by Ed James
“Nothing.” Considine looked at Bella, who was in the middle of a little dance. “That your kid?”
“Aye. I’ll see you on Monday.” Vicky tugged Bella’s hand, leading her towards their car, slamming the central locking on when they got in.
“Mummy, was that man a baddie?”
“No, but he’s going to catch the baddies for us. Shall we go home and get some soup?”
“Can I have biscuits and crisps after?”
Vicky ruffled Bella’s hair. “Just one biscuit, though.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A car horn sounded outside. Vicky got up from the sofa and opened the curtains, looking out onto the dark street.
Karen sat in her Volvo estate, waving, the faces of Cameron and Ailish pressed up against the back window.
Bella was sitting against the back of the sofa, legs stretched out fully, eyes locked on the TV screen.
Vicky took her hand. “That’s Auntie Karen for you, Bells.”
Bella didn’t look away. “Okay.” She got to her feet and put her coat on, still entranced by the screen.
Vicky grabbed her backpack and led them out into the cold air.
Bella ran along the short drive into Karen’s arms.
Karen opened the back door. “Come on, you. Let’s get you buckled in.”
Vicky knelt and cuddled Bella.
“I love you, Mummy.”
“I love you, too.” Vicky kissed her hair then waited, arms folded against the cold, while Karen put Bella in the car.
Karen shut the door and came over. “Busy today?”
“In a way.” Vicky tightened her arms around herself. “I almost fucked up the surveillance on Brian and John Morton. Considine was waiting outside the Riverside Tesco when we were there.”
“And those brothers were in as well?”
“Aye.”
“Nightmare. We always go to the Kingsway one or to Arbroath. Did they see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Typical day in the life of DS Vicky Dodds.” Karen laughed. “How’s she been today?”
“She had a tantrum about some bloody owls, of all things.” Vicky caught Bella waving from between Cameron and Ailish. She returned it. “I think it was her being a grown-up like Mummy and having a deluxe hot chocolate.”
Karen winked. “Like Mummy’s a grown-up.”
Vicky laughed. “I gave her some soup and an apple when we got home. She’s had some pasta for tea and I let her watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I think tonight’ll be tantrum free.”
“From Bella at least.” Karen rolled her eyes, nodding at the car full of kids. “Right, I’ll drop her off about eleven, Vicks, in case you get lucky tonight.”
“Like that’s going to happen.”
“You okay?”
Vicky glanced round as the sodium lights switched on. “I’ve no idea what to wear.”
“You’ll be fine, Vicks, you always are. Jeans and a clingy top — show off your boobs.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Vicky stared at the light by her bedroom window, tiny dots of moths starting to congregate.
“It’s not clothes, though, is it?”
Vicky looked back at Karen. “No, it’s not.”
Karen patted her arm. “You okay?”
“I don’t know, Kaz. I just don’t. Maybe I should cancel, pretend I’ve got a cold or something.”
“You’re going to be fine.”
Vicky gripped her bottom lip between her canine teeth. “I just don’t think I will. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date. What do I say? ‘Oh, hi — I catch criminals and look after my daughter and that’s it.’”
“That’s not bad, is it?”
“Really?”
“Aye. You’re quite something, Vicks. Not many people could cope with your life.”
“Not sure I do.”
“Of course you do. You, Bella and Tinkle are great.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve got nothing to lose, okay? If the guy’s an idiot, you’ve lost an evening — some nice wine and a curry will compensate for that. If he’s a lovely guy . . .”
Vicky let herself chuckle. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Typical Vicky.”
“You know me.” Vicky looked over at the car again, three little faces pressing lips to the window and blowing, their cheeks billowing out. “Good luck with that lot.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got Colin to keep them in check. He’s mostly useless but he can shout.”
“She’ll be okay, right?”
“Yes!” Karen gripped both of Vicky’s shoulders. “She’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Now, off you go and make yourself beautiful. That’s an order.”
“Yes, boss.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Yeah, come on, you’ll love it. I’ll get you some vodka.” The kid in front of Vicky on the bus was sixteen at most, his head shaved and ears pierced, mobile blaring out some tuneless hip-hop.
The bus rolled round the corner and stopped at the lights in Broughty Ferry. Vicky realised how much of a pain in the arse the Gulistan was, being halfway between bus stops.
Another Eminem track started up.
Vicky got up and went downstairs, clocking the ned checking her out as she descended. She got off the bus and walked along Queen Street, the heels on her boots clicking as she walked past the library, catching herself in the reflection from the bus shelter.
The flouncy top was the right choice. Might live to regret the FM boots under her jeans, though. Should she have worn her hair up? Too much make-up?
Too late.
As she entered the curry house, her heart beat faster with every step, the knot tightening its grip on her. A dozen waiters milled around, though it seemed fairly quiet for a Saturday night.
She looked around, savouring the spices in the air, gentle sitar music coming out of the big speakers mounted to the ceiling. She spotted Liz and Dave in the far corner, sitting on opposite sides of a table. “Evening.”
Liz inspected her before glancing at Dave. “Robert’ll be drooling when he sees you, Vicks.”
Vicky sat between them, hanging her leather jacket on the back of the chair. “Have you guys been betting or something?”
Liz seemed hammered already. “Dave said you wouldn’t even turn up.”
Dave held up his hands. He was fresh-shaven for once, his large frame pressed into a tight shirt, the sort of pattern he’d never have chosen for himself. “She’s twisting my words, Vicks.”
“I’ll bet.” Vicky smoothed out her black jeans, her hands clammy. “Where’s this fancy man, then?”
“Robert’s just at the bar.”
“Don’t they have waiter service?”
Dave shrugged. “He wanted a proper pint instead of a Cobra or Tiger or whatever. What can I get you?”
“Bacardi and Coke.”
Dave got up, tossing his napkin on the table. “Back in a sec.”
Liz leaned back in her seat. “First time I’ve seen you have full-fat Coke in ages.”
Vicky shrugged. “Thought I’d push the boat out a bit.”
“You excited?”
“I’m not the world’s biggest curry fan, but we’ll see how it goes.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “I meant about Robert.”
“I know. I was being deliberately evasive.”
“So, are you excited?”
Vicky blushed. “A bit.”
Dave reappeared carrying two pints of red beer, placing them on the table. “Just off for a sla — to the toilet.”
Robert appeared, carrying the ladies’ drinks. Vicky examined him closely. He seemed middle-aged, maybe ten years older than her, but athletic. At least he still owned his o
wn hair. He wore stonewashed blue jeans with a grey shirt open to the neck, wiry hair crawling out of the front.
He handed a glass of rosé to Liz and a Bacardi to Vicky, before offering a hand to her. “Robert Hamilton.”
Vicky shook it. “Vicky Dodds.”
Robert sat, almost spilling his pint as he jogged the table leg. “Whoops. I’m sure Lizzie will have told you everything about me.”
Vicky nudged Liz. “What, when she’s not talking about herself ?”
Liz play-slapped her hand. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
“On a scale of one to ten, you’re about a seven, maybe?”
“Shut up, Vicks.”
Dave returned, drying his hands on his jeans. “Bit of a mission to the bo — to the toilets. Practically have to cross the Tay Road Bridge.”
Robert bellowed with laughter. “I’ll bear that in mind when I go.”
“I’ve broken the seal now.” Dave took a sip of beer and gasped. “Oh, that’s nice. Cheers, Robert.”
“You chose it.”
“So I did.” Dave gave a chuckle. “You been here before, Vicks?”
“Don’t think so. Dad’s family used to talk about it in the eighties when this was the big place to go.”
Dave frowned. “They were out in India for a bit, aye?”
“Dad was born in Calcutta.”
Robert took a gulp of beer. “Wow.”
Vicky over-emphasised a wince. “I could’ve got you with my ‘I’m half-Indian’ wind-up there.”
Robert smiled. “Maybe you can try it on later?”
“I’ll do that.” Vicky tapped her nose. “Hey, Robert, did you know my father’s Indian?”
Robert chuckled. “Gosh, Vicky. You don’t look half-Indian.”
“His parents were both from Dundee. They worked in the jute business. Boom, boom.” Vicky took another sip. “So. Anyone else been here before?”
Dave put his pint glass down, half-sunk already. “We come a lot. Good curry in here.” He picked up a menu. “Who’s for a starter?”
“Not for me.” Vicky checked out the listing — under-eating when drinking was never a good idea. “I’m going for the chicken saagwala.”
“Again?”
Vicky shot daggers at Liz. “What do you mean, again?”
Liz rested a hand on Robert’s arm. “We’ve been for a curry with Miss Dodds twice now. Once to one up the Perth Road in Dundee and once to the one in Carnoustie. Both times Vicky had chicken saag.”
“As I said, I’m not the biggest curry fan in the world.”
Robert raised his eyebrows. “We can go get a burger or a steak if you’d rather?”
Vicky held up a hand. “It’s fine.” She took a drink of Bacardi, feeling it sit on top of the half-bottle of wine she’d drunk at home. “I can eat a saag or saagwala, whatever they call it.”
“Nothing too hot for me, either.” Robert checked his menu. “Which one’s saagwala?”
“Lots of spinach.”
“Right, I know it.”
The waiter appeared. “Please?”
Dave ordered. “One chicken saagwala, a chicken tikka and a lamb phall. Robert?”
Robert held up his menu. “Is the chicken free-range, do you know?”
“It is, sir. I can show you the box, if you want?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go for a vegetable biryani.”
The waiter scribbled it down. “Rice or naans, please?”
Dave leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. Alpha male. “Two naans, garlic and plain, and two portions of pilau rice?”
“Very good, sir.” The waiter left them.
“I wanted a peshwari naan.” Liz shook her head at Dave as she took a drink of wine. “You’ll not be able to finish that phall. It’s too hot for you. Remember the last time?”
“Who can finish a curry, though, Liz?”
Vicky glanced at Robert. “I didn’t think to ask.”
Liz frowned. “Ask what?”
“If the chicken was free-range.”
Robert shrugged. “I try to avoid animal cruelty.”
“Me too. I’m dealing with it at work just now.”
“You’re a police officer, aren’t you?”
“Detective Sergeant.” Vicky took another sip. “For my sins.”
Dave held up his glass. “Here’s to a great night.”
Chapter Forty
A top-up, Vicks?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Vicky leaned forward on Liz’s sofa and held out her glass, getting a waft of potpourri in the process.
Liz topped it up, eyebrows gesturing to Robert and Dave at the far end of the room as they fiddled around with a tablet, cueing up enough music to last a week of partying. “Well?”
Vicky looked around the room. “I like what you’ve done. Looks fresher.”
Liz’s hand shot to her mouth. “Tell me you’ve been here since we repainted it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Liz called over to her husband. “Dave, when did we paint this room?”
He stayed focused on the tablet. “Last May. Just before we went to Majorca.”
Liz slumped on the sofa next to Vicky. “My God. That’s shocking.”
“You know how it is. I’ve been busy with Bella and work and everything.”
“Nice try.” Liz raised an eyebrow. “You know I meant what do you think of Robert?”
Vicky shrugged. “Seems okay.”
“I don’t get you, missus.”
“What’s to get? I’m too busy to get into anything right now.”
“Is that really the case?”
“Maybe.”
“Aye, and maybe not.” Liz took a sip. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Vicky played with her ponytail, feeling the hair loosen. “I just don’t know if I can get into anything now.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Four and a half years.”
“Isn’t that enough time?”
“Maybe. It’s just —”
“Vicks, quit it with the ‘it’s just’. I know. I get it. You’ve had enough time. More than enough time. You know that, right?”
“I do, it’s just —”
Liz held up a finger. “No more ‘it’s just’, okay?”
Vicky laughed, eyes shut. Then grimaced. “I worry about who I’m letting in.”
“You’re not going to know until you let them in, though, are you?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t want to let an arsehole in again.”
Liz nodded over at the men. “Robert’s nice.”
“Yeah, but you’ve only known him five minutes. What do you really know about him?”
“Here we go, the police officer coming out again.”
The music changed — a blast of staccato guitar-bass-drums followed by a sinister voice. Vicky frowned over to the stereo. “Is that Therapy?”
Dave held up the tablet, showing a man sticking his head down the toilet. “Aye.”
“Christ, I’ve not heard them in years.” Liz cackled. “Remember when we went to Lucifer’s Mill to see Oasis? There were only a hundred people there. Mental.”
“When was that?”
“Ninety-four, I think. You were really into them.”
“So that’s twenty years since I’ve had vodka.”
“That’s right! You were so pissed we were lucky we got in.”
Vicky sat and took a sip of wine, her foot tapping to the music. “Did we see this lot?”
“T in the Park, I think.” Liz tapped her nose. “Another nice diversion, though.”
“Right. You got me bang to rights, guv.” Vicky put her glass on the side table, almost missing the edge of the coaster befor
e she righted it. “I see so many absolute animals each week, about eighty per cent of them male. It’s hard to trust the gender.”
“That’s not what every bloke’s like, though, Vicks.”
“Yeah, but chances are I’ll end up with one of the animals.” The track changed and Vicky scowled. “Is that Pearl Jam?”
Dave glanced at them. “It is, Vicks.”
Robert held up his hands. “I put it on. Don’t hold it against me.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Liz grinned. “What was it your brother called them?”
“A bad Red Hot Chili Peppers covers band fronted by that guy from Hootie and the Blowfish.”
Robert winced. “That’s a bit harsh.”
Vicky shrugged. “Accurate, though.” She picked up the wine glass and took a sip.
Nobody spoke. Robert shot a glance at Vicky, did it again before Dave showed him something on the tablet.
Liz leaned over. “How’s Andrew doing?”
“Not great. Haven’t seen him for a while. Supposed to be taking my wee princess round to Mum’s for lunch tomorrow.”
“Send him my regards.”
“Will do.”
Liz picked up the bottle and tipped the remaining dribble into her glass. “You did it again. Avoiding.”
“Come on . . .”
“I’m serious. Robert’s lovely — you should give him a go.”
“He’s over there hiding from me.”
“Well, you’re a frightening police officer. You’ve tucked yourself into your tight top to show off your boobs. Maybe he’s intimidated.”
“Is that all?”
Liz held up her glass. “One thing I should’ve said, maybe. He’s a widower.”
Vicky rubbed at her forehead, the vein in her neck pulsing faster than the music. “What?”
“Aye. His wife died last year.” Liz drained her glass. “He’s even more broken than you, is what I’m saying.”
“Great. So I’m looking for broken biscuits in the reduced section of the Co-op?”
“Hardly. I’m just saying, he’s not one of those bad guys.”
“Unless he killed his wife.”
“Killed her with cancer?”
“Ouch. Maybe not.”
Liz looked over at the men again. “He’s got a wee boy. Jamie. Sweet kid.”