The Stranger You Know (Maeve Kerrigan Novels) Read online

  “There isn’t one. You have to become a nun.”

  “I would, but the veil wouldn’t suit me.” I checked the time, suddenly aware of the ache in my shoulders and neck from hunching over my desk. “Where are you going for this drink and who else has signed up?”

  “The local, and it’s just me and Joanne, and Christine. Please note, I’m not offended by you wanting to know who else is going.”

  “Joanne as in your girlfriend? I haven’t seen her in ages.” I’d only met her a couple of times but I liked her a lot. “Okay, I’m in. Who is Christine?”

  Liv shushed me, leaning across so she could mutter. “Civilian analyst. She’s been working for Godley since before I joined the team. Please don’t tell me you didn’t know who she was.”

  “Oh, her. I’d forgotten her name.” I was aware of her, but I hadn’t paid much attention. She was young and giggly, addicted to shopping for clothes in her lunch hour and flirting with the male detectives.

  Liv tilted her head to one side, like a bird about to peck. “Don’t judge her. You don’t know her.”

  “Okay. I don’t know her. But I don’t think we’re going to get on.”

  “She’s sweet. And she’s terrified of you.”

  “Of me?” I glanced over to where she was working, facing away from me so all I could see was light brown hair in a messy up-do and a narrow back. “But I’m not scary at all. How is that possible?”

  Liv sighed. “You have no idea, do you?” She counted her points off on her fingers. “You never speak to her. You aren’t afraid to snap at the boys if they get out of line with sexist remarks. You’re a workaholic and you take your job very seriously. Plus you have a habit of solving our shittiest cases. Most of the team think you’re the mutt’s nuts and would sacrifice a body part for the chance to sleep with you, which you don’t seem to care about. Then again, you do have the finest bloke ever to work here warming your bed, so why would you? She worships you from afar. I made her day by telling her I’d ask you to come with us.”

  “You are kidding.” I was feeling deeply uncomfortable.

  “Not in the least.”

  “She’ll be so disappointed when she finds out the truth.”

  “What did I say that wasn’t true?” Liv patted my head. “Especially the part about being a workaholic. You really need to have a break now and then.”

  I considered that for a moment. By the evening I was usually exhausted, fit for nothing but half an hour in front of the television and then bed. That was on ordinary days, when I wasn’t in the middle of a nightmare, headline-grabbing case. I’d been tired for so long, it passed for normal. I only really noticed when I was so fatigued I could neither eat nor sleep.

  Now that I thought about it, none of that sounded healthy.

  “All right. You’ve persuaded me.” Liv looked triumphant and I held up my hand to forestall her. “But just for one drink. Then I really have to go home.”

  * * *

  It was simply amazing how quickly one drink turned to three when you were having fun. I beamed across the table at Liv and Joanne, who were holding hands. Joanne was tall and dark-haired, with clear, freckled skin and high cheekbones. She looked like a model, spoke with a Scouse lilt, and had a high-flying job in the Counter Terrorism Command. Liv had met her when they both worked in Special Branch. The contrast between them was striking. Both were exceedingly attractive, but in very different ways. And they were obviously, transparently in love.

  The gin loosened my tongue. “You know, you two make a lovely couple.”

  “Oh, we know.” Joanne smiled at Liv, then back at me. “Poster girls for Metropolitan Police inclusiveness.”

  “The friendly face of lesbianism.” Liv untangled her fingers from her girlfriend’s to lift her glass. “Here’s to being a dyke.”

  We all clinked glasses, Christine giggling nervously. That was more or less all she had done so far. Sitting beside me, she was facing the bar and therefore had a view, as I did, of most of the team propping it up, drinking as if it was a competition. From where I was sitting it looked as if DS Chris Pettifer was winning. As I watched, he took three goes to get his pint glass back on the bar, then stared at it blearily as if daring it to move again.

  “Not a pretty sight,” I said. “I think Chris needs to call it a night.”

  “Poor DS Pettifer. His wife’s left him.”

  I looked at Christine curiously. “How did you find that out?”

  She shrugged. “I get to know things about the people on the team. They were having IVF and it didn’t work out. They can’t afford any more and they’re not entitled to another round on the NHS. She’s gone off traveling on her own, so I suppose I shouldn’t say she’s left him, because she might be back and they haven’t exactly split up.”

  “Why didn’t I know any of this?” I asked Liv.

  “Because you don’t really have time to gossip. You’re too busy.”

  “That’s so sad.” I knocked back the end of my drink. There was another lined up in front of me, fizzing gently. I’d drink it quickly, I thought, checking the time with a twinge of guilt.

  “Pettifer?” Liv asked.

  “Me. I’m so boring. It’s not that I don’t like gossip. I absolutely do. It’s just that I’m too scared of getting in trouble with Derwent to be caught having fun at work.”

  “What’s it like?” Christine asked. “Working with DI Derwent, I mean?”

  “A laugh a minute.” I was trying to get at the slice of lemon in the bottom of my glass. Ice slid past my hand on to the table, and I swore.

  “Really? It’s fun?” Christine had pale blue eyes that were very large, surrounded by a lot of eyeliner and set far apart in a heart-shaped face. She was too pretty to dislike, or take seriously. She had already confided in us that she had always dreamed of being a police officer but having worked for Godley, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be one any more. I imagined myself watching other people do my job while I spent all day reading and color coding Excel spreadsheets of phone data that meant nothing to me. Hell on earth, I concluded.

  I also concluded that Christine and I did not have a lot in common.

  I tried to explain what I meant. “Well, it’s sort of fun. In a way. You have to ignore a lot of what he says, and he likes to test me.”

  “Test you?”

  “Challenge me. I don’t know. I can’t really describe it.” It was a working dynamic that was as close to dysfunctional as you could get, but we got results. “I make suggestions and he shoots them down. Or he gives me a hard time for being too good at the job. Or for being a woman.”

  “Sounds like a charmer,” Joanne observed.

  “I’m used to him,” I said simply.

  “I’d rather work with anyone on the team than him. He’s a bigoted prick.” Liv sounded extra-fierce and I grinned at her.

  “Tell us how you really feel.”

  “He hates me because I’m not interested in men.”

  “Oh, he hates everyone. Don’t take it to heart.” It wasn’t often that I found myself defending Derwent, but I knew him better than Liv did. He really wasn’t picking on her specifically. There were very few people he liked in the world, and it happened that the majority of that select group were straight white men, just like him.

  Christine leaned her chin on her hand and stared dreamily into the middle distance. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he? What do you think he’s like in bed?”

  “I don’t think about that.” I was hoping to stop her before she got too far with that line of conversation.

  “But if you did think about it…” She sighed. “I bet he’s dominant.”

  I pulled a face, appalled at the very idea.

  “Energetic,” Liv suggested.

  “Go on, Maeve,” Joanne said. “It’s your turn. In a word.”

  “Quick.”

  The burst of laughter turned heads at the bar. They were wondering what we were talking about, with that prickly sus
picion born of being self-conscious. Because of course the four of us had to be talking about the men we worked with.

  They were right, as it happened. But we might not have been.

  Liv grinned. “I know, let’s play Shag, Marry, Kill. Maeve, who would you pick if you had to choose between Derwent, Godley and … Belcott.”

  “Too easy. You’d kill Belcott straight away then you’d have the party to celebrate. You’d have quite a while before you had to choose between Derwent and Godley.” Belcott was a nasty little man, the same rank as me but going nowhere. I’d seen him in action, taking credit for things he hadn’t done and sucking up to anyone who might put in a good word for him with the boss. He’d taken pleasure in the fact that I’d had a stalker who had invaded my privacy, gloating about the fact that he’d seen footage of me with Rob, during private moments. And that was only the beginning of what he’d done to piss me off.

  “And?” Liv demanded. “Marry Godley, shag Derwent?”

  “Not so fast.” I was considering it. “I bet Derwent would worship his wife, in a patronizing way, obviously. You’d never hear a word about his cases but he’d bring you flowers every Friday night.”

  “And perfume on your birthday,” Joanne agreed.

  “Always the same brand…” I said.

  “The same as his mum used to wear.” Joanne grinned at me.

  Liv’s jaw had dropped. “You’re not turning down Godley as a marriage prospect, are you? For Derwent?”

  “I don’t know how happy Mrs. Godley is. He’s married to the job, isn’t he? More than any of us. And you’d have to put up with people staring at him as you walked down the street, because the man is beautiful.”

  “I’d turn for him. He’s on my freebie list,” Liv said. “Near the top.”

  Joanne nodded. “I wouldn’t mind as long as you told me all the details.”

  I ran my finger down the side of my glass. “I don’t really want to have sex with him, though.”

  “Because you love Rob.” Liv singsonged the words and I glowered at her.

  “Thank you, Disney Princess. It’s not that.”

  “But you do love Rob, don’t you?” Christine sighed. “I had such a crush on him when I started working here.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” I made it sound wry, but I kind of meant it.

  “Me,” Liv said promptly. “But only because I love Jo, and he has boy bits, and I knew he was totally head over heels for you the first time I saw you together.” She narrowed her eyes. “Anyway, get back to Godley. I’m intrigued.”

  Even on the wrong side of three drinks I wasn’t going to tell them what I knew about Godley, but knowing it had changed the way I saw him. He had been my hero. I had worked my arse off to impress him. I’d been determined to prove he’d been right to whisk me away from Borough CID to work for his specialist murder squad. Then I’d found out the truth about him, and suddenly I couldn’t see him any other way.

  All three of them were looking at me, waiting for an explanation. Liv and Joanne were too good at interrogations for me to hope they’d drop it. “I just don’t go for older men.”

  “Everyone says you’ve slept with him already.” Three drinks down, Christine had gone far beyond the point where she was capable of being discreet. I’d known about the gossip, but it was irritating to hear it parroted back to me as if saying it would make it true.

  “Never. And I never will. Make sure that gets around the squad room when you’re passing on things you know about the team.” There had been an edge to my voice, but I was still surprised to see Christine’s face crumple. “Oh, shit.”

  “Sorry…” Two perfect tears slid down her cheeks.

  Liv drew Christine’s glass away from her. “That’s quite enough gin for you, dear.”

  “I didn’t mean to say anything wrong,” she wailed, hunting through her bag for a tissue. Even when she was crying she looked adorable, a fact that wasn’t lost on the guys at the bar. Ben Dornton won the race to our table and handed Christine a paper napkin.

  “What are they doing to you, Christine? Why do you want to go out drinking with these miserable cows?” He scowled at the three of us. “Fuck me, it’s proper bubble, bubble, toil and trouble over here. Is it Halloween or something?”

  “Not for days,” I said.

  He seemed genuinely cross. “Well, you lot are all set for costumes.”

  I looked around, noticing that Liv, Jo and I were all in black suits. Christine was wearing a purple cardigan with a butterfly embroidered on the shoulder. Spot the difference. I had been too harsh, I knew.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Christine.”

  “Don’t worry, I always cry when I’m drunk,” floated out from behind the napkin.

  “Come and have a drink with us,” Dornton suggested. “We’ll look after you.”

  “It’s a girls’ night out, though.” Christine emerged, looking tragic, as if that was an insurmountable obstacle. The very phrase made me wince.

  “I wouldn’t say that. Colleagues’ night out.”

  “Well, that includes us. We’re your colleagues too.” Ben gave a little laugh, shooting for casual. It occurred to me that he was trying hard. I glanced up and saw the expression on his face as he stared at Christine: pure yearning. Over at the bar, Dave Kemp was watching us, turning his beer bottle around and around as he brooded. And the brooding wasn’t aimed at me. Kemp I didn’t know at all, but he was cute if you liked blue eyes, fair hair and a boyish manner. Dornton was all close-cropped hair and attitude, older than Kemp and usually cynical about everything. I’d never seen him look quite so vulnerable before and I hope Christine had the sense not to play them off against one another because I wasn’t at all sure Dornton would cope. It reminded me of Rob, all of a sudden, and how he had looked at me before we got together—knowing what he wanted, not at all sure he was going to get it—and all of a sudden I missed him like mad.

  “Okay, then.” I stood up. “I need to get going. We can carry on another time.”

  “Oh, what?” Liv began, and Joanne grabbed her knee.

  “She’s right. We should get going too.” She caught my eye and gave me a wink and I knew she’d seen the same thing I had on Dornton’s face. “Down in one, Maeve.”

  It was such a bad idea to knock back my drink, but I didn’t even consider leaving it; I did as I’d been told. Slightly high from the gin burning in my stomach, I turned to Dornton under cover of pulling on my jacket and murmured, “I’m trusting you to look after Christine. Make sure she doesn’t get too drunk, and make sure she gets home all right.”

  He looked wounded. “You know I will.”

  “I think you will, but I’m still making it your job. She needs looking after.” I poked him in the chest. “And no taking advantage.”

  “As if I would.”

  “Make sure you don’t.” I gave Dave Kemp a long stare to convey the same message, and saw it hit home.

  As I stalked to the door, I found myself thinking I could get to like being scary.

  Chapter Four

  By the time I got home, I’d slid all the way down the helter-skelter from the tough detective who doesn’t let anyone intimidate her to the usual version of me, second-guessing every decision I’d made that day and wincing as my feet complained about hours of punishment in heels. It didn’t help that I had to take a long route back. Rob and I had moved to a flat in Dalston, in a purpose-built block of no charm whatsoever. It was an easy enough commute to work for both of us, but I was still getting used to the area. I hated the fact that we’d had to leave our flat in Battersea, where we’d been happy, because the stalker I tried not to think about had found out where I lived.

  My usual inclination was to stand up to being bullied, but I was scared enough of Chris Swain to follow elaborate precautions in order to avoid being traced. He was a rapist and a coward, a peeping Tom and a technological genius who ran password-protected websites in shady corners of the Internet where like-minded creeps coul
d share their fantasies—and memories. I’d been the one who uncovered the truth about him, and I was his ultimate target, or so he told me. He’d found me before; he could find me again. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him this time. Our landline was ex-directory and all of our post was redirected to work; I had no magazine subscriptions and wasn’t a member of any organizations that might put me on a mailing list. None of the bills were in my name. I took different methods of public transport home, when I had to rely on it rather than getting a lift. I hadn’t replaced my car when it died; Rob parked his anywhere but in front of our flat. I checked, always and methodically, that no one was following me on my walk home, and I never went the same way twice.

  Chris Swain had affected every decision we’d made in moving. The area was a busy one, well served by public transport but with a shifting population who wouldn’t pay any attention to us. The flat was on the second floor in a modern building with good security and CCTV. It had low ceilings and small, bland rooms: a sitting room that did double duty as a dining room by virtue of the table in the corner, a galley kitchen, a poky bathroom that got no natural light, one bedroom with built-in cupboards and a bed and no room for anything else. We kept the blinds down in the bedroom almost all the time, more aware than most that privacy was an illusion in urban areas. It was a six-month lease and there was nothing to make us leave at the end of those months, but nothing to make us want to stay either. Functional was one word that occurred to me about it. Bleak was another.

  It took me three goes to get my key in the door and the first thing I did was fall over the suitcase in the middle of the hall. I landed on my knees with a bang.

  “Jesus. Fuck.”

  “If that’s a request, Jesus is busy. He told me I should stand in.” Rob came out of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. “Are you okay?”

  “The booze is taking the edge off the pain.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I fell among thieves.” Since I was down there anyway, I sat on the floor and pulled off my shoes while Rob finished brushing his teeth. “Liv made me go for a drink.”