* * *
Parker was right about Cody, Franklin thinks. He’s a handsome guy, looking much younger than his years.
Franklin made it to Rodney Street only minutes before Cody turned up. Just in time to start clicking away on his camera. Cody was the first guy in a suit to park up and head towards the address Parker had supplied.
Even from this distance, Franklin detects hidden depths to Cody. There’s a lot going on behind those boyish features, as though he has aged decades more internally. It was curious how he stood on his own doorstep for so long, as if debating whether he really wanted to go in.
Franklin hopes to get a lot more information about Cody in the coming days. He has a feeling that there is a dynamic at play here that could make things very interesting.
He studies his photographs. The angles and distance are right, as is the lighting.
This will be fun.
* * *
Struggling to keep her eyelids open, Webley decides it’s time for bed. It’s going to be another full-on day tomorrow. A murder to solve and all that.
She turns off the television, then locks her doors and turns out the lights. As she heads towards the staircase, she notices the small pile of mail she left on the hall table. Expecting to be underwhelmed, she picks it up and sifts through it.
Junk… junk… junk… a bill…
Oh, but what’s this?
A white envelope. It has ‘Megan xxx’ printed on the front of it.
She tears it open, finds a card with a picture of a teddy bear saying, ‘Missing you!’
She unfolds the card. The message inside has not been handwritten; instead, it has been printed onto white paper and glued in. It says, ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be together soon.’ No name is given.
Webley stares at the card for a while, then shakes her head.
‘Fucking hell, Parker,’ she says before tossing the card back onto the table and trudging up the stairs.
* * *
Franklin sits at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, his laptop open in front of him. He has become pretty adept at using computers. They can do all kinds of clever things these days.
The window he is concentrating on now contains one of the photographs he took of Cody earlier. A few clicks of his mouse and – tada! – he has isolated Cody’s image from the background. He drags the image across to another window, this one containing a photograph of Megan, and drops it into position. He gives it a couple of nudges, down slightly, then to the right. Excellent. Not perfect just yet – it’ll need some refining touches – but already fairly convincing.
Franklin sits back and dips another digestive biscuit into his coffee before biting into it in a perfectly timed manoeuvre. They can be tricky animals, biscuits, he thinks. Soak them for too long and they can separate and drop in, ruining everything. You have to take into account not only the temperature of the drink but also the type of biscuit. Rich Tea biscuits, for example, seem to quiver and disintegrate at the merest approach of fluid, whereas Ginger Nuts do a much better job of maintaining their structural integrity. All in all, Franklin thinks, the art of dunking involves considerable expertise.
He thinks that the same goes for people. Repairing their relationships requires skill and precision. Blundering in without careful preparation simply causes them to fall further apart. Franklin likes the fact that he, a perfect stranger, can offer solutions they would never have dreamed of.
He wonders if Webley has opened her card yet. And if so, what wild thoughts it has sent spinning through her detective brain.
Of course, this is only the beginning.
She’ll soon be wondering what’s hit her.
8
You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away
– The Beatles
Grace Meade likes being at the back of the room.
For the most part, she prefers to be forgotten about. She can hide away at the back here and get on with her work, and nobody will bother her.
There are occasions, though, when she summons up the courage to step into the limelight. But only when she is confident she can make an impact. Something that will draw out ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from her audience. Or at least a ‘Good work, Grace.’
Grace is the intelligence analyst for the Major Incident Team. A civilian role, but she doesn’t care about that. Her contributions can be just as important as those of any of the detectives in this room. Sometimes more so.
The other nice thing about sitting way back here is that she can observe. She likes to take in the buzz of activity, the comings and goings, the interplay. She knows who the stars are in this room, and also those who shine much less brightly.
Mostly, she watches Detective Sergeant Nathan Cody. She is not ashamed to admit that he is her hero. Would have posters of him on her wall if she could. It’s not just his looks, his boyish charm. It’s more that he’s… interesting. Fascinating, even.
Grace peers around the edge of her monitor. Cody is engrossed at his desk, carefully tapping something into his own computer, oblivious to the eyes on him from behind.
But then he stops typing and looks up as another figure sidles up to him. Megan Webley.
Grace’s lips tighten as she feels a stab of irritation. She narrows her eyes and studies the body language of the pair. She knows these two have history, and it’s quite clear that remnants of it have survived. She can only hope that Cody doesn’t make the foolish mistake of jumping back into that fire. Webley isn’t right for him.
She consoles herself with the truth that she has a connection with Cody that nobody else has – not even Webley.
The clowns.
What was done to Cody and his partner by four men in clown masks is fairly common knowledge. It’s hardly ever mentioned now.
