‘And it’s mine, too.’
She looked at her lap and began digging her thumb in her palm. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I mean, about work. I’m still going to need to come to you for information, and you’re still going to need to come to me for support.’
Tomek inhaled deeply, composing himself. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this. There she was, sitting there, playing with her thumbs, acting all innocent and coy, concerned about how this would affect their working relationship, how it would affect her career.
‘Let me make this easy for you then, Abigail. Nice and easy. You and me – done. We’re over. No more coming round for sleepovers, no more dinners, no more sex. We’re through. And as for our professional relationship, nothing changes. Though I think for the foreseeable future, we should avoid working with each other as much as possible. And if you ever come round my house unannounced again, I will make life very difficult for you.’ Tomek leant across the car, reaching over her lap, and opened the door for her. ‘Goodnight Abigail,’ he continued. ‘Enjoy your evening.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Tomek had stayed in the car for another twenty minutes, breathing, thinking, controlling his temper, until the rumble in his stomach became so loud and so aggressive, and the stomach pains so agitated, that he had been forced to go upstairs in search of food. Fortunately, he found Kasia in the middle of making beans on toast, and when asked if he’d like some, he told her he could murder some. There was something so delightfully simple about beans on toast that excited him and his stomach. Perhaps it reminded him of his childhood. Or perhaps it was the crunch of the lightly toasted bread, the sweetness of the unhealthy dose of tomato sauce, and the saltiness of the melted cheddar sprinkled on top. Either way, it was one of the best meals he’d had in a long time, far surpassing the meal they’d had to celebrate Abigail’s promotion.
Tomek was still thinking about it as he entered the office the following morning. In fact, he’d even thought about having the same for breakfast. The only problem was, now that his favourite café, Morgana’s, had recently closed following a human trafficking investigation, Tomek was in search of a new establishment to indulge in the delectable delights of greasy bacon and double heart attack specials. Instead, as he entered the office, he was greeted with a depressing sachet of Quaker Oats in his desk drawer, a relic of a historic dieting phase he’d gone through several years before. No matter how many times he tried to eat healthily, it never worked. The only thing stopping him from putting on serious weight was his daily run along the seafront and recreational sports activities on the weekend – though most of those had fallen to the wayside in recent months.
‘That’s a sad-looking bowl of porridge,’ Chey said as Tomek returned to his desk, reluctantly, with the bowl of food burning his hands. ‘Looks like a dog just threw up.’
Tomek looked down at the bowl, then at Chey, then back at the bowl again. ‘Fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to say that? Now I just wanna throw it all over you.’
Tomek feinted the bowl towards Chey, and the young constable flinched out of the way. As he stumbled, his foot caught on the side of a desk chair and he staggered backwards, falling to the floor. The office erupted into a chorus of laughter.
‘That’ll teach you to take the piss out of my food,’ Tomek said as he made his way to the kitchen and began pouring it into the bin.
A moment later, Oscar entered behind him, standing in the doorway to prohibit anyone else from entering.
‘Morning, Sarge,’ he said, caution lacing his tone.
‘Morning, Captain.’
‘Have you heard the latest?’
‘That stepping on three cracks will break my mother’s back? Yes.’
‘No. About the DNA.’
Tomek stopped what he was doing and set the bowl on the kitchen counter.
‘DNA? What DNA?’
Tomek held his breath.
‘The DNA that was found at Angelica’s crime scene.’
Tomek’s eyes widened. He held his breath. ‘We’ve got the results?’
‘Seven o’clock this morning.’
Tomek shuffled closer to the constable.
‘And?’
‘We’ve got a match.’
Finally. After all his persistence.
Fuck you, Nick. And fuck you, Victoria.
‘And?’ he said. ‘Whose is it? Shawn’s?’
Oscar shook his head. A smirk crept onto his face.
‘The DNA found belongs to Johnny, Sarge. Johnny Whitaker.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Tomek pulled the car into Daphne and Roy Whitaker’s driveway. He leapt out before it had stopped rolling in park mode and, slamming the door shut behind him, he sprinted across the forecourt towards the Whitakers’ front door. He pounded his fists. Three, four times. No answer.
He tried again, this time leaning to the side and pressing his face against the living room windows. No movement.
First the hospital, and now this.
Tomek did not know where Johnny Whitaker was, and neither did the hospital. According to the district nurse, Johnny had been discharged several hours before, with no forwarding address or communication made to his next of kin, who happened to be his parents. Tomek had assembled a team and instructed them to visit The Prince Albert, in case Angelica’s brother had returned to his watering hole, but they’d found nothing, and were currently on their way to meet him now.
Tomek turned to the front door and pounded his fists on it again. Still nothing.
Just as he crouched down and opened the letterbox to scream through, the door flew open. Tomek stepped through without approval, and without waiting for his presence to register.
