, heading for the stairs behind reception, and Ali saw her take it in, the gloomy stairwell, the wall already scuffed, three years in, from surly lads scraping their boots along it as they were led down.
‘Sorry, we’re under a lot of pressure for space,’ Ali heard him lie, ‘we’ll be down in our basement interview rooms.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, as Ali came after them, ‘This is Ali Compton,’ and he glanced back at her. ‘Your FLO. The best we’ve got.’ Maybe the victim’s wife would pick up the sneer attached to that, maybe she wouldn’t.
‘Mrs Hall,’ Ali said. And the woman stopped then and although Gerard made an impatient noise she didn’t move, stubborn. ‘Fran,’ she said, and Ali thought, Not just stubborn. She’s in shock.
In shock or not Fran Hall turned to Doug Gerard then and said, ‘I want her in there too.’ Nodding at Ali, unblinking. Behind Ali, Carswell let out a nervous snigger.
‘I had thought,’ he kept his voice reasonable, but Ali could see Doug Gerard was annoyed, ‘for the preliminaries I thought it might be as well if Ali – Detective Constable Compton – took charge of … of the, of your…’
‘Ben’s asleep, though,’ said Fran Hall, holding herself very stiff. ‘And I’d like her in there. Please.’
Even Derek Butt was looking over, curious, Carswell gawking excitedly and that flat, dead look on Gerard’s face that said, She’s not a fucking nurse, you know, a chaperone , you’re not entitled, but all he said – smooth as you like, as if he was humouring her and it was all the same to him, anyway – was, ‘I don’t see why not.’
Cramped and windowless, reserved for toerags, there was barely room for a solicitor and his briefcase in interview room four, let alone three police officers and a woman with a baby seat. If the baby in it began to cry … well. That’d be Ali out of the picture.
‘Just a minute,’ said Gerard on the threshold, jerking his head to Ali to follow him out. ‘Let’s track down another chair, shall we?’ Closing the door on Carswell and Fran Hall, he stood under the corridor’s striplighting, legs braced as if he was about to go in for a tackle.
‘Right,’ he said in a level undertone, pissed off and not bothering much to disguise it now.
‘What’s the story?’ Ali said, holding her ground. ‘They’ve been here a year, he’s from round here. She found him, I know
Similar Books
