by James Craig
‘I know,’ Carlyle mumbled from behind his own glass. ‘But the worst thing about it is that it could have been me.’
‘I suppose.’ Dom shrugged, apparently not too bothered at the thought. Picking up an onion bhaji from his plate, he dropped it into his mouth and began chewing as the waiter reappeared with his drink. Relieving him of the glass, Dom swallowed before offering a toast. ‘To Dudley!’
‘To Dudley.’ Carlyle thought of the hapless PC Stockbridge, stuck in an intensive care bed in St George’s, and wondered if their good wishes would make him feel any better. Around the time that he had been enjoying the arrest of Martin Palmer, someone had lobbed a brick off Whitelaw Walkway, right on to Dudley’s bonce. Carlyle would have been standing next time to him at the time had he not been seconded to Walter Callender; it was another reason for him to thank the inspector. And he had Paul Lamb to thank as well. Together, the three of them had nicked a killer. Carlyle had been amazed when the professor was able to get a match from Palmer’s genetic material. It still sounded like the stuff of science fiction to him, but maybe this DNA thing would catch on after all.
‘The Castle always was a rough old spot,’ Dom observed. ‘They’re all bloody animals in there.’
Carlyle nodded sagely. ‘Yes indeed.’
‘Do you think he’ll come back?’ Dom tipped back his head and let half the pint slide down his throat.
‘Dunno.’ Carlyle broke off a piece of poppadom and nibbled it thoughtfully. ‘I wouldn’t if I was him. Not after a fractured skull. You’d have thought the Federation would be able to get him a good deal, maybe even early retirement.’
‘At twenty-four?’
‘Why not? There’s the emotional trauma, as well as the physical damage.’
‘You’ve clearly given it a bit of thought,’ said Dom, taking another mouthful of beer.
‘Well,’ Carlyle reflected, ‘if you’re not fit for duty, you’re not fit for duty.’
From the other side of the table, Helen glared at him over the top of her glass of Merlot. ‘Are you going to talk shop all night?’
Eva Hollander placed a hand on Helen’s shoulder. ‘I know what you mean,’ she giggled, her sparkling eyes locked on Dom. ‘He’s just the same. And he doesn’t even work there any more.’
Carlyle looked at Dom, and they both laughed.
‘So what are you two talking about?’ Dom retorted.
Eva took a sip of her gin and tonic. ‘Just . . . stuff.’
Carlyle held Helen’s gaze, and her smile caused a flowering of hope to bloom in his chest. Taking another swig of his lager, he felt almost giddy with happiness. Helen had finally relented and called him; they had survived another bump in the road. Indeed, he liked to think that he had almost detected a hint of contrition when she had agreed to go on a double date with Dom and his ‘non-girlfriend’. Now that they were here, the two women were getting pissed . . . and getting on like a house on fire.
‘Coppers,’ Helen laughed. ‘Who’d have ‘em?’
The Hand of God playlist
1. Everybody Wants to Rule the World – Tears For Fears
2. Money For Nothing – Dire Straits
3. Take On Me – A-Ha
4. Miami Vice Theme – Jan Hammer
5. The Boys of Summer – Don Henley
6. Glory Days – Bruce Springsteen
7. Walking on Sunshine – Katrina and the Waves
8. Sugar Walls – Sheena Easton
9. Addicted to Love – Robert Palmer
10. West End Girls – Pet Shop Boys
11. Alive and Kicking – Simple Minds
12. Kiss – Prince
13. Higher Love – Steve Winwood
14. Sledgehammer – Peter Gabriel
15. Manic Monday – The Bangles
16. The Sweetest Taboo – Sade
17. Living in America – James Brown
18. Walk This Way – Run-DMC
19. Sweet Love – Anita Baker
20. Spies Like Us – Paul McCartney