by David Mark
‘About what?’
‘About her. Mrs Perfect.’
‘Ronni? What are you implying?’
‘Not a thing. But yes, she’s doing okay. He’s not. Injuries aren’t healing any time soon but he’s not facing any charges and we’ll be dipping into the discretionary fund to provide financial assistance.’
He sucks his lower lip. Roots around for a cigar. Lights it, slowly, and states his case.
‘She’s good, don’t you think? Clever. Tough. Dogged. Could run a safe house without batting an eyelid. Middle of nowhere…’
‘And she’d do it?’
He shrugs. ‘I think she could do anything.’
‘Pope’s got days,’ she says, changing the subject. ‘They’re readying for war in Glasgow. We’ve probably caused more problems than we’ve solved.’
‘That’s the job, love.’
They stay quiet for a time. Drink, and think, and let words unsaid dance on the air between them.
‘You saved my life,’ he mutters, at last. ‘He’d have torn my fucking head off.’
She looks away. ‘Least I could do.’
‘Yeah, probably.’ He smiles.
She looks around her. ‘I can’t believe you bought it. This was the scene of a major arrest. An asset, recovered under the Proceeds of Crime Act. Do you really plan on staying here?’
He shrugs. ‘Nowhere else to go, love.’
She drains her glass. ‘The unit’s the toast of the NCA. You’re in line for a QPM. Me too.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Goody.’
‘So you can take some time, if you want. Take a real holiday. Actually convalesce. Get well.’
He smiles at her, knowingly. ‘I’m not going back to Scotland. The air’s too fresh. I had to suck an exhaust pipe just to get my breath.’
‘So where?’ She pulls a flier from her back pocket. It’s neatly folded down the middle. She opens it up and shows it to him. It’s a spa, in a little town in Madeira, Portugal. ‘They offer all sorts of services,’ she says. ‘Some of them aren’t entirely legal. You might benefit from what they have to offer. I have the discretionary fund, like I said.’
He takes the leaflet. Gives a nod of thanks, and pockets it.
‘You want to stay?’ he asks. ‘The sofa pulls out. I could make it up, if you want.’
She looks around. Makes no attempt to hide her distaste. ‘No,’ she says, flatly. ‘No, that would be fucking horrible.’
He grins, delighted with her. ‘Do you want me to talk to her? Ask her about the safe house idea?’
She nods: the Ashcrofts already half-forgotten. She has her eyes on bigger prizes. She’s learned an awful lot of things from her conversations with Bishop. Knows more than any police officer should – especially one willing to take a life for the right result.
‘You’re thinking of the next op,’ he says. ‘What have you got for me?’
She looks him up and down. Wonders whether her love for him will ever be enough to stop her putting him in harm’s way. Decides that, on balance, he probably doesn’t mind.
‘When you’re away, don’t top up your tan too much. We need you pale and interesting.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. You’re going to Guyana.’
He drains his glass. ‘That’s a song, I think.’
She considers him. Gives a moment of absolute honesty. ‘I’m pleased you’re not dead, Colin.’
He can’t help but smile. He hasn’t heard his name spoken in such a long time he’d almost forgotten who he used to be.
‘And I’m pleased you’re still a bitch, Shaz,’ he says, in return.
Then there is just the sound of boats kissing damp timbers on the black waters, and the familiar laughter of two old friends.
The End
About the Author
DAVID MARK spent more than fifteen years as a journalist, including seven years as a crime reporter with the Yorkshire Post. His writing is heavily influenced by the court cases he covered: the defeatist and jaded police officers; the competent and incompetent investigators; the inertia of the justice system and the sheer raw grief of those touched by savagery and tragedy. He writes the McAvoy series, historical novels and psychological suspense thrillers.
Dark Winter was selected for the Harrogate New Blood panel (where he was Reader in Residence) and was a Richard & Judy pick and a Sunday Times bestseller. He has also written for the stage, for a Radio 4 drama (A Marriage of Inconvenience) and has contributed articles and reviews to several national and international publications. He is a regular performer at literary festivals and also teaches creative writing.
David also starts to get all squirmy and self-conscious when he looks at stuff like this, so we’ll leave it there.
@davidmarkwriter www.davidmarkwriter.co.uk
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