Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 105

Her phone rang, making her jump. Jake again. He’d left a number of messages, wondering why she hadn’t been to see him, checking if she was ok. Were his enquiries genuine or the product of a guilty conscience? Helen surprised herself by not wanting to know. Normally she would tackle everything head on, but not this time. This time she didn’t want to in case the answer upset her. Her mind shifted to thoughts of Emilia. What was she up to right now? Was she contemplating pardoning Helen or busy planning her execution? If she printed her story, Helen would be off the case. She couldn’t allow that to happen, not now they were finally making progress, but nevertheless she hadn’t backed down. She’d seen other officers make a deal with the devil and within months they’d become irredeemably compromised, often corrupt. There was nothing to do in these circumstances but tough it out and see who was still standing at the end.

Helen grabbed a coffee and headed back to the incident room. There was no time for fear or introspection now – there was work to be done. Somewhere out there was an avenging Angel with a taste for blood.

The house was quiet when Charlie returned home. Steve had eaten and gone to bed – the kitchen was scrupulously clean as it always was when he was in charge. Charlie picked at a few leftovers, then headed upstairs to shower. The hot water pummelled her, briefly reviving her, but she was utterly spent and hurried to bed.

Steve didn’t stir as she entered, so she crept into bed as quietly as she could. They weren’t sleeping in separate beds, which was one small mercy, but communication between them was almost non-existent. Ever since she’d decided to answer Helen’s plea to return to the investigation, Steve had made little attempt to hide his anger and disappointment. It was unbearably sad that just as Charlie was finally finding her feet at work, her domestic life was falling apart. Why couldn’t things just work out for once? What did she have to do to be happy?

She lay awake staring at the ceiling. Steve stirred as he often did and Charlie flicked a glance at him. She was surprised – and unnerved – to find him staring at her.

‘Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to wake you,’ she said softly.

‘I wasn’t asleep.’

‘Oh.’ Charlie couldn’t read him in the half-light. He didn’t seem angry, but he didn’t seem friendly either.

‘I’ve been lying awake thinking.’

‘Right. What about?’