Still Waters (Charlie Resnick #9)(26)

“I thought things were getting better.”

Jackie Ferris laughed. “How many women, what percentage, inspector and above?”

“There’s you for one.”

“And don’t think it didn’t cost me, Charlie. What, you don’t want to know.”

Resnick finished his coffee and held up his empty cup. “Time for another?”

“Plenty.”

This time, he remembered the toast.

“I’ve talked to my boss,” Jackie said. “This is the way we’d like it to play out.”



The CID room was empty, save for Lynn worrying away at an electronic typewriter that should have been pensioned off a long time back. Resnick stood in the doorway, wondering how long it would take till she was forced to recognize that he was there.

“The Family Support Unit,” Lynn said finally. “I went down to see them myself. They’ve given me an interview, Friday. Half-nine. If that’s all right.”

Resnick nodded. “That’s fine.”

He went into his office and closed the door. Before he could sit down, the phone rang; it was Suzanne Olds.

“Mark Divine,” she said. “He got bail.”

Resnick breathed a slow sigh of relief.

“They made a condition of residence, of course.”

“The flat here in the city?”

“Yes. Banned from visiting Derby city center or any nightclub anywhere this side of the trial. Forbidden from contacting or interfering with any of the prosecution’s witnesses. All pretty much what you’d expect.”

“And Mark?”

“Said if they thought they could tell him what he could do with his own time, they had their heads up their arses.”

“He’ll calm down.”

“Maybe.” She sounded less than confident.

“I’ll call round,” Resnick assured her, “have a word. He’ll see sense in the end.”

From the tone of her reply, Suzanne Olds didn’t seem convinced.

Resnick ran the gauntlet of traffic across to Canning Circus and haggled over which kind of mustard to have with a honey roast ham and Emmenthal sandwich, a generously proportioned dill pickle on the side. He was carrying this back into the building as Jack Skelton, shoes shining like there was no tomorrow, came hurrying down the stairs.

“Off to Central, Charlie. Something’s come up with these Serious Crime appointments. Pow-wow with the chief. Ride with me, you can always get yourself a lift back.”

Sitting next to Skelton in the back of the car, Resnick brought him up to speed on the situation with Divine, and outlined the details of his meeting with Jackie Ferris.

“Huh,” Skelton grunted, “the Yard’ll not be helping us monitor your pal Grabianski and dole out expert advice, without wanting plenty in return.”

“A little information,” Resnick said, not quite believing it. “Some forgery scam they’re interested in. They’ve got the idea Grabianski might lead them to the people involved. Whatever we get out of him, they want us to feed back to them.”

“And that’s all?”

Resnick shrugged. “So far.”

Skelton took a roll of extra-strong mints from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. “Well, run with it for now. But don’t commit more than we can afford. And watch they don’t give you the run-around. Smart bastards, the lot of ’em. Treat us like country cousins if we give them the chance.”

Resnick still had his sandwich, more squashed than perhaps was comfortable but the taste would be pretty much the same. When he sat down on the bench across from Peachey Street, the winos who sojourned there daily, dawn to dusk, looked at him askance. He washed it down with a brace of espressos at the Italian coffee stall nearby and talked Aldo into letting him use his phone.

Just back from work, Hannah’s spirits rose at the sound of his voice.

There was cucumber and dill soup in the freezer and they ate it with rye bread Resnick had picked up after leaving Aldo’s; later, a mixed salad dressed with honey and olive oil, a chunk of Wensleydale cheese and narrow slices of plum tart. When Hannah went upstairs to work for a while, Resnick called Graham Millington at home and got his wife instead. The sergeant was out for the evening and wouldn’t be back till late; seeing one of his informants, Madeleine thought, unable quite to disguise the distaste in her voice.

Resnick took off his shoes, put his feet up on the settee, and fell asleep listening to Bonnie Raitt.

“I thought you liked this?” Hannah said a little later, waking him with a glass of wine. Bonnie and Sippie Wallace were joking their way through “Women Be Wise.”

“I do.”

“And this?” leaning over him.

“Mmm,” he said, recovering his breath, “I like that, too.” In bed, after they had made love, she told him about Jane, about the bruise above her kidneys, the state she had been in.

“You’re sure it was Alex?”

“Who else would it be?”

Slowly, Resnick rolled onto his side to face her. “And she hasn’t said anything to you before?”

“No. I had no idea. I mean, I knew he bullied her, verbally—we talked about that—but not … not this.”

Resnick stroked her shoulder. “She should report it officially. Make out a complaint. And if she hasn’t done so already, go to her doctor, or to the hospital, one or the other.”