‘Where do you think you’re going?’
He could almost see the steam coming out of her ears.
‘Back to work. And I think you should do the same.’ He opened the door, then turned back to her. ‘I also think we need some time apart, a break, or something, I guess. I’ll speak to you later. I’ve got a murder investigation to go back to.’
CHAPTER FORTY
It took Tomek over an hour to calm down, to clear his mind. Not only had Abigail broken and destroyed his trust, but she’d also shown her true colours. She had resorted to following him, tracking his movements like he was a lost pet. He didn’t know whether he could tolerate someone like that in his life, constantly having to explain where he was and who he was with. Life soon got pretty depressing that way, and he had more important things to worry about. Shortly after returning to the incident room, Tomek had bumped into Sean, one of his closest friends in the force, by accident. Recently they’d drifted apart, but that hadn’t stopped them from being friends, not deep beneath the surface. And it certainly hadn’t stopped Sean from noticing the disconcerted and pained look on Tomek’s face. And so the two of them had found a small office, where Tomek had let it all out, like they used to, like they’d done so many times before, sharing their lives with one another, leaning on each other for advice and guidance. Then Sean had told him how it was, reminded him of the advice he’d given Tomek at the beginning of his relationship with Abigail: that their relationship had been transactional, built on the two of them scratching each other’s backs to get ahead, until eventually they’d fallen into the relationship. In a way they’d both got what they wanted: a new job each. But it wasn’t working for their relationship. And Tomek admitted that Sean had been right. That he had used Abigail for information in the past and vice versa, and that now it wasn’t healthy, sustainable. A part of him had known it at the time, but an even bigger part hadn’t been arsed to do anything about it. And now here he was, here they were, facing the end of the relationship. Tomek should have felt bereft, upset about it, but he didn’t feel anything. Perhaps it was the stoicism within him, the fact that he hadn’t felt anything in the thirty years since his brother’s death, the emotional suffering and turmoil he’d gone through still playing with him even years later. Perhaps he would feel something at some point. Maybe. But right now, he had a meeting to attend, and he wasn’t going to miss it on account of someone he’d known intimately for only a couple of months.
He found Chey, Rachel, and Oscar sitting in the incident room, quietly discussing amongst themselves. Tomek shut the door behind him and moved to the head of the table, where he grabbed a whiteboard marker. He removed the cap and found a clean space on the nearest whiteboard.
‘All right, you bunch of reprobates,’ he started. ‘Let’s wrap our heads round this shit. Combine our minds and let them canoodle and contort into one.’
‘Are you feeling all right, Sarge?’ Chey asked.
Tomek ignored the question.
‘Our brains need to get down and dirty, and we need to come to terms with what we know and what we don’t. Oscar!’ Tomek bellowed the man’s name, filling the small room. He pointed the pen at the constable, then said, ‘What do you have to tell me?’
Oscar looked to his colleagues for guidance and assistance, but none of them had any idea, so they shrugged and left him to it.
‘About what, Sarge?’
Tomek shook his head in frustration, then began scribbling on the whiteboard. If they weren’t going to help him, then he was going to have to do it himself. He started by writing Angelica’s name in the middle of the whiteboard, then around it he created a spider’s web of words: make-up, rape, cleaning, Church, angel wings, car. As soon as he’d finished, he slammed the lid shut, retreated a few steps and stared at the board, saying nothing, losing himself in his thoughts. Thirty seconds passed, a minute. But in truth he wasn’t taking anything in. At least, not entirely, not consciously. His mind was elsewhere, thinking about Abigail, about their time together, even though he knew he shouldn’t, even though he’d just convinced himself he didn’t care about her.
Tomek could hear the team whispering to one another.
‘Sir…?’ It was Chey who was the bravest to speak. ‘Sir, are you all right? You… you haven’t said anything for about a minute.’
‘Actually, it’s been two,’ added Oscar.
‘There’s The Captain!’ Tomek exclaimed. ‘It’s been a while. I’ve missed hearing your little voice pop up. “Actually!”, “Actually!”, “Actually!”’
With each rendition of Oscar’s catchphrase, Tomek became more and more farcical and childish with his hand gestures. Before he could do another, Rachel leapt out of her seat and stepped in front of him.
‘What’re you doing?’ she whispered loudly.
‘What?’
‘You’re being a bit of a dick. Why you laying into Oscar like that?’
And then he came to. He blinked hard, shook his head, turned to Oscar. The man, who usually sat bolt upright with perfect posture, was now sitting slumped in his seat, head tilted forward.
Guilt suddenly washed over Tomek like waves in a storm, battering him in the stomach repeatedly. He was hurting, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, and he had taken it out on Oscar. That wasn’t fair to Oscar, nor was it fair to the others in the room.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered to Rachel.
‘It’s not me you should be apologising to.’
As Rachel returned to her seat, Tomek apologised to The Captain sincerely.
‘It’s all right, Sarge. I know how I can be sometimes.’
Now the guilt was ripping his stomach open.
‘Don’t stop,’ Tomek said. ‘I love it when you correct people. Less so when it’s me. But I think it’s what makes you you. Don’t stop that on my account.’
‘Wasn’t planning on it, actually,’ the man replied with a warm smile.
Tomek shot Oscar a finger gun. ‘That’s my captain, oh my captain.’
‘Actually, it’s “O Captain! My— ”’
‘Don’t push your luck,’ Tomek said firmly, giving the man a wink before returning his focus to the whiteboard. Before beginning again, he inhaled deeply. ‘Angelica Whitaker,’ he said. ‘Her killer. Her killer’s profile. I want us to spend some time working out who could be behind this. But first, any word on DNA analysis?’
He looked out at a bunch of blank faces.
‘Nothing concrete yet, Sarge,’ Oscar replied.
‘Okay. Keep pressing the button on it. There must be something there.’ Tomek then turned his attention to the whiteboard again. He prodded at the words on the board. It wasn’t until he looked at them that he realised how illegible they were. Ignoring the fact, he pointed to the word rape.
‘This helps us narrow it down,’ he said. ‘We’re looking for a man.’
‘Right,’ Chey responded, slightly hesitant.
‘And what men did Angelica have in her life?’
Chey reeled off the names. From her brother and father to Shawn Wilkins, her stalker, and Cole Thompson. From Sammy Mercer to Florian Meunier.
