Every Move You Make
Ann Somerville
‘Every Move You Make’ Copyright © 2011 by Ann Somerville
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or
have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
There is no “Department of Biology and Environmental Studies” at the Open University and all details regarding this
institution including characters who are staff or students, are entirely fictitious or fictionalist and not based on any
person, alive or dead. The Open University is, however, a real institution, and one I am proud to be an alumnus of. Visit
their website for more details on how to study there:
For more information please visit my website at
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Published by Ann Somerville
Chapter 1
When I walked into Anton’s living room, the world’s sexiest lemming expert was
sitting on his sofa, peering at his laptop, surrounded—as usual—by paper. He looked up
and smiled at me.
“Oh there you are.” He shoved a pile of letters onto the floor, closed his laptop and
put it on the chair next to him. He patted the seat. “What are you waiting for?”
“For you to stop pissing around.”
He growled in annoyance but put his arms around me as I sat beside him. I kissed
him, tasting him and satisfying my curiosity as to what he’d had for supper. There was no
secret as to what I’d had, of course. I leaned my forehead against his, enjoying the
cosiness of being with him.
“Bad day?”
“Just long. Looking forward to the weekend.” I kissed him again. “What are you up
to? It was OU day, wasn’t it?”
“No, not this week. I went to the Natural History Museum library, and visited the
Mammal section.”
“Yuck. Dead things again.”
He grinned. “Sadly yes.”
I grunted. “Explains why you smell of chemicals.”
He sniffed at his shirt. “I suppose I do.”
I nodded at the pile of paper on the floor. “What’s all this?”
“Um. Letters.”
He was blushing. Anton blushing is like catnip to me, so I nuzzled his cheek.
“Hmmm? Letters? What kind of letters?”
“Mumblemail.”
“I didn’t catch that.”
“Fan mail, you tiresome detective person. Letters from my fans.”
I hooted. “You’re embarrassed.”
“Well, it is embarrassing. I’m just me.”
“Sexy Anton on the telly with all those impressionable young people drooling over
you. Should I be jealous?” I reached for one of the letters. It was written in orange pencil
on lined paper. “‘Dear Anton Marber. I want to go with you to the artik. I have a good
coat and a hat and I am very good in snow. Please, can you ring me when you are going
to the artik again? I have a phone and this is my number. Love Lucia.’ She sounds
smitten.”
“She’s seven. That’s about average.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your fans are all children?”
“No, the letters I answer are from children. Karl’s assistant filters out the ones from
adults and sends a generic thank you, but I always answer the kids. When I was seven, I
wrote to David Attenborough, telling him I wanted to study mammals like he did and
asked him if he could bring me back a lemur from Madagascar.”
“Did he?”
“Of course not. But he did write back the most charming letter saying that because
the lemurs were endangered it was best not to take them out of the wild, but to look at the
ones bred by zoos. He also gave me advice on what to study if I really did want to learn
about mammals. He took my plan quite seriously, and no one had done that before. It’s
because of his letter that I became a zoologist.”
I leaned back and looked at him. “You’ve never mentioned this.”
He frowned. “Haven’t I? I’ve told a lot of people. Maybe it didn’t come up. Sor—
Oops.”
“Well done.” I kissed him for remembering not to apologise unnecessarily. “I’ve
never seen you dealing with these before either.”
“I usually do it on the train to Milton Keynes. But ever since ‘Arctic Spring’ was
shown, the volume of letters, especially from kids, has gone up five hundred percent. It’s
a bit of a struggle to keep up. And I didn’t go to the OU this week so....” He waved at the
pile. “I don’t like to make them wait.”
“You’re adorable.”
“Why thank you, Watson.”
I pinched the end of his nose gently. “But you like to make me wait, don’t you?”
He grabbed my hand and pulled it away from his face, entwining his fingers in mine.
“Not too long because that means I have to wait too. And right now, I’m tired of waiting.
Come upstairs now. A week without you is too long.”
~~~~~
My favourite part about making love with Anton is definitely the cuddling
afterwards. Orgasms are great, but they’re only a few seconds of pleasure. I can snuggle
with him afterwards for ages and never tire of it. After the frustrating day I’d had, I
definitely needed a cuddle. Anton was happy whatever we did—fucking, kissing, holding
each other, or sleeping like spoons with me holding his hand over his flat stomach. All he
wanted from me was to be physically close. Suited me just fine.
Snuggling after a long, frustrating day was as good as a sleeping pill, and my eyelids
would not stay open, even though listening to Anton talking quietly about this and that—
his research, Karl’s latest ideas, which scientist had come out with the latest outrageous
theory that he would have to respond to—was also one of the best bits of making love to
him. Most of it I let wash over me, because he’d tell me again if he thought I really
needed to know.
But then he said something that sounded suspiciously like....
“Baftas? Did you say Baftas?”
“Yes. Do you want to go?”
I yawned. “Not desperately. Are you going?”
“Yes. The documentary was nominated, and Karl thought it would be good if I
showed up. He’s a member of the Academy so he booked the dinner and ceremony ages
ago, but the nominations just came out. Karl thinks I should bring you.”
“Isn’t it evening dress only?”
“Black tie. You can wear a nice suit.”
I thought about my one and only suit, the one I wore to court and funerals as needed,
and only when needed. I hated suits. “I don’t—”
“I’d love it if you did come.”
I groaned to myself. Anton was one of the least selfish, most giving people I’d ever
met in my life. He rarely asked for anything, and never for anything big. Here, he was
offering me an invite to one of the most glittering events in London, and making out I’d
be doing him a favour. “I really don’t have a decent suit, Anton. You’ve seen the one I
own.”
“Yes.” He managed to convey the depths of his horror at the memory with that one
syllable. “Let me buy you one? A really nice bespoke black suit will fit you like a glove,
and you’ll get a lot of wear out of it.”
“Hang on, you can’t buy me an expensive suit. I can afford my own clothes.”
“I know...but I want to. I know a wonderful tailor, and you’d look fantastic.” He
squeezed. “If you insist, you could pay what you normally would for a new suit and I’ll
pick up the rest. Please, Nick? I’m dying to show you off.”
I sighed and kissed his cheek. “All right. But I’ll get so much crap from the guys at
work.”
“Sorry.”
“Anton.”
“I’m not apologizing, I’m empathizing.”
“Hmmm. I don’t want you getting into the habit of buying me expensive things.”
He’d given me an iPhone for Christmas. I’d given him a waterproof housing for his
camera that Karl had told me Anton had been after. The camera thing probably cost close
to what he’d spent on the iPhone, but to me, the iPhone was extravagant because I
already had a phone. To Anton, Apple products were a necessity. It was one of his few
flaws.
“I’m not. I’m being selfish. I’ll be with the dishiest man there, and I want him to be
in a nice suit.”
Frankly, I was the one who’d be with the dish. Harry’s sister said I looked like a poor
man’s Paul Bettany, and she wasn’t being nice. Although, since this was after Harry and I
had broken up, maybe her opinion was a little prejudiced. “When? I better make sure I’m
not down to work.”
“Tell you tomorrow.”
I rolled over and pinned him down. “You’re going to make it worth my while,
right?”
He grinned, his teeth glowing in the dim light. “Oh, absolutely. Thoroughly and in
great depth.”
I kissed him and reached down for a friendly grope. “Well, that’s all right then.”
~~~~~
I wasn’t rostered to work on the night of the awards ceremony so I booked myself as
unavailable, though, as I warned Anton, if something big went down in London that
night, I’d be called and I couldn’t really say I wasn’t able to go in. He understood, and
said he had a couple of friends he could call at short notice to take my place. One of the
things I’d liked so far about our relationship, now over a year long, was that he did
understand about my job, and forgave me for cancelled engagements and interrupted
nights together. I can’t swear it never bothered him, but he never let it show if it did, and
he didn’t hold it against me the way Raj had done.
That level of tolerance in a lover was rare enough, I well knew. Divorces and
relationship breakups were so normal on the job, no one blinked an eye at them. Shift
work and overtime sucked for spouses, even without all the fun and games being a cop
brought to the mix. Anton was too easy going to take it personally. At least, not yet. I
very carefully resisted any temptation to move things up to the next level or to increase
the time we spent together, because I didn’t want things to fall apart the way they had
before. I was on a good thing, and I wanted it to keep it.
The tailor Anton wanted to use actually had their suits made in Hong Kong after
taking measurements here, and since it could take six weeks for the suit to be ready, I
thought we were out of luck. But Anton’s charm and the magic word “Baftas” did the
trick and we were assured it would be back in time. I refused to worry about it. Anton
was the one who wanted to dress me up, so if he wanted me in a posh black suit, it was
up to him to provide one. I honestly had more pressing things to worry about.
So did he, of course. The popularity of “Arctic Spring” had brought requests for
interviews, voiceover documentary work, invitations to appear on Radio Four panel
games—even an invitation to Jonathon Ross’s show. Around all this—which he wanted
to do to promote the documentary and Karl’s production company—he had to write a
book to accompany another documentary coming out later in the year, prepare scripts for
two specials, and carry out his teaching role at the Open University. Somehow he
managed to do it all with a much better temper than I would have managed, while still
having a social life and nookie with me whenever I could fit him in. I felt rather
inadequate with only one job to manage.
The suit arrived with four days to spare, so we trotted out to Surbiton to collect it. It
fit, as promised, like a glove, and even though I’d grouched about the cost of new shoes,
a white shirt, and black tie, I couldn’t help but think that Anton had been absolutely right
about the difference a good suit would make. Poor man’s Paul Bettany or not, I’d do me
wearing this lot.
“You look quite edible,” Anton whispered as he helped me take the jacket off.
“Behave, Sherlock,” I murmured, nudging him back. The tailor’s assistant didn’t
comment on the bulge in my trousers as he helped me remove them without creasing
them. The train ride home was an exercise in patience, which Anton’s impish grins didn’t
make easier in the least.
Once at his house, I carefully hung up the suit and shirt in Anton’s spare room before
I pounced on him to punish him for being such a provocative brat. I bit his ear as he
grabbed handfuls of my backside and squeezed. “You’re going to be impossible that
evening, aren’t you?”
“I promise to be good.”
“You’re even more impossible when you’re good.”
“That’s your problem, isn’t it, Watson?”
Chapter 2
The ceremony itself started rather early, so I’d never have managed to work a shift
and be on time, but by swapping rosters and juggling shifts, I’d arranged to have the day
of the awards off as well as the day after for recovery. That allowed a luxurious lie-in
with Anton, a walk in the park and lunch in the pub, before we showered, shaved,
checked suits, shirts and shoes, and took the bus into town. Karl, an old hand at the
Baftas thing, had booked two nights in a hotel behind Oxford Street for himself and three
of his team. Sounded extravagant but the room slept four people if they didn’t mind
sharing. His wife, pregnant with their fourth child, was over the whole awards thing and
had elected to stay home in Bristol. She would watch the ceremony with Karl when he
arrived home the day after.
But the room was also to allow two London-based members of Karl’s company and
us to change close to the venue. Like Anton, Karl wore a tux, but unlike Anton, he didn’t
cut a particularly dashing figure. Portly and balding, he looked exactly what he was—a
harried, clever, family man with many responsibilities. He agreed with Anton that my
new suit was a wise choice, and spent some time admiring the cut.
“I can’t wear things like that,” he said with a sigh.
“Have you tried?” I asked.
“Once. I leave the fashion victim stuff to Anton.” Anton cuffed him lightly across
the back of his head for that. “Now, everyone. Are we ready?”
The ladies, Raksha and Karen, glittered prettily, and we men were a vision in sleek
black and dazzling white shirts. I felt quite posh swanning into the lobby of our hotel and
waiting for the cabs. We weren’t the only attendees staying there either, and cabs were at
a premium. Walking would have been much faster since it was just down in Park Lane,
but one did not simply walk into the Baftas, I was informed. I didn’t care. There was
already more glamour in my life than I would see in a month of Sundays, and I was
content to sit back and watch it all unfold. Karl and Anton had already declared they had
no expectation of winning—not with a certain popular science educator’s new series also
nominated—and if Anton had the slightest nerves over the thing, I couldn’t detect it.
He’d never been to the Baftas before either, but you’d never guess it from the way he
smiled and waved and chatted, apparently utterly relaxed and glad to be with me and his
friends.
He posed with Karl on the red carpet, receiving a smattering of applause. When he
motioned me over to be photographed with him, the applause was somewhat more
enthusiastic, and he not only got requests for autographs and a few wolf whistles, but one
young woman in a dress that would have made a skimpy shirt tried to grab him for a kiss.
He danced out of the grope, and I positioned myself between them until one of the
bouncers came to our rescue.
Karl hustled us out of danger. “Well, that’s never happened to me,” he muttered in
my direction.
“He gets a lot of fan mail, he said?”
“Oh yes. Sarina, my PA, wants to hire a temp to deal with it. It’s good for business
but sometimes I wish he was a little less gorgeous.”
Anton, still pink-faced with embarrassment, came abreast of us. “He’s right here,
you two. And I’m not ‘gorgeous’.”
“Who’s the one some pretty young thing just tried to snog?”
He wrinkled his nose at me. “And you were worried about me behaving. Bet you’re
glad I made you get a new suit now.”
I was, but damned if I was going to admit it. “No one even looked at me. God, is that
Daniel Craig? Anton, you didn’t say he’d be here.”
“How would I know? Oh and Sir David’s here after all. Over there, talking to Bill.
Karl, Nick’s a huge fan. You must introduce him.”
“No, don’t,” I said hastily. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Simple. ‘Hello, Sir David, loved your new series.’”
“It’s a waste of his time.”
“Viewers pay our rent,” Karl chided. “Anyway, he’s a very nice man, even if he
doesn’t suffer fools. I’ll introduce you if I see him at the reception. We better find our
seats.”
Though I’d already resigned myself to enduring two hours of tedium, star spotting
entertained me pretty well. Being with Anton with no prospect of being called into work,
was enjoyment enough. The category that Karl and Anton were nominated for was
announced about an hour in. It was one of the few where I’d seen all the items
nominated, and Sir David Attenborough was the presenter, so even without Anton, I’d
have been interested to see who won. Sir David spoke about the high standard of the
nominated programmes, and the importance of fact-based entertainment not just to
children, but also to society at large. Then he read the list and the clips were played. The
cameras flashed on Anton and Karl, but lingered somewhat longer on the popular science
educator to our left, the hot favourite.
“And the winner is, ‘Arctic Spring’, produced by Marber Creative Workshop.”
Anton froze, his head whipping around to Karl, equally shocked. “I don’t have a
speech,” Karl hissed.
Raksha nudged him. “Doesn’t matter. You won. Go!”
I squeezed Anton’s hand. “Go.”
He gave me a shaky smile, and clambered past me, dragging Karl with him. Raksha
and Karen grinned at me. I might have grinned back.
Karl patted his forehead with a large white—thankfully clean—handkerchief, and
though it was partly for comic effect, the poor man was still obviously struggling with
profound surprise. Sir David handed Karl the gold mask statuette and exchanged
handshakes and private words with the brothers. Then Karl came to the microphone.
“Uh. I know everyone claims not to expect to win, but we really didn’t expect this.
That means I don’t have a speech prepared, which is better news for you than for me.” He
got the expected laugh, and relaxed a little. He thanked his staff and camera team, Anton,
and finally his wife and children, before stepping aside to let Anton speak.
I straightened up a little. Watching Anton on the television when he was reading a
script was one thing, but this was a new challenge. How would my overachieving
boyfriend handle it?
“Considering who we were up against, I think I should ask Karl to pinch me.” Karl
obliged, and Anton faked pain, pouting as he rubbed his arm. “Ow. So it’s really true.”
He paused for a ripple of laughter. “This is a tremendous honour and pleasure, not just
because of the company we were in, but because Sir David is my lifelong hero, and this is
a dream I would never dare have. Thank you.”
The crowd loved that. To the side, I saw one of the stage crew making “hurry up”
gestures at Anton. “I’d like to thank Karl and his wonderful team, our parents for being
an endless source of love and encouragement to the two of us, and last but not least, my
partner, Nick, for being here tonight to support me, even though he hates wearing suits.”
The camera obligingly picked me out of the crowd, showing my frozen smile to
several thousand strangers. What on earth had possessed Anton to say that?
Karl lifted the award as the audience applauded, then he and Anton made their way
back to us. I let them in, still smiling manically in case the cameras came back our way.
Only when the presenter for the next category came on stage, did I feel safe enough to
look at Anton and frown. “You sod,” I whispered.
“Yes.” He was still grinning like a loon, so high on surprise and delight that he
couldn’t be considered in his right mind. I took his hand and he gripped it, holding it tight
until the end of the ceremony. I decided I wouldn’t take him to task. He and Karl had
worked hard for this moment, so I’d let them enjoy it.
Karl and Anton posed with their people and the award at the photo wall—I wasn’t
needed, fortunately. Then the fun part of the evening, as Anton described it, could start. A
dinner I could only nibble at followed a champagne reception where I tried to look very
cool and not squeak in excitement every time I passed one of my favourite famous faces.
Karl did manage to introduce me to Sir David, who expressed polite interest in the fact I
was a police officer and Anton’s companion, and somewhat warmer congratulations to
Anton and Karl. He did thank me for saying how much I loved his documentaries, and
didn’t look bored at what he must have heard thousands of times in his long life. I think I
managed not to look too idiotic before Karl led us way.
The serious hob-nobbing took place at the after-party, but by then, I was over the
whole celebrity-spotting thing, and intent on enjoying my evening with Anton, who, it
turned out, was something of a party animal. I knew he loved music and played the guitar
beautifully. I hadn’t realised that he loved to dance too, and did that as well as he did
everything else. I struggled to keep up with him as he flung himself about to Prodigy and
Lady Ga Ga, and when I begged for mercy, he happily swapped me for Karen. Raksha
danced with Karl and other members of the team, and me, when the music slowed a bit.
The only times Anton stopped was to grab something to drink. Though he carefully
paced himself, we both drank more than was wise, and certainly more than either of us
usually had. During one of these breathless breaks, the roving photographers caught us
embracing—or rather me holding up a giggling Anton. A woman in a fiery red dress
came up as we were still blinking from the photographer’s flash, introducing herself as a
reporter. She asked if she could have my first and last names, and what I did for a living.
“I work for the Met,” I said, hoping that was enough.
“Oh, you’re a policeman?”
“Yes. A detective constable.”
She wrote that down, smiled, and wandered off to someone more interesting. Anton
tugged my hand, demanding that I dance with him again. I followed, since resistance was
futile, and hoped that if the photos appeared, I at least didn’t look ridiculous.
~~~~~
The cab dropped us at Anton’s place around two in the morning. A tired and tiddly
Anton shushed me in a cutely drunken way as I dropped the key and tripped into the door
picking it up. We didn’t make it to the stairs, at least not at first. Instead we collapsed
onto his sofa where I was able to give into my need to snog him while he was dressed to
the nines. He apparently had very similar ideas and only the fact I was a good deal less
intoxicated than him let me win in the ‘undoing the tie and shirt buttons’ stakes. He gave
up fighting me in less than a minute, resting his head on my shoulder and letting me
fondle him without resistance.
“What a night, eh?”
“Pretty amazing. Still high on winning?”
“Mmmm? A little. It was more meeting so many wonderful people, and being with
you. It was perfect.”
“How incredibly mushy.”
He snorted. “Yes, I know. I’m drunk, forgive me.”
I kissed him. “Forgiven. And thank you. I had a great time. Much more than I
thought I would.”
“Even though I made you wear a new suit.”
“Even though. And now the whole world knows I’m a grub.”
His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Sorry, I think I lost reception there for a bit.
What?”
“Your speech. Telling everyone I don’t like wearing suits.”
“But you don’t.”
“No. But now everyone knows.”
“Oh. Sorry?”
I poked him. “You’re not.”
“No, I’m not. Do you want me to be?”
He was so drunk. “Not really. Come on, pretty boy. Time for bed.”
I hauled him up. “Sleepy,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around me and leaning.
“Too bad. I am not carrying you up those stairs.”
By dint of shoving and poking, I managed to push him upstairs ahead of me. He fell
on the bed, and I resigned myself to the dreadful task of taking his clothes off. Truly a
sacrifice, let me tell you. Fortunately a naked, giggly, tiddly Anton was more than enough
reward for any hardship.
“Leave the suit on. It’ll be like being fucked by James Bond.”
“Hardly. Anyway I’m too tired to fuck anyone in a suit or otherwise, so you’re out of
luck.”
He grabbed my lapels. “Make it worth your while?”
I kissed him. “I never have sex with drunk people, Anton. Even gorgeous drunk
people. Now let me go so I can undress.”
“Meanie.”
“Whiner.”
He released me, and I stripped, regretting my ethics. My lovely new suit went on a
pile with Anton’s tuxedo, both to be dry-cleaned. I vowed to wear it again soon when
Anton was sober as well as appreciative. I threw myself down next to him, tugged the
covers over us, and pulled him firmly into my arms. “Stop being tempting, you devil.”
“I’m just lying here.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed and snuggled closer. “I love you so much, you know.”
“I know.” I could never bring myself to reply as I knew he wanted. To me, that was
the next step. Did I mention I was a dirty rotten coward when it came to relationships?
“Are you angry about what I said? At the awards?”
“No, I’m not angry. I wanted to strangle you for about two minutes, but I’m not
angry.”
“Just strangly.” He chuckled to himself and squirmed when I tickled him a little.
“Silly scientist. Why did you call me your partner? Why not boyfriend?”
He yawned. “Dunno. Spur of the moment. ‘Boyfriend’ sounds a bit high school.”
“Oh. It’s just I think of ‘partner’ for people who are living together.”
He looked up into my eyes and I wondered just how drunk he really was, because his
dark gaze was entirely clear and piercing. “You could live here anytime, Nick. Entirely
your choice.”
“I know. You know why not.”
“I know your reasons. But whether you live here or not doesn’t change your
importance to my life.”
I didn’t know how to reply. Anton had accepted me in every way that I could ever
want to be accepted. My being a vee was so not an issue with him, neither was my job.
I’d met his friends, his family—his parents had even invited me over to celebrate
Hanukkah with them, and I’d attended their Passover Seder before Easter—and so far as I
know, no part of his life was off limits to me. I’d introduced him to some of my friends,
like Harry and Charlotte—Andy of course, and he’d met Phil a couple of times. But I
didn’t want him anywhere near my family at holiday times, because I didn’t want their
toxicity to infect our relationship. Christmas at my parent had been awful—Mum and I
had got into a fierce row about the role of the police, and I’d left early. I didn’t want
Anton to ever see that. I didn’t want to see it.
I wasn’t trying to keep Anton quarantined for my sake, only to protect him. I didn’t
have any secrets from him, but I didn’t spend my precious time with him moaning about
my job either. If we lived together, would I feel I should? Did he think he was missing
out?
“Go to sleep,” I said, stroking his hair and trying to put the tenderness into my tone
and my touch that I couldn’t verbalise. He sighed and rested his forehead on mine, and
was out like a light in two seconds.
Anton deserved more and better, but he seemed happy with me. I didn’t want to give
him expectations I couldn’t meet but I couldn’t bear to lose him either. What I wouldn’t
give for his trouble-free attitude to life, and to me.
“I love you too,” I whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear.
I was such a coward.
Chapter 3
We slept in, and went across to Chelsea for brunch like the minor, hungover
celebrities we were. Or at least, Anton was. After the third call from a reporter wanting to
interview us as a couple—which got a big thumbs down from me—Anton turned off his
phone. “Fame’s wearing a bit thin,” he said, grimacing over his orange juice.
“Bet you’re not going to give up the television work.”
“Well, no, but that’s education. The personal attention is an unwanted side effect.”
“Whatever wins viewers, Karl said.”
He made another face. “The only person I want watching me because they think I’m
hot is you.”
“I think that monkey is out of the cage.”
“Most likely. Oh well.”
At that point his food and my pot of tea arrived, and we stopped talking about the
price of being famous. With nothing active to promote, Anton said he was looking
forward to concentrating on his writing, research, teaching—and me. I could only smile
and tell him I hoped he’d find it worth it.
His little joke about me made it into the reports online about the ceremony, with
slightly more prominence given to it on gay news sites. He didn’t insist on watching the
whole ceremony again on TV that night, but we did watch the bit where he and Karl
accepted the award. Anton looked wonderful—poised, handsome, funny. I looked like
someone he’d dragged along because he couldn’t find a carer. I hit him with a cushion
when he had the nerve to laugh at my embarrassment.
“It’s not you who’s going to work tomorrow with a dozen evil-minded police
officers.”
“How many of them pay the slightest attention to the Baftas, Nick? I mean, I don’t
usually watch it and I’ve actually known people up for awards the last few years.”
Good point, but I wasn’t reassured.
With good reason, as it happened. I arrived back at the station to find my desk buried
under football shirts, shell suits, and a donkey jacket. As I stood surveying the mess,
wondering where the fuck I was supposed to stash all this crap, Andy popped up, took a
photo of me with one of the SOCOs’ Polaroids, and asked chirpily, “Can I have your
autograph, Mr Guthrie?”
“Piss off, you twat.”
“Is that any way to speak to one of your fans? Wait until I put it on Twitter. And
Facebook. They’ll love it on Facebook.”
I stomped out to the tearoom. Cops.
My phone rang. Harry. “Look, sunshine,” I snapped, “if you’re calling to give me
crap about the Baftas, you can fuck off.”
“What crap about the Baftas? Oh, did you go with Anton? Not my beat, love, you
know that. Wish I’d seen it.”
“So what do you want? I’m in no mood—”
“It’s Julie Nelson, Nick. She passed away last night.”
I sucked in a breath. Julie was a gay social worker who’d done a lot of work with
abused teenagers. I’d met her when she’d done some tutoring on my degree course, and
re-encountered her when I’d joined the force. Harry knew her through me. He’d done a
lot of work on disadvantaged GLBT youth with Julie, and was fast friends with both her
and her wife, Sandy. I’d seen Julie just three weeks ago at a workshop on bullying.
“What happened?”
“Brain haemorrhage, apparently. She died at home yesterday afternoon, but Sandra
didn’t call people until late evening. She had other things to do, as you can imagine.”
“Yeah. Fuck. What a bloody shame. Will you give Sandy my love when you speak
to her again? And when’s the funeral?”
“A week or so, she said. It’s not finalised. You’ll go?”
“Of course I’ll go.” Looked like I’d be using my new suit sooner than I though.
“Could you give me a lift?”
“Yes, of course. How are you and Anton? Did you have fun at the Baftas?”
“We’re fine, and yes. Look, sorry about how I answered the phone....”
“Being teased, are we?”
I relaxed, and even managed a grin. “You know cops.” Andy, walking in just then,
heard me and gave me the finger which I returned.
“I know some. Courage, mon brave. I’ll call you about Julie’s funeral when I know.”
“Thanks, Harry.”
I hung up and glared at Andy. “Some of us have work to do, you know, so I expect
all that shit off my desk very soon.”
“Don’t blame me. It was Phil’s idea.”
“Like fuck.”
“Go and ask him.”
“Piss off.” I got up to fetch a teabag for my mug, and poured boiling water into it.
“So what’s happening? Any movement on the Keifi case?”
~~~~~
After all the excitement, Anton and I settled back into our usual pattern—me
working and staying at Charlotte’s on nights when I had duty the next day, but sleeping
over at Anton’s when I didn’t. He continued with his ridiculous workload without a
complaint, always making time for me when I showed up. How would he manage if we
were living together, I sometimes wondered. Maybe shared housework and stuff would
make his life easier, but another person in his little house would have to be a distraction.
It wasn’t something I dared bring up, in case he thought I wanted persuading. I didn’t.
Things were too good as they were.
Julie’s funeral was held exactly two weeks after Harry’s call. Anton offered to come
with me but as he had never met Julie, I didn’t think he needed the hassle. I had Harry
and other friends to share the grief with. A lot of people had loved Julie, and Sandy was
equally beloved. Sandy looked dreadful. Losing your spouse at fifty meant a lot of lonely
years ahead, and even though Anton and I weren’t married, I couldn’t help thinking about
what it would mean to lose him. Funerals did that to a person. The way Harry looked at
his boyfriend Angus during the service told me he was thinking the same thing too.
Julie’s family organised a wake at a church hall near the crematorium. Musician
friends of Julie and Sandy who played at the funeral, also played at the wake, and we
were encouraged to sing or dance as the mood took us. Julie had loved to dance. Sandy
led on that front, taking Julie’s father by the hand and encouraging him to sway to the
music. It was the first time that day I’d seen either of them smile.
I talked to a lot of old friends that day, so it wasn’t for an hour or so that Harry
circulated in my direction. Angus was dancing with Sandy, so I said, “Want to step out?”
He held out his hand. “Any time, Nick.”
It was like old times, before the old times went bad. It was nice being with Harry,
knowing we had both moved on to people who suited us much better.
“Julie would have loved this,” he said as I let him take the lead.
“That’s the problem with wakes. At least she had a happy life and knew she was
loved.”
“What more could you want?”
“A longer life to enjoy it.”
He grimaced. “True. At least you’re likely to have one.”
“ISH doesn’t protect me from a brain haemorrhage or a stroke. Or being shot on the
job, run over by a bus—”
He raised a hand to stop me. “I get it, all right? Such cheerful thoughts.”
I shrugged. “Funerals bring it out in me.”
“You should have brought Anton. Oh hell.”
I stopped moving, my gut clenching. “What?” The look on his face worried me. “Is it
bad?”
He laughed and kissed my cheek. “No, no. Calm down. It’s only bad for me if you
get the wrong end of the stick. I don’t want you to be angry at me when you see the
article about you two in the Pink News. I had nothing to do with it.”
“What article, Harry? You’re making no sense as well as scaring the crap out of me.”
When he finally explained himself, it was unwelcome news, but not exactly a
tragedy. As I discovered in more detail when I went to Anton’s house and he found the
article on the internet, our lack of cooperation hadn’t deterred the reporter who’d been
chasing Anton for an interview with the two of us. By dint of digging and listening to
gossip—Harry was adamant that none of it was his—the reporter had produced a long
spread about us, using publicity photos of Anton and my official police picture.
Anton read it first, groaning several times, then showed it to me, warning me it was
as intrusive as I had feared. Everything was there—how I’d met Anton, saving him from
a worse kicking than the one he’d got at the feet of two local toe rags, my being a vee, the
serial murder case and my involvement in the revelation and suicide of the killer, where
my parents worked, and the fact I’d once been linked to Harry and to a now prominent
games developer in the States. None of it was bad stuff, and none of it made me look evil,
but it was my private life and no one had any right to it but me.
“Most of that stuff you could discover on the internet, but how the fucking hell did
he find out about Raj?”
Anton stroked my arm. “I don’t know. Not through me, and I doubt through Harry.
I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, so don’t apologise.”
“It is, though. If I hadn’t made you go to the Baftas—”
I grabbed his shirtfront and turned him gently my way. “You didn’t make me do a
thing, Anton Marber.”
“But I drew attention to you.”
“You thanked me. You were being nice.”
“You’re not angry?”
“At this prat? Yes. At you, no.” I shut the laptop and pushed it away. “What’s the
point in wasting energy on this? I’ve had a long day, said goodbye to a good friend, and
it’s no way to honour her.”
“No.” He kissed my forehead, then my lips. “So what is the best way to honour her?”
“By being happy.” I took his hands. “It was a kick in the teeth seeing Sandy, you
know. She was so broken up. They’d been together thirty years. I can’t imagine being
with someone that long.”
“I can. I hope I will be.”
“But what happens when they die, Anton? What if—” I stopped. I’d been about to
ask him “What if I died?” But that wasn’t fair.
“Then you grieve and cry, and know it was better to have loved them than the
alternative. I won’t let fear of sadness stop me being happy now. Come upstairs, Nick. I
think a good cuddle might do you more good than a good fuck.”
I thought he was probably right.
That was our last night together for two weeks, as the next day Anton had to fly to
Norway for a workshop. I wasn’t looking forward to being without him for that long,
though my work had occasionally meant we hadn’t seen each other for more than a
fortnight. I volunteered for extra shifts and promised him I would call up friends and go
out for a drink at least twice.
“Good,” he said as we waited at Clapham Junction for his train to Gatwick. “No
moping, and no hermitting.”
“I don’t mope.”
“You do. You mope like a champion, Nick Guthrie. There’s the train.”
I handed him his second bag through the door. “Bring me back some proper smoked
herring.”
“Ja, I will. See you in two weeks.”
I waved and watched the train leave the platform. Maybe next year I should offer to
go with him, I thought. That was if we were together in a year’s time. I hoped we would
be but I’d learned not to count on such things.
I already missed him.
My phone told me I had a text message. “You’re already moping at Olympic
standard!”
I grinned and sent a reply. “Don’t you have lemmings to molest?”
“I’ll be thinking of you while I’m at it.”
“That’s my little pervert.”
“Always yours. Anton xxx.”
I left the station with a lighter heart. Anton was a complete lunatic, but he was
definitely my lunatic.
I had to break my promise about going out, but not through choice. The discovery of
an entire family murdered in their beds in Neasden had every officer in the Murder Team
flogging themselves, working almost around the clock, talking to the Punjabi community
and the residents of the area, trying to discover why a hardworking, small-shop-owning
couple and their four school-age children had been bludgeoned in their house without any
signs of a break-in or apparent struggle.
The breakthrough came on the Saturday just before Anton was due to return,
although our suspect had fled to Dubai and the Foreign Office and Interpol were now
involved. The guv’nor told those of us who’d been on duty since the case broke, to go
home. Though I had no pressing need for the time off, I could use it to depressurize. I
also had a stack of washing to do because I sure as hell wasn’t spending my time with
Anton messing around with my dirty underwear.
I didn’t cook for obvious reasons, and Anton probably wouldn’t feel like a meal after
the flight. I thought I could pick up some of the vee-safe rice nibbles and other snacks we
both liked, and a bottle of decent red wine. That meant a trip to Harvey Nicks on the way
back to Battersea, but when I’d finished buying the food, I remembered there was
something I’d meant to pick up as a treat for Anton from Heaven in Soho. I was so tired I
thought about leaving it to the next day, but it was just a few tube stops, and I could still
be home before five. That would leave all Sunday clear before Anton got back in the
evening.
Knightsbridge Tube was so crowded I nearly gave up to go by bus, but the traffic up
top was heavy, and getting around Hyde Park corner and along Piccadilly could eat up
most of an hour on a bad day. I gritted my teeth and tried to avoid being crippled by
shopping bag-wielding tourists.
The train’s headlights became visible way down the tunnel, and everyone edged
closer to the edge. I resisted being forced over the line, nudging back at the overeager
person behind me. Suddenly, a shove at the small of my back sent me flying towards the
track. Instinctively I put my hands out, but though I managed to break some of the impact
by grabbing the unelectrified track, I still hit the nearside rail hard, knocking the wind out
of me.
A woman screamed. Time slowed down. The light coming towards me seemed to
stop, while my brain dredged up the memory of a rail safety course I attended in my first
year on the job.
The pit. I had to get into the pit. Get down. Get down.
Get down.
I toppled over the rail and threw myself onto the ground between the tracks,
desperately hoping I would miss the lethal third rail. The yelling of passengers became
louder, and the screech of brakes as the driver tried to stop before he hit me, deafened me.
I lay face down, and prayed I was below the train’s undercarriage.
Then it all became very quiet and dark. The train was over me, but not on me. I
wasn’t dead, or so far as I could tell, missing anything vital.
It takes an extraordinary amount of time to extract someone from under a train, dead
or alive. The platform had to be cleared and the fire service personnel to make sure I was
safe and intact before the train was carefully edged backwards. I insisted I wasn’t hurt,
but strangely my legs were all rubbery. I was very happy to have the help of the firemen
back up to the platform and not just because one of them was ruggedly handsome. I
wasn’t in a position to appreciate him, sadly.
I’m not fond of being on the other side of the police officer-victim interaction, but
there wasn’t anything I could do about it. While I was checked by paramedics and
declared healthy, if shaken up and rather bruised, two British Transport Police constables
questioned me about what had happened. That it wasn’t a suicide attempt was obvious
enough—my shopping was strewn across the track pit, even if the CCTV hadn’t shown
me flying forward, arms outstretched in a futile attempt to stop myself falling. But,
unfortunately, the cameras hadn’t caught who was behind me, and no one had come
forward to offer a witness statement. Like most Tube travellers, I’d been in automatic
‘ignore other passengers’ mode, just wanting to get my journey over and done with, and
though as a cop I was always somewhat more aware of potential problems than the
average traveller, I was also tired, off-duty and certainly not expecting to be nearly killed.
“Is there any reason someone might have wanted to harm you, Nick?” Constable
Keith asked me.
“I’m a police officer, I’m gay, and I’m a vee. Take your pick.”
She gave me a slight smile. “Ah. I meant someone specific. Have you had any
threats? An altercation or argument here in the station? Even someone looking at you
funny?”
“Nothing. I hardly ever travel through Knightsbridge. I don’t know anyone who
dislikes me enough to want to punch me, let alone kill me.”
“Fair enough. Of course, it was just as likely to have been an accident. With the
number of people on the platform, if someone turned carelessly, that might have provided
the shove you felt.”
It had felt more deliberate to me, but I couldn’t prove that or argue she was wrong.
Whatever the truth, there wasn’t any more that could be done unless they could identify
who’d been behind me. Constable Keith asked if I needed a lift home as I was still shaky
—not to mention absolutely filthy—and I accepted. My little ‘accident’ would have put
the Tube in a snarl, and so the buses above would be slowed down too. I abandoned my
bag of groceries. The wine bottle was smashed, and the rest was either soaked, torn or
soiled. Anton would have to do without food-type nibbles tomorrow.
When I had a chance to examine myself in the bathroom at the flat, I realised I’d
have to come up with a cover story. I had blooming bruises across my hips and stomach
that would need explaining—the metal track I’d landed across had been utterly
unforgiving. The problem was that Anton’s biggest fear was my being hurt or killed on
the job—seeing me nearly strangled to death by a serial killer had that affect on a person,
he’d said. This could have been—had to have been—either a genuine accident or just
some random thug having a laugh. Though there was a faint possibility that someone I’d
arrested had recognised me and taken their chance, it was almost certainly unconnected to
my job. Anton would worry when there was no need. He’d had his own personal
experience of violence last year, and still suffered nightmares from time to time. If I told
him the truth, it would stir things up. So I wouldn’t. I didn’t like to lie to him, but I would
to save him unnecessary anxiety.
I cleaned up, deciding ruefully that my jeans and fleece were beyond saving, and
went downstairs put the kettle on to boil. Fuck it, I needed something harder than tea.
Charlotte kept a bottle of Scotch in the cupboard for ‘medicinal purposes’—shifts so bad
she needed strong alcohol before she could even get to sleep—and I thought she would
understand if I pinched some for my own therapy. Between the whisky and a hot bath I
managed to fall asleep quite quickly, though my dreams were chaotic.
Next morning I was still sore and tired. Charlotte was drinking coffee when I
stumbled downstairs, so I explained about the whisky and the incident at Knightsbridge.
“Good God, Nick. You could have been killed!”
“Yeah, I know. I was there, Charlie.”
She smiled at my words. “Will you tell Anton?”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“I wouldn't. Poor man will worry.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll replace the whisky.”
She waved that away. “Don’t be silly. Are you all right? You’re moving as if you’re
not.”
I indicated my stomach. “Bruising here, nothing worse. Hurts but it won’t kill me.”
“Well, sit down and I’ll make you some tea. Want the HRF while I’m up?”
“Yes, please.”
While I drank my breakfast and then my tea, we talked about what could have
prompted someone to push me into the path of an oncoming Tube train. “It can’t have
been planned,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to be off-duty then. So whoever it was,
did it on the spur of the moment.”
“True. And if it was an accident, the person could have been so horrified that they
bolted without thinking. Especially if they were foreign.”
She nodded. “Quite likely. Maybe someone will come forward and say it was them,
especially as you’re all right.”
“Maybe. Anyway, what are you up to today?”
She had no plans, and nothing she wanted to do. So we caught up, I did my washing,
and then I took her to lunch. By the time we returned, I felt entirely more human, and fit
enough to catch the bus to Chelsea for a second attempt at buying nibbles and wine. I was
ready to greet my boyfriend with a smile, a fib, and two weeks’ sexual tension to wear
out on his gorgeous and willing body. At five o’clock Anton texted me to say he was on
the train and would be back at his place by six.
“You’re besotted,” Charlotte told me, amused by my happy expression as I put my
phone away.
“I’m not. I’ve been fine without him.”
“Of course you have. Why don’t you bring him over for supper this week while
you’re still off?”
“You don’t cook, Charlie.”
“No, but Mr Marks and Mr Spencer do.” I groaned theatrically and she grinned. “I
do know how to cook, Nick. I just don’t bother.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I don’t. Which is why I want to.”
“Okay. I’ll see if he’s free. You know he’ll probably try and persuade you to let him
cook though.”
“And I’ll resist with all the firmness of a wet noodle. Now off you go. See you later
this week.”
I arrived at Anton’s house in time to store the food, turn up the heating from the
trickle he’d left it on, and put on some music. I heard the cab’s diesel engine putter away,
the clunk of the slightly sticking front door give way under his shove, and then the sound
of his boots hitting the floor as he changed into slippers in the foyer.
I tried to look casual as he came in and put his packs on the ground. “Oh, you’re
back already? Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I go away again?”
“You do and I’ll handcuff you.”
He came into my arms and grinned at me. “Promises, promises, Sherlock. Miss me?”
“Not at all.”
His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Oh good.”
He received a “welcome home” blow job on the sofa with every sign of appreciation,
but I patted his hand away from my own erection. “Plans, I have them.”
“Ah well. Does that bottle of lovely Grenache have plans too?”
“Yes, and those definitely involve your mouth.”
We sat on the couch for about an hour, kissing and drinking wine. Anton appreciated
the nibbles but said he would probably make a light meal as he hadn’t eaten on the plane.
“Why don’t I make you a toasted cheese sandwich while you have a shower?” I said.
“Would you mind?”
“Of course not. I think I can manage something that simple.”
He kissed me. “Thanks, love. I’m so tired that I’m all fumbly.”
“Then let’s go to bed after you eat. I’m off for the next three days so we don’t have
to get up early.”
“Bliss,” he said with a sigh.
I made his sandwich, and drank my HRF while it was cooking. I made up a tray and
took it into the bedroom, so he didn’t need to go downstairs again just to eat. “You’re a
treasure,” he said as he came into the room.
“No wonder people keep wondering where you dug me up.”
“Ho ho ho.” He climbed into bed, and kissed me tenderly. “So what did you get up
to?”
I told him about the murder investigation while he ate. “What a horrible case. So you
worked all the way through?”
“Until yesterday.” I stood to strip, ready for the shocked exclamation which came
right on cue. “I chased someone we were questioning and ran into a fence.”
“Nick! You look like someone ran over you.”
“Not exactly,” I said, wondering for the hundredth time if Anton really did have
some secret psychic power. His guesses were uncannily accurate far too often. “It’s only
bruising, and all the important things are working.”
I waggled my eyebrows and he smiled a little, though it never reached his eyes. “Did
you get checked out?”
“Yes,” I said with complete truthfulness. “And Charlie saw me this morning. She’s
not worried.”
“Oh. Okay.” He reached out and touched the line of bruises. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. Anyway, have you finished? Remember my plans.”
The smile grew broader and happier. “How could I forget?” He stuffed the rest of the
sandwich into his mouth, making himself look like a chipmunk.
“Yuck.”
“I’m hurrying,” he said through the food. I let him chew and even wash the food
down with a slurp of wine, before I pounced. We’d both waited long enough, and no
amount of bruising was going to stop me showing Anton just how much I’d missed him.
Chapter 4
The pain in my gut woke me. I clutched my stomach, groaning, before I was
overcome by an irresistible need to vomit. I tried to make it to the bathroom but
collapsed, puking, on the floor.
“Nick? Are you all right?”
The light came on. I couldn’t speak, only vomit again. “God, Nick! What’s wrong?”
Anton tried to help me up, but couldn’t. Fortunately his quick brain worked out I was
in trouble, and he grabbed the bedroom phone to call 999.
I remembered fragments of what happened next, of being treated by the paramedics,
of being embarrassed at being naked and unable to stop throwing up, and the ride across
the river in the ambulance. But I was unconscious by the time we arrived at the hospital,
and the next six days are a blank. My next memory was of waking in intensive care with
tubes in every orifice, and my mother sitting grim-faced next to my bed. I fumbled to
reach her hand, wondering why it was so hard to move, and she jumped a foot in shock.
“Nick! Oh God, you’re awake.”
A nurse came over and started asking me how I was. That wore me out enough that
when I opened my eyes again, Mum was gone, and Dad was in her chair.
“Dad?” My voice was a mere croak. My throat was dry and sore and I felt like
someone had been beating me with clubs.
“Nick. How do you feel?” He took my hand.
“Sore. What happened?”
“You were poisoned. Someone tried to kill you.”
Strangely, my heart monitor went into overdrive at that. Another nurse came in to
find out what had got me so upset, but this time she didn’t look so worried. “Awake
again, are we, Nick? How do you feel?”
Once again I had to answer a bunch of questions, and my vital statistics noted. A
doctor came and examined me, while Dad waited outside. “You’re doing very well. I
think we can move you down to the main ward now, Nick.”
“Dad said ‘poison’. What poison?”
“Ricin. Someone put it in your HRF. It was a bit of a challenge to treat you as there
are no recorded cases of an ISH-positive individual being poisoned with ricin. We put
you in an induced coma and had you on life support. Fortunately you pulled through.”
She smiled and patted my shoulder, then gave the nurse instructions about what to do
with me. I waited until she finished, then asked, “My boyfriend, Anton. Where is he?”
The nurse answered. “He’s been here quite a lot of the time, but usually at night. I’m
sure your father will tell him you’re awake.”
I let the medical staff do what they needed to in preparation for moving me out of
ICU, but what I really wanted was someone to answer my damn questions. Ricin? What
the hell? How could someone have poisoned a carton of HRF which had been sitting in
Anton’s fridge for nearly a month.
Dad didn’t know. “They didn’t have a clue what was wrong with you at first, except
it had to be some kind of poison. Anton still had the carton from the rubbish bin, so they
tested that. Then the police were involved.” He made a face. “At first they thought Anton
had—”
“Not in a million years, Dad.”
“I know that. The thing is—all the cartons had been contaminated. There were six
more in his fridge. If you’d drunk any of them when he was away...you would have died.
It’s only because he got you here so fast that you...that you didn’t.”
His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Dad.” My energy was fading again. “Where is he?”
“At home. He’s been sitting here each night. Your mother’s been here in the
mornings, and I’ve been here in the evenings. We didn’t want you to be alone.”
He had hold of my hand, so I squeezed his fingers. “Thanks.”
He wiped his eyes. “No problems, lad. Now they tell me you’re well enough to be
moved. I’ve called Anton, told him you’re awake, and that he should get some rest. He
said he’d come in the morning.”
I squeezed his hand again. “He’s okay?”
“He will be now. Your mother will come along tomorrow afternoon. They don’t
know how long you’ll have to be in, but if you need anything, tell Anton, and Mairi will
bring it later.”
“Thanks. Dad...sorry for the worry.”
He grunted. “You’re always a worry. They’re going to chuck me out of here any
minute so they can sort you out. Oh and the police will have to talk to you, but you’d
know that.” He patted my hand with his free one, and stood. “Now you concentrate on
getting better, Nick. Sheila and Tricia send their love. They wanted to come down but we
didn’t know...they couldn’t tell us how long....”
“It’s okay, Dad. I’ll be fine.” My stomach gave me a twinge, and I winced.
“I’d better shift. The nurses said they’d call us if you need anything urgent-like.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded, obviously uneasy at the situation. “I’ll see you soon, Nick.”
He left, to our mutual relief, I was sure. Dad wasn’t as emotionally constipated as
some Northerners, but I couldn’t blame him for not being able to handle the attempted
murder of his only son. It wasn’t even the first time someone had tried to kill me, but it
was the first time so much planning had gone into it. Who the hell hated me enough to
use ricin on me?
I desperately wanted to see Anton, to reassure myself he was really okay, and to ask
him more about what was going on, but by the time I was moved to the new ward and
settled in, I was worn out. I fell asleep before I could ask about making an outside call.
When I woke again, it was the middle of the night and the ward was in darkness. I
remembered how much I hated hospitals then. I remembered also how much I hated
being awake in the middle of the night in a ward, worried, sick, and alone.
With the morning came a fresh set of pokes and questions. Allegedly I was better,
though I still felt like reheated dog shit and probably looked it too. I hoped I’d see Anton
as soon as visiting hours started, but my first visitor, just after the breakfasts for the other
patients had been cleared away, were my boss Phil, and Andy. I sat up a little straighter
and waved. “Professional or personal?”
“Both,” Phil said, taking a seat. Andy hovered until he spotted an unused chair by
one of the beds and snaffled it. “Glad to see you awake, Nick. Looking at you asleep was
extremely boring.”
“Sorry, boss. It wasn’t planned. So you guys are handling this?”
“We take it very personally, someone trying to kill one of our people twice,” Andy
said. “And how come we had to find out about the first attempt from the Transport
Police?”
“Wait...first? The Transport Police thought it was an accident.”
“That was before we found six containers of ricin in your partner’s fridge,” Phil said.
“Someone wants you dead, Nick. Any idea who?”
I held up my hands in surrender. “No idea. Not Anton, for sure. He’s not a suspect.”
I gave Andy a firm look to back that statement up.’
“No, he’s not, though we had to question him, and the Anti-Terrorism squad are
taking an interest because it’s biotoxins. But someone got into his house without breaking
in, injected those containers of HRF with ricin, and left no trace. Think, Nick. You were
the target, not Anton.”
I shook my head. “Sorry. Did he have any ideas?”
“None. Nick, we’re going to need a list of people who knew you spent time at
Anton’s house.”
“You mean apart from the couple of million who saw him joking about me at the
Baftas?’
Phil and Andy looked at each other. “He’s been getting hate mail about you. Non-
specific stuff, just the usual loony celebrity thing, telling him to drop you because he
belongs to the fan in question.”
“Every famous person gets that kind of crap,” I said, though I wondered why Anton
had never mentioned it.
“Yeah. That’s what we thought,” Phil said. “But I hadn’t connected all this with the
Baftas. Nick—those containers had to have been contaminated in the last four weeks,
since that’s when Anton bought that batch. Which is also the time that’s elapsed since
that ceremony was shown on TV.”
“And that article came out,” I said slowly. “Two weeks ago. There was an article in
Pink News about it. Has the hate mail increased?”
“He didn’t say it had. Unfortunately he’s been deleting it, as has his brother’s
secretary, who’s also been throwing away any physical letters which she thought
unsavoury.”
“Fuck.” I reached for the water jug. Phil helped me out. “Any threats?”
“Not specifically, as I said. But the timing makes this slightly more likely.”
“How many crazy fans are organised enough to pull something like this off?”
“It only takes one, Nick.” Phil stood. “We need to follow this up. Is Anton coming
here this morning?”
“I hope so.”
“Then ask him to call me. Maybe you two can figure out if there’s something or
someone we’ve overlooked. Any idea when they’ll release you?”
“None. Soon. Hate hospitals.”
Andy winced sympathetically. “Don’t blame you. Do you need anything?”
“Other than being released? No, I’m fine, so long as Anton turns up soon.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Oh, wait, is that a wildlife presenter I see lurking out in the
corridor?”
I glared, thinking Andy was teasing, but Phil grinned and pointed towards the door.
“Let me have a quick word with him, Nick, and then he’s all yours.”
Anton gave me a shy little wave, but let Phil draw him outside again. Just that brief
glance had me smiling.
“Now that’s the Nick Guthrie we all know and love,” Andy said. “Seriously, do you
need anything?”
“No, thanks. Just to get out of here.”
“Don’t be in any hurry, Nick. Ricin is nasty stuff. You’re lucky you ate it and didn’t
breathe it in.”
“I remember the anti-terrorism briefings too, you know. Have you got any forensic
evidence at all?”
“Not a bloody thing. Whoever did this scares the hell out of me. They’re good, so
you be careful. They’ll try again.”
“Anton change his locks?”
“Yeah, and we put a camera over his front door.”
“What about Charlotte’s place? And did you check the HRF containers there?”
He rolled his eyes. “Grandmothers and eggs, Nick. They were clean.”
“Why would someone go after me at Anton’s place? I spend more time at Charlotte’s
flat.”
Andy blinked. “Oh. I just assumed you and he were, you know....”
“No.” But maybe Andy wasn’t the only one making that assumption. “Andy, Anton
and Charlotte could be targets if this person comes after me again.”
“We’ve warned them. Charlotte can take care of herself, she said.”
“And Anton?”
“He says he can too.”
“But....”
“But...someone got into his house. Someone tampered with his stuff to kill you.
Nick, you need to make sure he’s not leaving himself open. He’s too nice for his own
good. Too honest.”
I grimaced. “Yeah. I’ll talk to him. Thanks, Andy.”
“You’re welcome. I better go find the boss. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay.”
Anton passed Andy as my partner left the ward. Anton headed straight for me, a
wobbly smile on his face. I put out my hand and he took it as he sat, leaning over to kiss
me. “I taste bad,” I murmured.
“Do you think I care?”
The man in the bed across from me harrumphed, and I looked up to see him glaring.
“Got a problem, mate?”
“I don’t see why we should be subjected to that kind of display.”
“Then don’t look.”
Anton frowned and got up to draw the curtains to block the old fart’s view. “I really
can’t handle this crap this morning.”
“Come here.”
He sat again and I was able to give him a one-armed hug. “You look terrible.”
He laughed a little. “That’s my line. How are you?”
“Apparently I’ll live, thanks to you.” I tilted his head towards me. “Thank you.”
“Nick, there’s no need to thank me. I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have
done.”
“You acted quickly. The doctor said that was crucial.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said with a shudder. “I’ve never been so worried in
my life.” Suddenly he stiffened and looked into my eyes. “You lied to me, you bastard.
You said you fell over a fence.”
“Well you didn’t tell me about the hate mail.”
“You never asked me about the hate mail. I asked you about the bruising. Why,
Nick?”
“Because of the state you’re in now. You’d only worry.”
He poked me gently in the chest. “Do not lie to me again. Ever. For any reason.
Promise me.”
“All right, I promise. I was only trying—”
“No.” He squeezed my hand. “Sergeant Mbeke thinks this could be a stalker fan? Is
that credible? How many fans kill the lovers of their objects of desire?”
“I don’t know, but they do kill more often than you’d think. Remember Jill Dando
and John Lennon.”
He shivered. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He was unshaven and
dishevelled, and reminded me eerily of the battered creature he’d been the night I’d met
him. I wished I could take him into the bed and hold him tight, but even if all the leads
and catheters would allow it, the nurses wouldn’t. All I could was put my arm around his
shoulders. “It’s a long shot. Phil’s just exploring ideas, because there aren’t any suspects.
Any ideas about how someone got hold of your key to get into the house?”
“No. All we know is that the locks weren’t picked. It’s creepy. I haven’t felt safe
there since we found out, even though I changed all the locks.”
“If someone tries again, at least they’ll be recorded. Have you spoken to Charlie?”
“Yes. She’s been lovely, actually. She even let me stay a couple of nights in your
room. I, uh, haven’t handled this at all well, I’m afraid.”
I stroked his hair while he collected himself. “It’s okay, Anton,” I said quietly. “No
one handles this kind of thing well. Why would you?”
“But you should have been safe in my house and you were poisoned! God, Nick.
What if it’s because of me?”
“Were those gay men to blame because Donald targeted them last year? Was it their
fault they’d met him in hospital?”
“Of course not. But this—”
“Is no different.” I pulled him in for a kiss. “Mum and Dad treat you all right?”
“Yes. They were very kind, letting me stay in the ICU. They had to authorise it, of
course.” I knew the reason for the bitter little edge to his words. A girlfriend would
probably have been allowed to stay without question, but a boyfriend had to be vouched
for. At least my parents had done that. I’d never suspect that they would do any different,
however many rows we’d had. “Do you know when you’ll be released?”
“No. Mum and Dad will probably want me to stay with them.”
“You don’t have to. You can stay with me. I want you to.” His chin came up as if
ready for a fight.
“I’d prefer that,” I said. His chin went down as the smile went up. “But I don’t want
you to put your life on hold for me. If I’m not able to look after myself, then I’ll go to my
parents until I can.”
“No. Stay with me.”
It wasn’t worth fighting about, and Anton was in no state. “All right. Did Phil warn
you that you might be a target?”
“Yes but I don’t understand why.”
“Jill Dando. John Lennon. If whoever it is can’t get rid of me, and can’t have you,
they might decide to take things to the next level.”
He shook his head. “I can’t bring myself to care at the moment. I just want you out
of here and healthy again. I never want to see you in an ICU ever again.”
“Trust me, Sherlock, I don’t want to see me in one again either. I don’t like hospitals
at all.”
“I suppose not. I, uh, brought the iPad in for you, and your phone. I thought you
probably didn’t have anything right now to entertain you.”
“Thank you. But you’re not rushing away, are you?”
“Try to get me to leave. You look tired.”
“Yeah. I might fall asleep, but don’t feel like it’s your fault. Talk to me, Anton. I just
want to hear your voice.”
Chapter 5
To my surprise and intense relief, I was released from hospital just three days later.
Apparently since I’d survived the critical period of five days, I was probably going to
survive, and while there was still a risk of my kidneys packing it in, the doctors thought
that if I was staying with someone, and we were both aware of the symptoms which
needed emergency attention, and I agreed to see my GP every few days, there wasn’t any
more they could do for me if I stayed in hospital. And they needed the bed, as always.
I was glad to escape, and not just because I loathed being in hospital. My mother
visited the afternoon after Anton turned up, and it was painful, to put it mildly. Obviously
she cared about the fact I nearly died, but our last substantial interaction had been bitter. I
would have put it aside just for the sake of peace, but she couldn’t help making
references to the quarrel, jabs at the way the police were investigating the case and even
at Anton’s possible involvement. I tried not to rise to it, but finally I had to ask her to
leave because I was tired. I was tired, but she was the one wearing me out. I wondered if
I’d ever have a pleasant relationship with her while I stayed on the force. I ran into people
with my mother’s attitudes all the time. I never had any success arguing with them. Mum
was no different.
Anton collected me by taxi, and when I arrived at his house, I found he had
transformed the sofa into a comfortable bed and rearranged the living room to put things
in my easy reach. “I want to sleep with you,” I said, though I collapsed onto the sofa
immediately, exhausted by the short trip.
“You will, at night. Lie down, Nick. The doctors said you had to rest, and I intend to
make sure you do.”
Being back at his house released all the tension I’d been holding onto since I woke
from my coma. The place smelled like Anton, and I was pathetic enough that I needed
that familiarity right now. He sat next to me as I lay down. “Now you have to ingest at
least a litre of water besides the HRF, and you have to tell me if you can’t pee, or the pee
is a funny colour.”
“Yes, Dr Marber. Um...I don’t want to be paranoid but....”
“I’m going to buy fresh HRF from the pharmacy on the High Street. If we both go
out, then anything I’ve got stored will be binned. Not taking that chance again.”
His face twisted, and it didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to work out Anton still felt
guilty.
“I can’t fathom the kind of mind who could plan to poison a complete stranger,” I
said. “That level of obsession is beyond comprehension.”
“I agree. I hadn’t realised until I told Karl about you, and he told me the kind of
garbage Sarina had been deleting and destroying, just how much people could invest in
me when they know nothing about me. It’s not just fans, you know. It’s also
homophobes. I’ve always attracted a bit of that—well, you know that personally.” I
stroked his hand to comfort him. “But the documentary started it up again as bad as ever.
I might be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”
“Thinking of giving up film-making?”
He looked at me, his eyes full of misery. “Yes, to be honest. Not just for me, but for
you. And don’t give me platitudes about how you don’t matter.”
“I’m not going to. It’s a serious problem. But don’t rush into a decision, is all I’d
say.” I shifted, my stomach aching.
“Sore?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me get you a hot water bottle. I’m not going to save your life only to have
you die on me when I get you home.”
“I’m not going to die,” I shouted after him as he headed for the kitchen. That man
was such a worry.
Despite such a gloomy prediction, I managed not to pass away that day, or the next.
My urine continued to satisfy everyone’s exacting expectations, and my HRF continued
to be ricin-free. Anton continued to look after me as tenderly as a newborn kitten, but by
Friday, when he was due to go to Milton Keynes to teach, I’d convinced him I would be
fine for a few hours on my own. I was mobile, much less fragile, and I could call for help
not only with my phone but also with the panic button Anton had insisted on installing. I
didn’t expect anyone to break in and attack me, but I had to admit that the button hanging
on a cord around my neck gave me a small amount of reassurance.
The biggest risk was dying of boredom. I was improved enough that I didn’t need to
sleep in the daytime, but my concentration was shot. I tried to read, but stopped in
annoyance in less than ten minutes. The internet had no charms, and I didn’t feel like
watching a movie. I called Andy to see how things were going there—the short answer
was, they weren’t. We’d narrowed the window of when the HRF had to have been
contaminated, to three weeks’ prior to my ingesting the ricin. But so far, that was all
they’d found. The nasty emails specifically mentioning me had stopped as soon as I got
sick, and the two that Phil’s efforts had managed to retrieve were sent through proxy
servers, so were useless for identifying the computer from which they were sent. There
were no physical letters left to be tested either.
“We don’t even know the messages are related to the attacks on you,” Andy said.
“No. I presume you’ve considered that it could be another Donald? Someone with a
thing about geevees?”
“We’ve considered it, yeah. But why you specifically, Nick?”
“Because of Donald? Someone looking for revenge?”
“Sounds more like a Hollywood movie.”
“Be nice to me, Andrew. I nearly died, you know.”
“Trust me, I do know that.”
I sighed in frustration. “I’m out of ideas.”
“Me too. The crazy fan is our best, only theory. You couldn’t manage to let them
have another go at you in front of a camera this time? With them facing it this time? You
don’t have to let them kill you but it would be nice if there was a bit of blood, just to win
the jury’s sympathy.”
“Fuck off, you ghoul.”
He laughed. “Whatever you say. Anton okay?”
“Coping. He’s thinking of cutting down the public stuff like the presenting. This isn’t
fun for either of us.”
“I know. Anything I can do? Michelle says you two can come over anytime if you
need somewhere to escape to.”
“Thanks, Andy. We might just do that.” But even that could only be a temporary
refuge. Until Anton felt safe in his own house again, we’d both be walking on eggshells.
Sheer boredom led me to sleeping the rest of the morning away. I puttered after that,
putting Anton’s washing on, even though he’d scold me for it, and cleaning the bathroom
sink. I’d have given anything for the energy to be able to Hoover, but that, for now, was
beyond me—and Anton would go spare if he found out.
My phone rang around two. To my surprise it was a call from Charlotte. I’d spoken
to her the night before, so it couldn’t be a social call. “Nick? Someone’s done something
to the front door lock and I can’t open it or get my key into it. I think it might be
superglued. Do you know what I should do?”
“I’ll come over and have a look for you.”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean to you to come out. You’re still sick.”
“I’m fine for a little walk, Charlie, and I’m bored out of my mind. I’ll be there in
about ten minutes.” A thought occurred to me. “Uh, don’t touch the door or the lock.”
“All right. Why?”
“I’ll explain when I get there.”
I locked up and staggered around to her block of flats. She looked exhausted, and I
guessed a nightshift had gone into some substantial overtime. “I don’t need this,” she
snapped as I came toward her front door. “Bloody kids.”
I looked at the Yale lock, but didn’t touch it. “It’s superglued all right.”
“Shit. How do I deal with that?”
“You don’t. You need a locksmith.” At her irritated frown, I added, “Let me handle
that. I want the police to look at it too.”
“For God’s sake, why?”
“Humour me, will you? Why don’t you go around to the café and I’ll call you when
we’re done?”
She heaved a sigh. “I’ve got some groceries to get so I’ll head up to Asda instead.
How long will it be?”
“Don’t know. I’ll try and make it as quick as I can.”
She stomped off. Poor kid.
I called Battersea Police Station and by chance, Chris Stevens, the constable I’d met
last year when Anton was mugged, was the one who attended. “In trouble again, DC
Guthrie?”
“More than you know, Chris. Look, I know it’s a bit out of the ordinary, but I need
you to take fingerprints off a superglued front door lock before we call a locksmith.”
I explained about the attacks and he whistled. “Bloody Nora. This is out of my
league, Nick. I’ll need to talk to my sergeant.”
While he did that, I contacted Andy again and told him what was happening. “Need
me to come down?”
“Not yet. It’s probably unrelated. We’ve had vandalism in the block before, but....”
“But, I get it. Let me know what they find.”
Normally petty vandalism is way down the priority list of crimes that the SOCOs
deal with, and normally it would have taken days for one to come around to fingerprint
the door. But given my involvement and the seriousness of the crime that the vandalism
might throw some light on, and with a bit of nudging from Chris Stevens, and Phil Mbeke
who made some phone calls, a SOCO was at Charlotte’s flat an hour later, dusting for
prints. She only found one set, which, we discovered when Charlotte turned up not long
after with her groceries, turned out to be Charlotte’s, from when she’d attempted to open
the door.
“Wiped clean,” the SOCO said, packing up her kit. “I’ll check the swabs, see if
we’ve got any DNA, but I doubt we’ll find anything.”
“Does that mean I can get into the flat now?”
“As soon as the locksmith comes,” Chris said.
“I don’t need this!”
I took her aside. “Can you give us an hour, Charlie?”
“What’s going on, Nick? What’s this got to do with you?”
“Probably nothing. Please—go to the café and I’ll call you as soon as the locksmith
arrives. It won’t take him long.”
“I’m working again tonight.”
“I’m sorry.”
She made a face at me, but picked up her bags and walked off.
The locksmith arrived in just over an hour. Chris Stevens and the other officers had
left to attend to other matters, and only the fact I was a police officer myself meant the
guy would start to deal with the locks before Charlotte came back from the café. He
managed to replace the barrel in ten minutes, handed the keys over to Charlotte and took
my credit card details, as I’d insisted on paying. Charlotte was too cranky to argue about
it, taking her new keys and collecting the post from the floor.
Since my usefulness and energy was now at an end, I said goodbye to Charlotte once
she’d given me my own set of keys. “You don’t want me to hang around?”
“No, I’m going to bed. Look, I’m sorry, Nick. You’ve been so helpful.”
“You’re welcome. Call me again if you have any other—”
My phone rang. “Nick? Where the hell are you?”
Oops. I’d forgotten Anton was due back after five. “At Charlotte’s place. I’ll be—”
Charlotte’s yelp, and a packet being thrown to the floor, interrupted me. “Charlie?”
“That’s...shit. Someone sent me shit in the post!”
“Call you back, Anton.”
I hung up before he could reply. “Did you touch it? Any of it?”
“The packet. It’s wrapped.” She covered her mouth then realised her hand could be
contaminated. She ran to the sink to wash her hands.
I crouched to look at the package more closely, but didn’t touch it. The smell was
unmistakeable, but what worried me was that it might be something worse than shit. I
called 999, then made Charlotte leave the flat with me. Overreacting? Maybe. But then
other people hadn’t been nearly killed by their evening meal in the last fortnight.
Anton arrived with the uniformed police. Phil and Andy, who surely had been just
about to go home, arrived not long after. Charlotte, on her last nerve and easily as
exhausted as I was, had to endure being fingerprinted again, and her flat invaded by
police officers wearing hazmat suits.
The only good news, apart from the apparent lack of anthrax, ricin, or any other
easily posted biotoxins, was that the parcel was indisputably linked to me. The laser-
printed note in the packet read, “This is the kind of shit you get when you let shits live
with you. Get rid of him!” The packet had been posted in central London. We hoped
Forensics would find something useful to work with, and Phil said he’d let me know as
soon as they knew. Charlotte was warned not to open any letter that didn’t have a pre-
printed address on the envelope or that she wasn’t expecting, and to bag anything
suspicious and call the police. Fortunately she didn’t receive a lot of mail, but it was an
annoyance she didn’t need.
“Who would do this?” she asked after the circus had finally packed up and left. The
neighbours, who’d been highly entertained by the comings and goings, gradually
dispersed. “This is insanity.”
“Yes. Charlie, would you like me to move out—”
“Don’t you dare, Nick Guthrie. I won’t let this little bastard tell me what to do.”
“But he could come after you directly.”
“Maybe. Right now, I need to get to bed.”
“You can sleep?”
“Just watch me.”
“All right, but you call me if there’s any problem. Better still, just call 999
immediately. Better to have it be a false alarm than you get hurt.”
“I will.”
I hugged her. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”
“This is so not your fault, Nick. Anton, he’s about to fall down.”
“Yes,” my boyfriend said, not smiling at all. “Come on back. Charlotte, you’re
welcome to stay at my house at any time.”
“Might take you up on that. Now shoo!”
I was shaking with exhaustion by the time we reached Anton’s flat, and he fussed
about me until I wanted to scream.
“Oh, hell, the HRF. I didn’t get any fresh—”
I put my hand on his arm. “I’ll risk it.”
“No. There’s an all-night—”
“No. Look, I’ll skip it, okay? Won’t kill me. I’ll have some tea with sugar in it.
Tomorrow is soon enough.”
“All right.” He flopped down on the sofa and ran his hand through his hair. “God,
where does it end?”
“I don’t know. Er...have you checked your own mail? Don’t open any parcels.”
“I’m not stupid, you realise.” He went out to the lobby and picked up the post out of
the cage on the door. “No parcels, just letters, and a photo envelope.” He opened the
photo wallet before I could stop him, and pulled out the contents. He threw the papers
and envelope onto his desk and stepped back. “God. It’s him again.”
“Don’t touch it. We’ll have to assume it could be contaminated.”
And once again I had to call 999, and once again we had to stand outside while the
place was checked for toxins. I called Andy at home and told him about it. “It’s photos of
me kissing Harry at a funeral. It was just us being friendly, but there’s a letter telling
Anton I’m a cheating liar and that he should get rid of me. Same format, typeface,
everything like the other one. Posted the same day, same place.”
“Christ. Is Anton upset?”
“Not about the photos. Andy, whoever it was, was there. At the wake, maybe the
funeral.”
“We’ll need a list of attendees.”
“There were hundreds of people there. Who has a list of invitees for something like
that?”
“Can you call the family? Would they know?”
I wiped my face tiredly. “I’ll ask Harry.”
“We’ll chase up the forensics tomorrow. You poor sods are having a real time of it.”
“No fucking kidding. Talk later, Andy.”
Anton, waiting with his hands stuffed in his coat, lifted his head as I finished.
“They’re done. We can go back in.”
“Do you want to?”
“Do I have any choice?” he asked bitterly. “What’s next? My department? Karl?
Your parents?”
“Yes, most likely. The only good thing is that he’s not using violence.”
“Poisoning someone is bloody violent. You’re saying ‘he’.”
“Figure of speech. Could be a man or a woman. Come on, let’s get inside.”
Anton put the kettle on for tea, but had no interest in food. I hugged him from
behind. “They can’t get in, you know. That’s why they used the mail. You can have your
post held for you until—”
“Until what? What if they never catch them, Nick? What if you, me, Charlotte, have
to look over our shoulders for the next year, ten years? I’ve been looking up this stuff on
the internet. You heard about that doctor and the false rape claim, didn’t you?”
“Warkowski or something?”
“Falkowski. Jan Falkowski. That woman made his life and that of his partners hell
for over four years and when she gets out of jail, it’s more than likely she’ll do it again.
They don’t stop.” He thumped his fist on the counter. “He wasn’t even famous.”
I made him turn around to face me. “The police caught her though.”
“Only by pure bloody luck. He nearly went to jail instead.”
“Yes, but that’s because the police didn’t know about the stalking. We’re ahead of
the game here.” He snorted. “We are. We’ll catch them. Too many people are looking out
for them now.”
“You don’t believe that yourself.”
“I do.”
He shook his head, then turned to make the tea. “Those photos...I never would have
believed you and Harry....”
“And you wouldn’t have to. Why would I cheat on you? You’re more than I could
ever want.”
That made him laugh. “I don’t think our stalker wants to know that. But he followed
you to the funeral. That’s really....”
“Creepy? Yeah. But it might give us a breakthrough. There were people taking
photos at the wake. Other than the stalker, I mean. Someone might have a picture we can
use.”
“Good.” He yawned. “God, I am tired.”
“Then let’s skip the tea and go to bed.”
“No, you need the fluids. Don’t use this as an excuse to get sick, or I’ll be very
cranky.”
“I won’t,” I said, kissing him. “I won’t give that wanker the satisfaction.”
He was too wound up and I was too tired for sex, so we went to bed and tried to
sleep. But Anton was restless and disturbed by nightmares all night, which in turn
disturbed me. All I could do was hold him and try to soothe him until he settled.
Anton quieted down just before dawn, and I dozed, holding him in my arms. The
bedroom phone woke us. I passed it to him. “Hello? Yes, I’m Anton Marber.” He
listened. “I’m sorry, you’ve been the victim of a hoax. There’s no death in the family.
Goodbye.”
I took the phone off him. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with stormy eyes.
“A funeral director wanting to come over to make arrangements for Karl’s funeral.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Now who’s apologising unnecessarily? Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine. Anton—”
“Need a pee. I’ll put the kettle on.”
He took off to the bathroom while I sat up and scratched my stubble. Fuck it.
That was just the start of a day of harassment. I reported the funeral director thing to
Andy to follow up, and then had to call him again after two more funeral directors called,
one at ten, another at one o’clock. Worryingly, those calls came to Anton’s mobile phone,
a number he only gave out to close friends and family. The rest of the weekend, when we
weren’t dodging unrequested pizza deliveries, unneeded emergency plumbers and
glaziers, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses—the last weren’t sent by the stalker, but I barked
at them anyway—we were calling friends and family, warning them about suspicious
parcels and possible harassment. That was when I found out that it was my sister Sheila
who’d given the details of my relationship with Raj and other juicy morsels to the
reporter who’d written the article in Pink News. The reporter was a friend of a friend, and
told her she was just doing some background research. Sheila hadn’t suspected a thing,
but was mortified to learn the result.
“I’m so sorry, Nick. Do you think that article is responsible for all this?”
“No, I don’t, but you all need to be careful now about who you speak to and what
information you share. This means the kids too. I don’t know how far this is going to
spread.”
“Couldn’t you just break up with Anton? It’s not like you’re married to him. You
don’t even live together. Surely he isn’t worth your life.”
Yeah, because gay relationships were so superficial and disposable, unlike straight
ones. “What makes you think this person will stop even if I do break up with him?
Anton’s the next obvious target and I’m not leaving him exposed.”
“But the police can look after him. Nick, you nearly died. Mum’s been in a terrible
state over it.”
I had so many answers I could have given, and every one of them would cause a
fight. “It’s not her decision, Sheila. Remember what I told you, and if you like, I can have
someone from the police call to give you more advice.”
“Don’t do that. I don’t want everyone to know our business.”
I bit back the sarcasm and said goodbye. I came back down to the living room and
found Anton sitting hunched over in the armchair, staring at his iPad, his face pinched
and miserable. No fucking way was I passing on Sheila’s remarks or acting on them.
I’d already suggested we get out of the house for the day, but he was worried what
would happen while we were gone. I reminded him about the CCTV but he was too
rattled to think straight, so I didn’t push. The weather was wet and miserable for July, and
I was far from well, so the options were limited anyway. He left the house to buy fresh
HRF for me, and that was it. But he couldn’t live like this forever, and neither could I.
Finally I turned off Anton’s phones, and called Karl and his parents from my phone
giving them the number as a contact in emergencies. Anton had gone into a kind of
huddled world of his own, responding to my suggestions with only sighs or non-
committal hums. I didn’t know what to do. This was so unlike him, although I hadn’t
seen him right after the mugging and by his account, it had been a rough time. Maybe this
was normal for him dealing with extreme stress.
I knelt in front of his chair and took his hands. “What do you want?” I asked,
squeezing his fingers. “Wine? Food? Sex? A cuddle?”
Normally one of those would have piqued his interest, but he only stared at me with
those big unhappy brown eyes. “We should split up. It’s for the best. Safest, I mean.”
“No. Not on your bloody life.”
“But it’s my being with you that’s enraging this person. If we...weren’t, then they
might dial it down. Back to just letters and things.”
“Right,” I bit out. “And you plan to remain celibate for the rest of your life, do you?
Because even if we catch this one, or they drop dead or get bored, maybe there’ll be
another one who thinks they can tell you who you can be with. Prepared to give that up,
are you?”
“If I tell Karl I can’t do any more presenting work, fade out of view,
then...eventually, I should be all right.”
If it weren’t for his breaking voice, I’d have told him off for even thinking about
chucking away his career and his love life over this psychopath. “Do you want to split
up? I mean, aside from—”
“No!” He seized my hands painfully tight. “No, Nick. It’s not you, it’s me.”
Despite the situation, that made me laugh. He gave me a puzzled, hurt look. “It’s
not...oh. I didn’t mean...oh God, I’m making a mess of this.”
He hung his head and I put my arms around him. “No, you’re not. It’s a horrible
situation and I don’t mind telling you it’s freaking me out. There’s no way anyone would
stay calm over this. Look.” I tilted his head and stroked his cheek with my finger. “I’d
split up publicly in a second if I thought it would work, but it won’t. Either it won’t
convince them, or they’ll be encouraged by the victory and get even more virulent.”
“Then what can we do?”
“Only what we have done. Protect ourselves, protect our loved ones, help the police
catch this tosser. Maybe we should go away for a bit. It’ll be expensive but worth it, I
think, if we can find somewhere that’s not booked out.”
He straightened up, and for the first time in hours, I sensed his brain engaging. “I
think I can wangle accommodation, if you don’t mind Sweden. It’s the height of the
season, so I don’t know if the place will be available, but it’s gorgeous there.”
“Anton, I’d travel with you to Patagonia if we could have a break.”
He smiled damply. “Now that would be expensive. I’ll make some enquiries. What
about you and work? You should be back by then.”
“I have leave accumulated and given the circumstances, I think Phil would rather I
was out of the fray while they investigate. Go ahead and book it, and I’ll wangle it
somehow.”
“All right. Um, did you call Harry?”
“I tried but he’s away for the weekend. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
“Maybe the photos will break the case.”
“Maybe. Hope so. Right now this plonker is using brute force to frighten us. They’re
clever but they’re frantic, and that means mistakes are bound to happen. I think they’ve
already made it. They’ve handed us a lot of physical evidence in a hurry, and that’s got to
help.”
“I hope so.” His expression fell again. I shouldn’t have mentioned the stalker, but it
was hard to avoid the subject. “Why don’t I make you something to eat while you open a
bottle of red, and then we can watch something silly like the Pythons.”
“Okay. Nick, I’m sorry—”
I cupped his cheek. “So am I. But not as sorry as this guy is going to be when we
catch him. I make a stunning witness in court.”
“I bet you do. And now you have a lovely suit to be a witness in.”
“Yes, I do. Now, wine, DVDs. I have to open a can or something.”
“Freezer. Lasagne.”
“Just as easy. We’re going to have a quiet evening in if it kills me.”
Chapter 6
Monday didn’t bring any more unwanted callers or deliveries, but that didn’t mean
we had nothing to do. I urged Anton to get on with his work because he was behind,
thanks to me. I had plenty to do on my own, chasing Harry about the people at Julie’s
wake, talking to Phil about the weekend’s events, and arranging for the time off. Phil was
all in favour of it, and said he would arrange to have Anton’s, mine and Charlotte’s post
intercepted for the next two weeks. Which was as well, since Charlotte received an
envelope full of pure ricin powder the very next day.
The superglued lock, as it happened, was unlikely to have been the stalker, as three
other residents in Charlotte’s block had since also reported similar vandalism. There was
no doubt the parcels were connected to him, though, and somewhere in the morass of
calls and posted items we should have gained a clue as to who the stalker was. But we
hadn’t—at least, nothing we could use to find and stop him. The contacts at the various
businesses who’d been hoaxed all agreed the person was male, but that was all they
agreed on. Accents and tone changed with every call, apparently, so our stalker was also
some kind of mimic. They were all made from various locations in North London on a
pre-paid mobile phone with no valid registration—essentially disposable and untraceable.
Phil agreed that the stalker knowing Anton’s private number was worrying, but not
as worrying as the fact this person could apparently track me with ease and follow me
without me noticing. That the stalker was happy to douse innocent people with ricin just
to make a point meant I was a hazard to anyone I was with—with the possible exception
of Anton—until he was caught. “Are you telling me I need to stay off duty until then?”
“No. But you’re off sick for at least another week, and I think you should stay away
until you come back from Sweden. While you’re here, he’s working himself up into a
frenzy. Someone could get badly hurt. Again,” he added.
“But if he’s not frothing at the mouth, he can’t make a mistake.”
“I think that’s a risk I’m prepared to take. With any luck, we’ll catch him before you
go away.”
My atheist heart prayed to no one in particular that this would be the case, but my
cynical cop brain told me that we should be so lucky. I didn’t have any faith that this
would be resolved soon. Stalkers are notoriously difficult to stop—even jail won’t deter
them. And this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill crazy either. This one was deadly and clever on
top of their obsession. Clever psychopaths are the hardest criminals of all to catch.
With the post being held, and Anton letting all calls to the house phone go to
answering machine for me to vet, likewise with calls to his mobile from people he didn’t
know, his stress levels eased a bit. The delivery harassment also stopped, but whether that
was because the stalker was bored or because he had a real life job, I didn’t know. My
recovery continued to be uneventful, though I had work to do. Harry had been very
helpful, as had Sandy, in contacting as many people who they’d known to be at Julie’s
wake, and a trickle of photos came in every day. Anton didn’t recognise anyone, but then
that wasn’t expected. The photos of Harry and me were likely to have been taken by a
camera phone, so spotting who’d taken them would be difficult even if I’d known to look
out for them.
Andy kept me up to date. Unfortunately there were no leads—no DNA, no
fingerprints, no mobile phone locations, no useful IP addresses. At some point our stalker
would trip up. They always did. It was just a matter of waiting until he did.
Looking forward to two weeks in Sweden helped both of us. I’d urged Anton to tell
no one but Karl, and to ask Karl not to share it with anyone unless there was an
emergency. The stalker was tracking me and until we knew how he was doing that, I
didn’t want to give him any more information if I could possibly avoid it.
Finally the day to leave arrived, and not a moment too soon. We’d decided to fly out
before the weekend to avoid the rush. Our Wednesday flight to Stockholm left at two, so
we left the house just before twelve, which gave us plenty of time to catch a train to
Gatwick. Or so we thought. We discovered trains were delayed on all lines to Gatwick
because of a security alert.
Anton stared at the station indicators, then shook his head. “We’ll be late. Let’s get a
minicab.”
Normally I’d have complained about the cost but this holiday was important, and it
was also important that it was as stress free as I could make it. So I waited while Anton
called a company on Lavender Hill that he knew, and we went outside to be picked up.
The minicab arrived quickly but the traffic was heavy to the M25. The motorway was
flowing well, but by then Anton was biting his lip. I didn’t take his hand for fear of
risking a stupid reaction from the driver, but I did send him some text messages to make
him smile. I couldn’t wait until we were airborne.
We had barely entered the terminal building when I heard someone call “Nick?” I
turned instinctively, even though there was little chance the person meant me. But they
did—and the “they” had guns. Six armed police officers surrounded us.
“What’s going—”
“Hands on your head, now! Both of you!”
“Do it, Anton,” I urged as I obeyed. “Sir, I’m a police detective. DC Nick Guthrie of
the Met.”
The officer in charge obviously hadn’t expected that, but it didn’t mean anyone
lowered their weapons. “Keep your hands on your head, both of you. You’ll have a
chance to show ID shortly.”
Our bags were removed and taken away, and we were told to take our coats off.
These were put into biohazard bags, and that gave me the clue as to what’s going on.
“Sir, I think I can explain—”
“Be quiet, DC Guthrie, and move. Both of you.”
Still surrounded by sub-automatic-bearing cops, we were herded through the
terminal to the great curiosity of the waiting passengers. Anton, white as a sheet,
fortunately did everything he was asked to. The only time he protested was when the
officers moved to separate us. “Nick?”
“It’s all right, Anton. It’ll be sorted out. Do what they say.”
“Move,” the officer behind Anton said. Anton obeyed with one last frightened look
back at me. I tried to look calm, but it’s surprisingly hard to manage that with a gun in
your kidney.
Because I’d met Airport Security a few times, I knew it was pointless to talk to them
until they had done what they needed to. I stripped down to my skin as ordered, and let
them carry out a fairly intrusive examination. I was given a paper gown to wear while my
ID was examined.
Finally the officer in charge, one Sergeant Canning, sat down opposite me. “We had
a report that a red-haired man called Nick in the company of a black-haired man, was
arriving at Gatwick with a packet of ricin. What do you know about this?”
At last I could explain the stalking and harassment, and my recent near-death
experience. After a call to my DI, Canning became a lot friendlier, allowing me to dress,
and telling me Anton would be joining me shortly. “Sorry about this, Constable Guthrie.
But we have to take these things seriously.”
“Yes, I know. Any idea where the call came from?”
“Milton Keynes town centre, near as we can tell.”
I stared at him. “Anton works for the OU there.”
“Is that good news?”
“Could be.” I looked at my watch. Damn it, we’d lost an hour and a half to this crap.
Our flight should be leaving in five minutes. “Any chance of keeping this out of the
papers?”
“We’ll do our best. Ah, your flight?”
“Gone. The next flight arrives too late to be of any use. Bugger.”
“Sorry. The trains should be all right if you’re going back to town. We believe the
same caller was behind the security alerts at Redhill.”
He knew. The stalker knew we were flying to Stockholm today. How?
My guv’nor had already asked Canning to shoot details of the hoax calls to the team
investigating the stalker case, so there was nothing more for Anton or me to do. Anton
was brought to the front of the Security office just as I came out. He looked ill, and
gripped his pack with white-knuckled hands.
“Are you all right?”
“No,” he said. “We’ve missed the flight.”
“Do you want to fly to Stockholm on a later one and stay in a hotel?”
He shook himself. “To be honest, I don’t think I can face it. We could stay here at
the airport tonight. I don’t know when the next flight is. I can check.”
He pulled out his phone, and that was when I had my epiphany. I pushed his hand
down. “Stop.”
“What? Nick, I need to—”
“Wait.” I took his phone from him and turned it off, and did the same with mine.
“Hold on.”
I turned to the officer at the desk, who was frowning at our failing to remove
ourselves from her presence now we had been released. “I need to use your phone for
police business.”
“Sir—”
“Can I speak to Sergeant Canning? It’s urgent.”
She pursed her lips and called Canning. He told her to let me do what I needed, and
that he was on his way back to the office.
I told Anton to wait for me outside while I made the call to DI Whittaker in an
interview room, and explained to him what I suspected was going on. He told me what I
needed to do, then to make arrangements to stay away from Anton’s house for at least
forty-eight hours and give me the contact number at our location when we were set up.
When Canning arrived, I told him that he needed to collect all our electronics,
including Anton’s laptop and iPad, and hold them for forensic examination. Anton was
not happy at all. “Nick, this is an essential part of my work. I can’t let you have it.”
“You need to. I can’t explain here though. Please?”
He stared at me, intensely unhappy and distressed by the whole business, before
shoving the laptop bag at me. “If this gets lost, I will sue.”
“Yes, I know.”
Canning took it all into custody and wrote out property slips for us. “I’ll make sure
this gets to DI Whittaker or his representative in person.” He took the phones and other
bits away to his own office before returning. “Do you need anything else, Nick?”
“A hotel recommendation?”
He gave us a choice of the Sofitel right at the airport, or one in a small village
nearby. I went for the one away from the airport since Anton was too pissed off to take
any part in the proceedings, and after Anton went to the airline desk to check out our
flight options, we took a taxi to the hotel. By then Anton was so angry, he wouldn’t speak
to me, so I had to book the room for the night with an option of staying for a second, and
make all the decisions without any input from him. When we finally arrived at our room
and closed the door behind us, he put his hands on his hips. “Now tell me what the hell is
going on,” he said, without a trace of friendliness.
“It was the stalker again. He knew we were flying out today, and where from. How?”
“He must....” He stopped and thought about it. “We were bugged?”
“One of us was, certainly. Since we just had our luggage and clothes closely
examined, it’s not in those. It had to be inside something we carry all the time, like a
phone.”
He collapsed onto the bed. “Or my computer.”
“Yes. Anton, the calls came from Milton Keynes.”
“The OU?”
“Possibly. If I’m right—and I don’t know if I am yet, but my boss has arranged to
get our gear forensically examined as soon as possible—then someone had to have
physical access to the items. Same as your keys. He had to have been in physical contact
with you.”
“At the university?”
“Anywhere. But the calls today came from there. I didn’t want to explain while you
still had them since I don’t know whether it’s literally a listening device or something
else.”
“I understand,” he said faintly. I sat next to him and hugged him. “But why are we in
this horrible hotel?”
“It’s not horrible.”
“It’s vile.”
“All right, it’s vile. The police have to search your house for bugs. This can take a
while. And while we’re here and the bastard doesn’t know we’re here, we’re safe as we
can possibly be.”
“What about our holiday?”
“We can still go. I didn’t want to make that decision for you.” I squeezed him harder
and kissed his ear. “I’m sorry, Anton.”
“Don’t be bloody ridiculous, Nick. How is any of this your fault?”
“I’m not apologising, I’m empathizing.”
I did my best to imitate the tone he usually used when he delivered that remark. He
looked at me, still annoyed, then grinned as he got it. “Hoist by my own petard.”
“Something like that. Do you really hate this hotel?”
“It’ll do. I feel itchy without my technology. I don’t know now if we should go away
or not. Part of me wants to just get away from it all, and the other part tells me to hang
around and find out what they find.”
“How about this? We fly to Stockholm tomorrow and go to your friend’s stuga. I can
call Phil or Andy in a couple of days to see what they’ve found. Then we can either come
back or stay for a few more days. Those tickets are flexible, aren’t they?”
“Yes. They’re a lot more expensive but I learned it was worth it for things like this.”
“Oh, you have a history of crazy stalkers? You never said.”
He whacked me lightly on the head. “Don’t be daft. Do you think this is the
breakthrough?”
“I hope so.”
“I’ve never been so scared in my life as when those police pointed their guns at me.
They wouldn’t tell me what was going on. I still don’t know what happened.”
“The bastard said I was turning up at the airport with a packet of ricin. They had to
take it seriously. He also phoned in bomb alerts on the trains.”
“Thorough.”
“Yes. So, shall we fly to Sweden tomorrow, or shall I make do with an ABBA CD
from the airport shop?”
“ABBA? You really are gay, Nick Guthrie.”
“You have to like ABBA if you’re gay or they take away your toaster.”
“Ah. I never got mine. Explains a lot.”
He stood and pulled me up with him. “What?”
He plucked at the bed. “Take this off.”
“The bedspread? Why?”
“Because I don’t intend to have sex where thousands of dirty travellers have put their
manky feet and their disgusting luggage, thank you.”
I grinned and helped him remove the thing, though it looked clean enough. “I like
how your mind works, Sherlock.”
“Why, thank you, Watson. Now do your best to make me forget that revolting
wallpaper.”
“Snob.”
“Aesthete, thank you. Faux-William Morris. Yuck.”
“Whatever, Anton. Drop trou and prepare for boarding.”
Chapter 7
Our attempt to join a flight the next morning went without a hitch, though Anton
tensed up as we entered the terminal again. We had to change planes in Frankfurt, but
arrived in Stockholm in good time to pick up a hire car and drive to the country home of
Karl and Anton’s friend, Laurens, who had a stuga on his property north of Västervik that
he let out occasionally to friends. Fortunately the bad economy meant it was still
available when Anton called him. Laurens was a film maker like Karl, and had also
taught cinematography at Stockholm university. He spoke beautiful English— which
impressed me since my only words of Swedish were ‘IKEA’ and ‘Agnetha’—and gave
Anton a long, warm hug that left my lover smiling as he hadn’t for a long time. For that
alone, I would have been fond of the man, but I liked him for himself. He was a lot like
Karl—brilliant, slightly mad, and devoted to his small family of a wife and two small
children.
Over cool lingonberry juice and biscuits—tea for me—I met the family and Anton
caught up with his friends. We didn’t mention anything about the stalker because I didn’t
want them contaminated by the mess. So we couldn’t tell him the details of why we’d
missed the flight the day before, or why we were without phones, but he accepted that we
were temporarily without means of making a call. “I’ll take messages, no problems. I’ll
come and tell you if anyone calls. Now, if you go back up the drive and turn right, the
stuga is straight down that road, half a kilometer.”
Anton had arranged for Laurens to stock the fridge with food for himself and HRF
for me, and the beds were made in readiness for our arrival. All we had to do was put our
things away, then go for a walk in the meadows under the warm sun.
The air was clean, and the meadow lush and bright with wild flowers. Though we
weren’t really in the middle of nowhere, it felt like it, and we walked in silence, awed by
the beauty, and at least as far as I was concerned, glad to be away from London with all
the hassle and stress. Anton trudged along with a slight smile on his face, his eyes alight
with pleasure and his lips too tempting to ignore. I stopped him and gave into temptation.
He snuggled into my embrace. “This is better,” he said.
“Much. I like your friend.”
“So do I. He gave us a lot of tips for ‘Arctic Spring’ though we didn’t use his team.
It’s so normal talking to him and Mia. Like it was before.”
I put my finger on his lips. “Can we not? Just for a couple of days?”
“Yes, of course. I may need distractions to stop thinking about it though.”
The slight devilry in his eyes hinted at what kind of distractions he was after. “Ever
made love outdoors?”
“God no, are you mad?”
“I just wondered. Could be exciting.”
“Yes, right up until the insects bite you in your personal and private places.”
“Ouch. Scratch that idea.”
“Indeed, silly man. By the way, Laurens was kind enough to find vee-friendly food
for you. Perfect for snuggling in bed with.”
I pulled him tighter against me. “I don’t need food to snuggle or anything else.”
“Of course you don’t, but it’s cosier.”
And I wouldn’t have to worry about someone poisoning my food or my HRF either.
No hasty trips to the chemist to buy supplies that we were sure weren’t contaminated. No
need to worry who was calling at the door or on the phone. Sounded like heaven
compared to what we’d been living through.
Three days later Phil left a message with Laurens who passed it on while his family
were out riding. I drove into the village to call Phil back. “You were right, Nick. Anton’s
phone had been hacked, and your application settings had been changed remotely. He’d
got into Anton’s email—there’s a string of unusual IP addresses accessing the account,
all proxy servers like those used before. He knew your iTunes account ID from that, and
Anton’s. He used that Google maps tracker application the two of you had installed.
Changed the settings so that your location was made public.”
“Fuck. I knew that thing was a bad idea. I’d forgotten about it. I never use it. He
thought it was cute.”
“Cute, my behind. At least there was no trace of a listening device in his house or in
your friend’s flat. I don’t think he got into your email but we have to assume he could
have.”
“Any idea if it’s someone at the OU?”
“It’s the most likely option. We’ll be conducting a search there in the morning. Until
we’ve done that, please don’t do anything to change your email passwords. We don’t
want to tip him off. How long are you staying in Sweden?”
“At least a week. Longer if you think we should.”
“Stay as long as you want. If we arrest anyone, I’ll let you know. How’s he doing?”
“Better. But if this turns out to be a bust like everything else, I don’t know what I’ll
do with him.”
“Face it when it happens. At least we know how he’s been following you. We can
stop that happening for a start.”
“Yes. Though he already has too much personal information about the two of us.”
“If we catch him, it won’t matter. Call me on Tuesday afternoon if I haven’t called
you before then.”
“All right. Thanks.”
It was both good news and bad news. Good in that we had a handle on how this guy
had been able to interfere with our lives so thoroughly. Bad in that it meant someone
close to Anton had betrayed his trust and confidence unbearably. We were having such a
peaceful time, so much fun, I didn’t want to tell him. But he knew something had
happened or Phil wouldn’t have called.
I found Anton experimenting with making mulled wine, or what the Swedes call
“Glögg”. An inelegant name for a wonderfully scented drink, I discovered as I walked in
to a cottage smelling of cinnamon and oranges.
“Isn’t it a bit warm for hot drinks?” I said, wiping my face with the bottom of my T-
shirt
“Don’t care. Here, try this.”
He thrust a half-cup full of red liquid at me. I dutifully sipped, then coughed. In the
warm air, the instant heating the wine produced was almost unbearable. “Uh, you might
have overdone the spirits.”
“You think so? I’m sure that’s impossible.” He took my cup and sipped from it,
eyeing me over the rim. “No, I’d say that’s perfect.”
“If you want to knock someone out.”
“And have my wicked way with them? Damn, you’ve worked it out.”
“Less alcohol, Sherlock, or my poor abused liver won’t be able to drink it at all.”
He stuck out his bottom lip. “No fun at all.”
“Nope. It tastes lovely though.”
“Doesn’t it just? Oh, and Mia and the girls dropped by with a vee-safe cake they
made just for you.”
“That was nice of them. Why?”
“Karl hinted that we had been having a hard time lately. I wish he hadn’t
but...anyway, that was what they did.” He dried his hands. “Bad news?”
“Sort of.”
I explained while he puttered, cutting up slices of the ginger cake Mia had brought
over. He didn’t say anything while I talked about the implications and what would
happen next, but as he poured water into the wine mixture to dilute it, then set it heating
again, he said, “I can’t believe anyone in my department would do anything of the sort.”
“Could be a student. Could be someone from another department. Or someone who
works at the university. They only needed brief access. Where do you leave your laptop
and phone when you’re teaching?”
“In an office I share with two other researchers. I usually have my phone on me but
sometimes I leave it in my coat, especially at meetings when I need to leave it turned off.
Our office is locked.”
“And these two other researchers?”
“It’s not them, Nick.”
I didn’t press him, but it could easily be one of these people, or someone else he
would never suspect. “You might have to make a list of possible places someone could
have got at your laptop or phone, or both. Do you log into your email on other
computers?”
“Yes,” he admitted. His expression told me that he knew this could be how the
stalker had gained access. “I always log out though.”
“Always? And you never save your password in the browser?”
“I think so...maybe not all the time at the office. Fuck. It can’t be one of my
colleagues.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “There are a lot of possibilities. It’s out of our hands
for now, so let’s not think about it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“No, it’s not. I’m right here with you, every step of the way. If it’s hurting you, it’s
hurting me.”
He made a face. “Some people might consider that romantic, but all it’s doing is
making me feel guilty.”
“Don’t.” I kissed him and held him until his tense stance eased. “Come on, bring
your liquid fire outside in the shade, and let’s try the cake.”
We had a few more days of pure peace. Anton was out of practice being away from
technology and even made noises about checking his email at the village, until I
reminded him that we didn’t want anyone to know where we were and the IP address
would give us away. He fretted because of all the writing he’d wanted to do, but I’d
brought back a pad of paper from the village and that allowed him to make notes that he
would work up when he got home. Gradually the itchiness stopped and he immersed
himself in the moment. I wasn’t much better at that than he was, so the practice was good
for both of us, as were the long walks. And the sex was amazing. The ginger cake had
something to do with that, I think.
I called Phil on Tuesday, and there had been developments. I made Anton drink a
glass of wine and put my arms around him before I told him. “They’ve arrested someone
at the OU.” Anton tensed. I stroked his cheek. “Yusuf Khan.”
Anton brushed away my embrace. “No. That’s impossible. You mean the post-grad
working on native carnivores? He can’t be.”
“They found the phone in his desk along with ricin powder. He’s on Facebook
groups about you, even mailing lists. He’s obsessed with you.”
“But he’s lovely. He’s gay, and so sweet and shy. A crush I’d accept, but killing
someone? No. He’s been set up.”
“You might be right, but we have to let the police do their job. He’s only been
arrested, not charged. They’re questioning him. Don’t forget I would never have
suspected Donald of that shit last year.”
“But Donald’s actions made a kind of mad sense if you followed his logic. Why
would Yusuf do this to me? He didn’t even know about you before February—I’d never
mentioned you. He could have asked me out. I’m not his supervisor. Nick, we have to go
back—”
I grabbed his arms. “And do what? I’m not involved. I can’t barge into the
interviews, nor can you. Look, I can put all you’ve said to me to them but they won’t
charge him unless the case is strong. Don’t you want the stalking to stop?”
“Not if they convict the wrong person! Yusuf’s family are refugees from
Afghanistan. They don’t totally approve of him being gay but they’re not militant
Muslims either. Once the police latch onto a brown person and link him up to something
like a ricin attack, that’s the end of him.”
“It won’t be. I promise you. How about we call Phil, or even my guv’nor tomorrow,
and you can put your concerns to them.”
“I need to go back.”
“Will you give it until Friday? Please?”
He stared into my eyes, then slumped. “I’m overreacting?”
“No, but I think you’re making assumptions you needn’t. I promise you that if when
we get back, the case looks dodgy, I’ll do everything I can to make your and my
objections known. Anton, it was almost inevitably going to be someone you know, and
since you like all your colleagues, it was almost inevitable it would be someone you
would never have suspected.”
“Yes, but Yusuf? He really is the sweetest, most decent man. He worked his arse off
to help set his family up, then worked even harder to put himself through a degree and
win a post-grad position. Why would he risk that all over me?”
“Because he’s mentally ill?”
He made a disgusted sound. “Then he needs help, not jail.”
“Anton, he nearly killed me twice.”
“Once that we know for sure. The train thing isn’t proven to be connected.”
“Well that’s all right then. One attempted murder per boyfriend, I guess.”
“Nick, I don’t want the wrong man punished! Or punished at all, if he’s really sick.”
“Neither do I but I want our lives back. I don’t want you in an early grave because of
this lunatic.”
“I’m not going to die.”
“What if whoever this is breaks in and poisons one of your bottles of red wine? Or
sends you a letter bomb?”
“Obviously I don’t want that—”
“Then let the police do their bloody job because you go racing off on conclusions
you have no evidence for.”
He stared at me, then climbed to his feet. “I need some time alone.”
“Fine. Do whatever the hell you want.”
The cottage was too small for both of us to sulk in. I walked outside and set off
across the meadow down to the stream where it was cool and pleasant to sit and think. I
wished I knew how to help Anton accept the situation. I also wished that he hadn’t
thrown up some very good reasons to doubt that this Khan person could be the stalker. I
needed him to be, because both of us were at the end of our rope.
Anton had cause to doubt Khan was the perp, but what Phil had told me was
compelling. I hoped that if they charged Khan, more solid evidence would have emerged.
I didn’t want Anton to hate me over this, even if I had nothing to do with it.
Two hours later, I walked back to the cottage. Anton emerged from the bedroom and
went to the kitchen to make supper for himself. When I came into the kitchen, he smiled.
It wasn’t his usual carefree bright smile, but I would have taken anything at this point. “I
calmed down,” he said.
“Good. Would you like to speak to Phil? I’m sure he’d agree.”
He inhaled. “Yes, I would like to. But I promise not to throw a tantrum if he doesn’t
agree with my points.”
“Thank you. Don’t forget even if Yusuf is charged, which is by no means certain, the
police still have to make a case to a magistrate to keep him in jail, which they might not
do. And then they still have to prove their case in court. If we’ve made a mistake, it
should come to light, especially if you’re pushing it.”
“I just don’t want it to be him, Nick. So many lives ruined.”
“I know.” What more could I say? And what would I do if this Yusuf Khan was
convicted and Anton didn’t agree?
Anton made his call the following day. Though Phil couldn't give him any
assurances, at least Anton felt he’d been listened to, and that helped. Then it was a
waiting game. We spent a few more days trying to ignore the reality in London, then flew
back on Saturday. I had another week of booked leave available to me, and didn’t know if
I should take it or go back to work. I felt I should let him dictate what he wanted me to
do, even though none of this was my fault. The guilt persisted, regardless.
We were able to collect our electronic equipment before we went back to the house.
To my surprise, Anton hesitated in opening his email. “Something wrong?” I asked after
watching him stare at his laptop for more than a minute.
“It’s a bit like having a shower with the window open. Who’s watching me now?”
“Change your password and no one will be. The computer forensics unit deleted all
the problematic apps and changed the settings even if they’re turned back on.”
“I’m normally so careful. What if all this is my fault?”
“You didn’t make someone stalk you, Anton.”
“No but I made it easy.”
“Listen to yourself and tell me if any of it makes sense.”
“Oh, I already know it doesn’t. Let me get my bearings, Nick. I promise I’ll be all
right soon.”
But you don’t have to be ‘all right’ for me, I wanted to yell. “I want to help.”
He looked up and gave me a strained smile. “Thanks, but I should deal with this. Go
unpack—are you staying here tonight?”
“Unless you prefer otherwise.”
“Of course not.”
That, at least, sounded like him. “I’ll pop around and see Charlotte, give her the vase,
change my password on my laptop. I should let her know what’s happening, and call
Phil.”
“Yes, do that. But come back. I’d like that.”
I bent and kissed his head. “See you soon.”
I grimaced as I put the iPhone in my pocket. Anton’s kind gift had had a sting in the
tail.
I changed the access code to the phone, but didn’t touch my email as I walked
around to Charlotte’s flat. Instead I called Andy. “We’re back. What’s happening?”
“We charged Khan this morning with attempted murder and other offences. He
admitted accessing Anton’s mail on two occasions, and together with what we had, that’s
enough.”
I exhaled. “So it’s really him?”
“So far as we can tell. You two are safe. When are you coming back to work?”
“I’ll be back by Monday week. Anton’s taking the news hard and I want him to be
okay before I come back.”
“I understand, but we need you back here.”
“I want to be back on the job. It’s like being in prison.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“At times. For him, especially.”
“But now it’s over.”
“Yeah. Congratulations on closing the case, by the way.”
“Thanks to you. I’ve got to go, Nick. Just come back to work.”
“You’re the boss.”
Charlotte gave me a warm hug and insisted on reassurance that I was completely
recovered. Once I’d told her I was pissing like a racehorse and everything else was
working properly, and delivered her our gift, I told her about Khan. She thought the arrest
and charging of a suspect was brilliant news, and brightened even as I told her about it.
Though she’d put a brave face on it, it had been a strain—that much was obvious. “So it’s
over. Really over. I can stop panicking over my post.”
“Yes, though you should be careful until he’s convicted. It’s possible the police have
the wrong man.”
She shuddered. “God, I hope not. Anton must be pleased.”
“Um, not really. He really likes the man who’s been charged. He’s convinced it’s a
mistake.”
She threw up her hands. “What does he want? Someone with a twirling moustache
who’s completely repulsive? How many murderers have you met who are nice people?”
“Quite a few,” I said, thinking of Donald. “It’s just a shock.”
“He needs to buck up,” she said. “I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, Nick, but we’ve
all been through a hell of a time. So long as it ends, Anton shouldn’t complain that it’s
not a tidy finish.”
“He’s not. He wants it to be fair, that’s all—the right person convicted for the right
reasons.”
“I suppose that’s not unreasonable. Anyway, are you moving out? You seem to have
settled in properly over there.”
I blinked. “Er, we haven’t discussed it. Nothing’s changed. Do you want me to move
out?”
“No, of course not. But why pay rent if you’re over there all the time? You’re a
lovely housemate, Nick, but you don’t need to subsidise me.”
“I’m not. I still live here. It’s just been chaotic, that’s all. Do you want me to stay
over this week?”
Her mouth twisted ironically. “Not now someone’s been charged. I’d rather have had
you here while we still didn’t know what was going on. Yes, I know, you were sick. But
now there’s no more reason to hide, right?”
“No, I suppose not. Charlie, I’m sorry—”
She held her hand up. “No. Don’t. I’m fine, and I coped. And it’s over. Go back to
him. Tell him I still expect you over for dinner soon.”
I kissed her cheek. “I will.”
“And thanks for the vase. I love it.” The cheerful blue container with the jaunty red
horse was a shock of colour in Charlotte’s tasteful white flat. I hadn’t been sure about it.
Anton insisted. Once again, his instincts had been infallible. He was rarely wrong. Was
he right about Yusuf Khan or was emotion overtaking his common sense?
Anton was in the kitchen, putting clothes into the washing machine. He received the
news in silence, continuing to fill the machine. “There’s room for more—shall I put your
stuff in as well?”
“No, don’t overload it. I’ve got enough for a load on my own.”
He put the powder in and set the machine going. When he opened the cupboard and
began rearranging cans, I knew he was avoiding the subject. I put my arms around his
waist. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”
“When do you go back to work?”
“Uh, when do you want me to? I said I’d be back by the week after next but I’m off
until then, at least officially. Phil won’t have a problem if you want me to go back
sooner.”
He twisted in my arms. “No, I don’t. Nick, I need a favour. Come with me to the
department at the university. I have some library research to do. Come up and ask
around.”
“Why? What can I find out that my team didn’t?”
“Please? I don’t know what you might find but I can’t shake this belief that Yusuf
isn’t the stalker.”
“He got into your email. And what about the phone, and the ricin, and the obsession?
Anton, Occam’s Razor says—”
“Bugger Occam’s bloody razor! I know Yusuf and I know he’s incapable of this.
Please, Nick. I’ll beg if I have to—”
I kissed him and pulled him close. “Not unless we’re in bed and you’re begging for
my fabulous meat sword.” He laughed against my shoulder. “I’ll do it but with most of
the staff and students away, it’s unlikely to be of any use.”
“I know. I don’t know what else to try. You’re the only police officer I can ask.”
“The guv’nor will wring my neck if he finds out, so don’t you say a word to anyone.
Not at the OU, not even Karl.”
His dark eyes danced with pleasure. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“Just promise you won’t give me a hard time if I don’t find anything. I’ll do my best
but you’re not giving me a lot to work with.”
“I promise. I won’t promise not to try and help Yusuf in other ways, or at least his
family.”
“That’s fair. When do you want to go?”
“Monday. I really do have work to do in the library since I’ve lost so much time.
And I’ll have to work tomorrow to catch up.”
“Then I’ll be tea boy and general factotum so you can concentrate.”
“You don’t want to go back to Charlotte’s place? It’ll be boring as anything.”
“You trying to get rid of me, Sherlock?”
“Where would Sherlock be without his Watson?”
“Dead from a cocaine overdose, I suspect. This is your way of saying you want me
to stay?”
He rolled his eyes. “Slow. Now let me find something for supper. I need to do some
shopping.”
“Let me.”
He moved aside so I could poke in the cupboard. “We’re getting rather domestic,
don’t you think?”
“Hmmm, I guess so. When I go back to work, it won’t be.”
“It can. If you want.” I turned to look at him. “I like having you around.”
“Now you do. It’s different when I’m working overtime.”
“So you say. Beans on toast is fine. If you’re serious about cooking, then I’ll start
typing up my handwritten notes. They don’t seem to have destroyed anything,
fortunately.”
He wandered into the living room, while I shook my head over his wilful refusal to
accept that having a live-in cop was far from a domestic paradise. I had no idea what he
thought I would achieve in Milton Keynes—Inspector Morse, I was not—but it was a
small enough favour considering how he’d looked after me, and all he’d been through.
We spent a quiet Sunday together. I did housework and made him tea, did some
grocery shopping for him, and otherwise hung around without disturbing him. I doubted I
could disturb him, actually. His powers of concentration were amazing. He always knew
what was going on around him, but he never let it distract him. It was a talent I wished I
shared.
Monday we were up with the larks, or at least the blackbirds, and struggled with the
morning commuters up to Euston to catch the 8:10 to Milton Keynes. Half an hour later
we arrived, and took a taxi to Walton Hall.
The place was quiet, as I’d expected for the hols. The department PA, Piers, nearly
had a heart attack when Anton walked in. “Good gracious. I thought we wouldn't see you
until September, Anton.”
“I know. I’ve been missing in action. Piers, this is my friend, Nick. He’s a police
officer. I’ve asked him to make some enquiries about...you know, Yusuf’s arrest.”
“Yusuf? Are you investigating him officially, Nick?”
“No. Anton has some concerns and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to poke around.”
“I’ll ask Prof Carter if it’s all right first,” Anton said.
“Oh, he won’t mind, but I might not have time to help.” He waved at the boxes and
general mess in the office. “Reorganising, now the rush over the summer schools is
almost over. Thought I’d take the chance before the next wave.”
“I’ll try not to get in your way,” I said. “Anton, do you want to make sure your boss
is happy?”
“Won’t be long.”
I found a chair not covered in paper and tried to make myself inconspicuous. “Tell
me if you want me to move,” I said to Piers.
“Oh you’re fine. How long have you known Anton for?”
“About a year. How long have you worked in this department?”
“Hmmm, it’s coming up to three years. I moved over from Engineering. I was there
for five. I love the OU. Such a lovely campus.”
“Yes, it is. I suppose with so many staff away, Yusuf’s arrest hasn’t caused much
upset.”
“Yes and no.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “Prof Carter was horrified. He had no
idea how bad things were for Anton, although Anton had warned me about emails and
packages and so on. We just thought it was hate mail. To find out Yusuf had tried to
murder someone was awful.”
“Well, he’s not been convicted of anything yet, so it’s only an allegation at this
point.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry, I’m not trying to prejudge. Though I have to say, it wasn’t a
surprise to find it was him.”
“Oh?”
“He has quite a crush on Anton, you know. Everyone knew about it. What he was
doing—I mean, they think he was doing—is a shock though.”
“Everyone knew he had a crush?”
“Yes.” He smiled and shook his head. “Everyone but Anton, I think. He was always
talking about him. Got to be a bit of a pain, with the ‘Anton this’ and ‘Anton that’, to be
honest.”
“Right. Does anyone else have a crush on him? Anton, I mean.”
“Well not me, obviously.” He held up his left hand and showed me the wedding ring.
“Anton’s quite popular. I don’t think there’s anyone here who dislikes him at all, and I
can tell you, in an academic department, that’s quite a feat. I think if any of his colleagues
did, they would tend to be a tad more discreet, just because....Yusuf’s a bit naïve in some
ways.”
“I see.”
Anton came back in. “Prof Carter’s happy, but he just wants to meet you. He’d
appreciate it if you didn’t upset anyone though.”
“Do my best,” I said, smiling at Piers, who smiled back before swinging off his desk
to answer an incoming call.
Prof Carter was older than my dad, and with his long nose and heavy jowls,
reminded me a bit of the actor, Geoffrey Palmer. So far, Anton was the youngest staff
member I’d seen in this department. Piers looked older than me, possibly even in his
forties. Carter had to be close to retirement.
“So, Detective Guthrie, Anton says you want to look around. What do you think you
might find?”
“I have no idea, sir. Anton believes Yusuf Khan is an unlikely suspect considering
the violence we’ve both been experiencing, and since he knows the man, I believe it’s
worth taking into account. What’s your impression?”
Carter folded his hands. “Yusuf is a terribly nice person. Very trusting and kind.
Frankly, I’m as shocked as Anton, but the police found evidence and, well.... One doesn’t
like to see nice people go to prison, but if he’s really tried to kill someone, then he has to
pay the price.”
“Piers described him as ‘naïve’.”
Anton shot me a look at that remark, but Carter nodded. “Yes, a fair assessment.
Very bright and hard-working, but inclined to believe the best about people when it might
not be justified.”
“If you had to name someone in the department you’d consider a better candidate for
a stalker—”
“Detective Guthrie, I’m not going to slander my staff or my students. I don’t know
anyone here I’d consider capable of such dreadful acts.”
“Yes, sorry. But with respect, sir, it’s almost certain it has to be someone in this
department, not just the university.”
“Someone who can access a logged-in computer and Anton’s phone and keys. Yes,
the police explained. But we have people in and out all the time. I don’t keep a close eye
on them. No one does. I think it’s just as credible that a visitor to the department could
have done this as Yusuf.”
“So there is no list of people who’ve come by?”
He frowned. “Piers has one. We ask people to sign in, but there’s nothing stopping
someone simply walking in if they know one of the lecturers or post-graduate students.”
Great. “I understand. Then I’ll poke around, and be discreet.”
“Yes, do please. Anton, I wouldn’t mind chatting to you after lunch if you have time.
I’m waiting for a call now, unfortunately.”
“Of course. Nick, I’ll be in the library if you need me. Piers will have the number, or
you can text me. We can meet for lunch.”
“Sure.”
Carter dismissed us, and I went back to the office. Piers was sifting files, and looked
up with a slightly impatient expression. “Did you need me, Nick?”
“Sort of, but it can wait. Could I look at the staff room, the labs, and Anton’s
office?”
“Here, take the keys. This is a map,” he said, handing me a print off from a pile
along with a bunch of labelled keys. “If you need to look around in here....”
“I don’t think so. Are there any staff about? Or students?”
“Not yet. You’re early. But they should drift in soon if they’re going to. Here, let
me....” He clipped a ‘Departmental Visitor’ badge to my pocket. “That should stop any
awkward questions.”
“Thanks.”
The lock to Anton’s office was distressingly cheap. I could have picked it and I’m
fairly rubbish at lock-picking. The narrow room was cramped, with desks along the two
longer walls and a window at the end. Either of Anton’s colleagues only had to turn
around to see if he was reading his email, and getting his password from his browser
would have taken less than a minute. Anyone walking past while Anton had stepped out
to the loo, would have been able to do the same. I knew what it was like, even in the
station. You trusted your colleagues, and it made you careless.
The lab where the pre-paid phone and ricin had been found was similarly easy to
access. In term, people would be in and out all day, and the door wouldn’t be locked—
what would be the point? There were desktop computers here too. Anton’s email
accounts were all accessible over the Web, so all he needed was a browser. All anyone
needed to break into his email was to find his machine logged in, and his password saved.
Once anyone had access to his email, then they could access his iPhone, iTunes account,
and a host of other places, since he emailed his password to himself. He’d emailed me my
account details too—and that was all in his email history.
But all this was stuff the investigating team would have known, just as they would
have discovered the ease of access to the lab and the office. I looked at the keys in my
hand. Who was here after hours?
I was more and more convinced that Anton was right. Someone was setting Yusuf
up. Our stalker had been very careful to anonymise his calls and location. Yet, all of a
sudden, when he had to know that locating him would have involved the Anti-Terrorism
squad as well as the police investigating the attacks on me, he supposedly suddenly
makes calls from his hometown and leaves the phone in his desk, in his place of work and
study. Along with a damning bag of ricin.
Our stalker was clever. No way would he make that kind of simple mistake. Yusuf
accessing Anton’s email and the mail groups were harder to explain away—but if his
crush was that widely known, then he could have been a Tricia.
The stalker was probably then still on the loose. But was he really someone in this
department, or someone who’d encountered Yusuf and realised his usefulness? Anyone
could get into the lab to plant the stuff. Anyone could have got into the department during
the day to get Anton’s login. But the risk of being caught was much higher if they
weren’t known.
Had Phil and Andy worked this out already? I’d look like a right prat if I went
barrelling in telling them what they already knew. I should call Andy, but first I needed to
talk to some more people here.
In the post-grad common room, I found three students drinking coffee. “Hi, I’m a
friend of Anton Marber’s.”
The woman put her hand over her mouth and squeaked. “Oh, you’re his dishy
boyfriend. Nick.”
I felt my facing heat up. “Uh, well, his boyfriend, at least. And you are?”
“Wendy Goodman. That’s Farouq and this is Johann.” Her friends gave me a little
wave. None of them looked the least stressed by me being here. “Is Anton around? Is he
all right?”
“In the library, and yes, he’s fine. Uh, you know I’m a police officer?” Wendy
nodded. “Anton is a bit concerned that Yusuf Khan has been wrongly accused over this
—”
“He certainly has been wrongly accused,” Farouq snapped, glaring at me. “Of course
the police looked at a Muslim and said ‘guilty’.”
“But they found—”
“Evidence.” He sneered. “Planted, no doubt. Yusuf is a good man. No way would he
hurt anyone.”
“He can’t even cut up crickets,” Wendy said. “We made fun of him about it. He’s a
strict vegan.”
“The rats would bite him to death before he’d raise a hand,” Johann confirmed.
I’d thought that about Donald and I’d been wrong, but it didn’t hurt to listen to these
people. “Okay, everyone’s telling me the same thing—he’s a great guy. But someone is
stalking Anton and trying to kill people with ricin. Any suggestions?”
They looked at each other. “I’m the only other gay post-grad in the department,”
Johann said. “Alan Falconer, one of the lecturers, is gay. But he’s the only one I know
about.”
“The person might not be gay,” I said, looking at Wendy. “Or acting alone.”
She flushed. “It’s not me. Anton’s lovely, but I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t accusing. Look, I’m stumped. If Yusuf was set up, who could have
done it?”
I sat down. Three bright students might come up with something I couldn’t.
But in half an hour of brainstorming which produced some fairly wild theories, I
wasn’t any closer to a solution. All I had was more insistence that Yusuf wasn’t the
stalker. Couldn’t be, definitely not. One thing was for sure—a stalker had endless
opportunities to enter the department when it was quiet. The only part of the building
which had a pass system was the chemicals store. The rest was accessed with ordinary
keys. CCTV was badly positioned, and everyone knew where it was. Johann said that the
security patrols just said hello if they saw anyone in the department after six, so long as
they knew them or the person had ID.
So that probably meant the stalker was a member of the department, though that still
meant a couple of hundred people. The problem was that we had no idea when the stalker
had accessed the information. During term time, a strange face would go unnoticed, and
if it had been months, even years ago, no one would remember.
I went back to the office. “Any luck?” Piers asked, standing up and cracking his
back. “God, these boxes are going to be the death of me.”
“No luck, but Prof Carter said you kept a list of visitors to the department? Did the
police ask for that when they were here?”
“Yes, they took photocopies. Why do you want it?”
“I was wondering how easy it would be for a visitor to get Anton’s password, or
photograph his keys.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Would a visitor take that risk? I mean, being where they had
no right to be?”
“So far as I can tell, no one would care very much. They might now, but it’s a bit
late. Have you had any visitors in the last week or so? Could I see the log?”
He sighed. “You would ask for that. I just put it in the file room downstairs. The
book was getting full and I thought a nice new one would be a good way to start the new
term.” He picked up a ledger from the desk and showed me the blank front page. “Are
you finished with those keys?” He took them off me. “I was just going to have a pee. I’ve
been putting it off and off and now I’m dying. Do you mind waiting?”
“Not at all. Sorry to be a nuisance.”
“Can’t be helped. Don’t suppose you could help me take a couple of boxes since
we’re going down there?”
“Sure.”
“Great! Won’t be a tick. Have a seat.”
While he was gone, I looked at the keys on the hook behind the desk. A child of
three could break into this place. I wondered how much equipment theft they had.
Piers came back two minutes later. “Much better. Normally Clare is here to help but
she’s on holiday.”
“Clare?”
“The other PA. She’s only part-time though.”
“Ah. When did she go on holiday?”
“A week and a half ago. She wasn’t going to, but her mother took a turn for the
worse. Poor woman has premature dementia. Clare looks after her but it’s becoming a
real strain. I think Clare’s looking for a care home she can go into.”
“Very sad. She lives in Milton Keynes then?”
“Yes. You don’t suspect her, do you? She likes Anton, but I can’t believe she’d stalk
him.”
“I don’t suspect anyone at the moment, but I’d like to have a chat to her.”
“Hmmm, better talk to Prof Carter about that. We can’t give out staff details willy-
nilly.”
“No hurry. I can talk to him later and then talk to the police investigating this.”
Surely Andy and the rest of them wouldn’t have overlooked a staff member who’d gone
absent suddenly, a staff member who had complete freedom to go where she liked
without anyone blinking an eye. The hoax callers had been male—but we didn’t know
that there was only one person involved, or that it wasn’t a woman with a deep voice.
“Did, uh, the police who were here last week ask about her?”
“They didn’t ask me. They probably asked the prof. They asked me a lot of questions
about how we work. Nick, I don’t want to be rude but...could we talk and work? I have to
get this mess tidied before the end of the day or Prof Carter will have kittens.”
I smiled a little. “Can’t have that. What do you want me to carry?”
“That one and that one. They’re not heavy, just a pain. I’ll be so glad to have the
extra space in here when we’re done.”
We walked towards the lift. “Did Clare know about the harassment?”
Piers pressed the call button. “Only what I did. She had to, since she opens the mail
on her days on. Mind you, we’re already careful. All life sciences departments are
because of the animal rights nuts. We had a letter bomb here just after I came over from
Engineering, actually. Didn’t go off but it was frightening. Clare wasn’t there for that.
She’s only been here a year.”
The lift arrived and we stepped in. “Is she in a relationship?”
“Nick, this is getting into personal territory.”
“Sorry. Everyone seems to agree with you about Yusuf.”
“Will he be kept in jail?”
“I don’t know about jail. It’s not up to me.”
“I understand.” The lift opened. “Over there.”
We were in a small basement area that seemed to exist mainly to allow pipes to
connect through it. But on the opposite was a heavy door, the most substantial barrier I’d
yet seen in the department. “Used to be a plant room,” Piers explained as he unlocked it
and turned the light on from the outside. “But they redesigned and rebuilt, and, there you
go. After you. If you could put them on the shelf at the end? And the box with the visitor
book is by your feet, if you want to grab it.”
I bent over to pick up the box, but as I did, something hit me hard in the lower back.
I flew forward, landing face-down on the file boxes in the corner. I tried to twist around
but cried out in pain at the ripping sensation in my kidney region. Something sharp was
stuck in my back. I clutched at the hand fumbling in my trouser pocket, but couldn’t stop
the person removing what he wanted.
“If that little Jew queer had just dumped you like I told him to, none of this would
have had to happen.”
Piers? “Stop. You’re under arrest.”
“You must be joking, detective. See you later. Not.”
The door slammed shut, and the light went out. Seconds later I heard the definite
sound of a very heavy lock being engaged.
What had he wanted in my pocket? I reached down, every movement shooting agony
through me. My phone. Fuck it.
Anton. He was going after Anton.
I forced myself to move to the floor and turned around, inch by painful inch. I
crawled to the door and banged on it. It wasn’t loud enough. I needed something.... I tried
to remember what was in the room. File boxes. Useless. A fire extinguisher? But even if
there was one, I’d never move it.
A shoe. At least I wasn’t wearing trainers because I’d dressed smartly for Anton’s
sake. I’d do anything for Anton’s sake.
I toed off one shoe, but the only way to pick it up was to curl around. I gritted my
teeth because I didn’t want to hear my own screaming.
Hours later, or maybe it was only a minute, I had the shoe in my hand. I hit the door
with the heel. That made a good loud bang. “Anton!” Another whack. “Anton.”
I kept it up as long as I could bear it. Longer than I could bear it. In the end, all I
could do was say his name, and pat the door with my hand.
But still, it didn’t open.
Chapter 8
“Nick? Nick! Wake up, please!”
“Sir, step back. Nick, open your eyes?”
I tried to obey. Someone’s knee was close to my face. “Anton.”
“He’s here,” a strange man’s voice assured me. The owner of the blue-clad knee, I
presumed. “Now we’re just going to put an oxygen mask on you....”
I cried out weakly as I was moved and rolled onto my side. The pain was as bad as
ever, even being half-in, half-out of awareness. “Anton.” The mask muffled it.
“It’s okay, Nick. We need to take care of you, then you can talk to him.”
“Anton.” I raised my hand to push the mask away. “Anton.”
“Nick, you need to leave the mask in place.”
“Anton.”
Some murmuring way over my head, then the blue knee near my head changed
colour to khaki. “Nick, it’s me.” Someone took my hand. Anton. “Let them look after
you.”
“Piers. Piers stabbed me.”
“We know, love. They’re after him. Just let the paramedics do their job.”
I felt him freeing my hand. I clutched at his fingers. “Don’t go.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Never go. Promise me.”
“I won’t ever go, I promise. But they need to take you to hospital. Please let them,
love. I want you to be okay.”
“’Kay. Yes.”
“Thank you.” I felt his lips on my forehead. “I’ll be here, out of their way.”
“Yes.”
I passed out as the ambulance drove with lights and sirens to the hospital, and woke
up as they were wheeling me along a corridor. A pretty lady wearing an ugly paper cap
smiled at me. “You’ll be all right, Nick. We’re taking you into surgery. A little nap and
you’ll wake up fine.”
Usually the more people reassure you, the worse it is. I wanted to tell her that. I tried,
but when I woke up again, I was in a bed with machinery all around me, and the same
boring tubes stuck into my body. Dad was at my bedside. Déjà vu all over again.
“Dad.”
He jerked. “Nick. Thank God. How are you?”
“Dunno.” I licked my dry lips. “Anton?”
“Outside. Do you want to see him?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go fetch him.”
As he left, a nurse came over to check on me. “How do you feel, Nick?”
“Fuzzy. Will I live?”
“Yes, you will. You’re in the High Dependency Unit at the moment, but you’re
doing very well.”
“Want to see Anton.”
“Your friend? He’s outside.”
“Boyfriend. Partner.”
“Er, yes. I didn’t want to assume. I think...yes, here he is.” Anton sat down at my
side. I reached for his hand and hung on. “Now he’ll probably fall asleep again, but that’s
normal after surgery.”
“Thank you,” Anton said to the nurse, while staring at me with red-rimmed eyes. He
looked like crap. He was the best thing I’d ever seen.
The nurse left us alone. “Hello,” Anton said, rubbing his cheek against the back of
my hand.
“You okay?”
“Me? I’m fine. Tired. It’s one in the morning. Your parents and I have been sharing
shifts again. I was just having a coffee and talking to your mother. How are you?”
“Punctured.” That won me the barest twitch of a smile from him. “Piers? They
caught him?”
“Yes, at the airport.”
I blinked slowly, trying to work out how the police had known. “How? Tell me.”
“It’s a long story—”
“’m bored.”
He laughed a little. “You’re about to pass out. Oh, and apparently your doctor says
this is absolutely your last attempt to get rid of your left kidney. They saved it, just. They
hope it’ll keep working.”
“Good. Tell me.” I squeezed his fingers. “Thought he was after you.”
“Oh.” He sat back a little in surprise. “Not that we know of, not right then. He was
bolting. Leaving his wife and kids behind and everything.” I must have looked impatient.
“I should start at the beginning, I think.”
“Yes.”
“I got a text from you—your phone, at least—saying you had to go back to London
because of a work emergency, and you’d call later. I was surprised you hadn’t called the
library, but I thought you must be in a hurry. Half an hour later, Andy called and asked if
I knew where you were, since you weren’t answering your phone. I said you were on
your way back because of an emergency and he said—”
“‘What bloody emergency?’”
Anton grinned. “Exactly. So I got him to see if he could locate you by your phone,
while I went back to the department to find out if anyone knew anything. The office was
closed. Prof Carter said Piers had gone home because his son was sick, but had left a
message for me about you, saying you had gone back to London blah blah.”
“Water?”
“What? Oh. I better ask.” He waved at the nurse who came over. “Is he allowed to
drink?”
“Yes, but only small sips,” she said, pointing to the jug and paper cups on the stand
next to me. “Let me raise the bed.”
“Ow,” I said as the head of the bed rose. My middle regions felt like the Alien had
chewed their way out of them.
“Sorry about that. Don’t gulp the water,” she warned. “Anton, will you help him?”
“Of course.” He poured water into a paper cup and let me wet my mouth. The nurse
nodded approvingly and left. “Are you tired, Nick?”
“Yes, but want to know...go on.”
“All right. Anyway, a light came on in my head. Piers hadn’t shown any concern
about Yusuf at all, even though everyone else had. And in terms of access, he was a
perfect candidate to set Yusuf up, though I had no idea why he’d do that.”
“He was the only one who wasn’t surprised or upset that he’d been arrested, either. I
didn’t pick up on that at all,” I admitted.
“Oh. Well, because of that, I called Pier’s mobile and asked if he knew more about
where you were. He said no, just that you rushed off back to London, and that he was at
home dealing with a sick child and couldn’t talk. But it didn’t sound like he was at home.
I called Andy and asked him to check on Piers’ location, and when he did, he said both
Piers’ and your phone were at the airport. That’s when I realised you had to be in
trouble.”
God, I loved this man and his enormous brain. “You’re so smart.”
He was too tired and stressed to smile. “I was worried as hell. Andy said he’d send
the police, and I told him to send paramedics too. I chased up our students and even Prof
Carter to looked around the department. The prof called campus security and they started
a search around the grounds. But when Wendy said she’d seen you helping Piers with
boxes, that’s when I thought, you had to be in the file room. The police had arrived by
then, so I got the key and led everyone downstairs. And there you were. I nearly died
when I saw you, so pale and not moving.” He covered his mouth. “Sorry. I, uh....”
I squeezed his hand. “I thought he was going to kill you. Worst time of my life.”
“Yeah. I feel awful, Nick. This is the second time you’ve come close to dying
because of me.”
“Bullshit. Water.” He gave me another sip. “Too tired to argue. You stop, now. Not
your fault.”
“All right, I’ll stop saying it. The worst bit—” He stopped. “I better leave this until
you’re better.”
My brain was cottony and my energy levels were failing, but the look on Anton’s
face told me I needed to find enough in my reserves to listen. “Now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Anton.”
“All right. It sounds so self-centred though.” I squeezed his fingers to make him get
on. “When you were poisoned, your dad told me that there was a strong chance you
might die, and that the doctors had warned him and your mother that they might...you
know...have to pull the plug. Make the decision to, I mean. And this time...well, no one
said it, and obviously you pulled through but...that’s why they had to come up. Not just
because they love you, which they really do, but...because they needed to be here to make
decisions. And it hurt that...I mean...like I said, it’s selfish. But what if they had decided
in a way I didn’t agree with? I had no say, and it hurt not to. All I could do was hope. I
felt so useless.”
I pulled his hand and he leaned in close enough to kiss me. “Easy to fix,” I
whispered. “Marry me.”
“What? Nick, I wasn’t—”
“Anton, I love you. I don’t want to lose you. I want you to be the one to make
decisions about me. Marry me.”
“You’ve never said it when you knew I was listening,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes, of course I’ll marry you. But do you really want to? I didn’t mean to moan and be
self-pitying—”
“For me. For us. Want you. Don’t know anyone better and I never will. Love you.
Do you need me to give you a kitten to prove it?”
This time he did laugh. “Er, no. I love you too, but you know that.” He kissed me
again, and put his hand on my forehead. “I think that’s enough excitement for now. Your
dad might come back in, but you should sleep.”
“You go home. Sleep.”
“I’ve arranged with a friend to stop over. Though it’s so late, maybe I should....”
“Go home with Mum and Dad. I’ll tell them. You’re my fiancé. They have to let
you.”
“Nick, you can’t—”
“Can. Go, love.”
His smile lit up his face. “All right. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Good.”
He kissed me again and waved as he left the ward. I must have gone to sleep again
before Dad came back because the last thing I remembered was how much I loved Anton,
and wanted to be with him.
Chapter 9
Andy drove up two nights later from London to tell me the latest on the case. Piers
Montgomery had been charged with two counts of attempted murder and other offences
connected to the stalking. He’d been picked out on the Tube CCTV and was almost
certainly behind that incident as well, but for now, the CPS were keeping their powder
dry on that one. His ‘office’ at home turned out to be stalker central, and Anton wasn’t
his only victim by any means. Every member of the department of Biology and
Environmental Studies had had their privacy violated over months, even years, and so
had a number of women and gay men around the university. His motive was simply to
control and manipulate, and especially in the case of gay men, humiliate. He had no
interest in Anton sexually or romantically, but had wanted to force Anton to drop me just
to prove he could. At least one other victim of his harassment had been uncovered—a
woman driven almost to suicide through anonymous notes and parcels sent to her house
—and Andy said they expected more. It was one of the worst stalking cases the Met had
ever seen, he said.
“One for the record books. Funny, that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Know what you mean,” Andy said. “Montgomery’s not talking, his wife refuses to
believe any of it, and his parents are backing him all the way. This’ll make you laugh—
his old man’s a locksmith.”
“Yeah, that’s hilarious,” I said dryly. “He’s lucky he’s not facing a murder charge.”
“So are you, mate.”
“Any clue as to why he decided to do a stab and run?”
Andy shook his head. Anton hovered by the door, but didn’t come in. I didn’t know
how much he’d heard but I could tell him later. “Nothing in the notes or his computer.
But I think he must have panicked when you turned up with Anton and started sniffing
around. Until then, even if we’d released Khan, we had no particular reason to suspect
him. But you maybe got a bit too pointed for him. Maybe he really thought you’d die and
he could come back without no one the wiser. But I bet we find he’s got a bird on the
side, and he had his escape all planned.”
Considering how he’d managed to hide his activities from everyone in his life, that
wasn’t a bet I’d take. I couldn’t remember what I might have said, unless talking about
his assistant had made him think it was but a short hop to suspecting him. Anton had
made that jump faster than me, but then his brain was a lot bigger.
“Anyway,” Andy said, “I guess you’re not coming back next week after all.”
“Sorry. I might be back by the Summer bank holiday if that’s any use to you.”
“Take your time, Nick. Bloody hell, you’ve been through the wars, though. You sure
Anton’s not a bad luck charm?”
My boyfriend—fiancé, I reminded myself with a little burst of pleasure—heard that
remark as Andy intended, and give him the finger. Andy just laughed, and changed the
subject onto what gossip I’d been missing.
The hospital released me four days later. Dad collected me and drove me back to
Anton’s house, cradled carefully on pillows with the seat reclined. Along the way, we
had a long chat about Mum and her attitudes towards the police. Dad told me that one of
Mum’s brothers had fallen in with a bad crowd when she was only a child, and after a
couple of years of escalating criminal and anti-social activity, when he’d been in and out
of juvenile detention, he’d been shot dead while threatening the police with a handgun.
Mum hadn’t told me anything about this. I thought her hate of the police went back to her
old CND days and later, protesting the poll tax and Thatcher.
“Some of it does, Nick. But it’s mainly her brother, Ken. She never got over that, and
neither did her Mam. Her mother hated the police for killing her boy.”
“But what were they supposed to do, if he had a gun and was waving it around?”
“I don’t know. But you can see how it can warp a person’s opinions.”
“You never told me, Dad. You should have.”
“She doesn’t talk about it. I only found out a couple of years ago myself. I thought
he’d committed suicide and that was why everyone went quiet when Kenny was
mentioned.”
“I’m sorry about her brother, Dad, but she’s been horrible to me, and about Anton.”
“Yes, I know. Yet she likes your Anton a lot. He was very nice to us these two times
you’ve been hospital, and a considerate guest. I don’t think she knows what to make of
you. Sheila and Tricia, well, they did what your mother hoped they would, getting
married, settling down in good jobs. Then you came along and decided to do the one
thing she hated, and wouldn’t back down. I can’t explain her to you, son, and I don’t
expect you to forgive some of the things she’s said. But she does love you, and you have
put her through a lot these last few years.”
“Do you think marrying Anton will make a difference?”
“Could do. I’m chuffed about it. We’ll have our own David Attenborough in the
family.”
I grinned. Dad always liked Sir David. “He doesn’t know if he’ll keep filming. After
all this, I mean.”
“His decision, but I wouldn’t blame him. Nasty, nasty business. Can’t fathom
someone doing that to anyone. Nowt so queer as folk, eh?”
“No, there isn’t. What about Mum?”
“Give it a bit of time. Maybe we could invite the two of you over, and you could
arrange for us to meet his family. She’s the one who’ll have to adjust. But having a
wedding to prepare for might be a bit of a distraction.”
“Dad, we don’t want anything big,” I said, remembering Sheila’s horrifyingly
enormous do.
“And that’s fine, lad. Just...give in if it doesn’t hurt, all right? You’ll find married life
works better if you do.”
“Yes, Dad.” I settled back in my seat and let him concentrate on the traffic. Giving
into Mum might be hard, but giving into Anton? Would never be a problem for me.
I called Anton as we crossed Battersea Bridge, so he was waiting for us as Dad
pulled up outside the house. He carefully helped me from the car while I tried not to
groan too much. Dad brought my pack along after us.
Anton settled me on the sofa and packed me around with pillows. “Thanks,” I said,
reaching up to kiss him.
“Welcome home,” he said. He straightened. “Cup of tea and some cake, Robert?
You’ve had a long drive.”
“Won’t say no, lad. That route across town’s always a bit of a bastard.”
Anton winked at me. “Tea for you? Or are you ready for your HRF?”
“Tea’s fine.”
While he went to the kitchen, Dad perched on the armchair and peered around
curiously. Anton had been tidying up, I saw. “It’s a small house. Is this where you plan to
live?” he asked.
“We haven’t really talked about it. I don’t have a lot of belongings. I might keep
renting Charlotte’s room to give me extra space.”
Dad was horrified. “You can’t do that, Nick. You have to live with your spouse. It’s
not proper otherwise.”
“I am planning to live with him, Dad. But my DVDs and books don’t have to.”
“Seems wasteful, paying rent on a second place. And there’s the temptation side of
it.”
“Temptation?”
“Well, you know. When you argue. Many’s the time when your mother and I were at
odds, that if one of us had had a bolthole, we’d have used it and likely never come home.
Sometimes the fact you can’t walk out easily is all that keeps you there and fighting to
stay together, rather than taking the easy option.”
“Are you saying you and Mum wouldn’t be married if one of you had kept a flat on
the side?”
He looked at me. “Aye, I am. Theoretically. It’s not all wine and roses, you know.”
Anton walked in with a tray. “What’s not all wine and roses?”
“Being married. Apparently if I keep a room in Charlotte’s flat, I’ll scarper at the
first row we have and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Oh. I’d have thought it would be a good thing to have a place to go and cool off.
Obviously it’s not something you can do if you have children, but, um, we don’t. And
won’t, I suspect.”
“Only if you stop taking the pill,” I said. Anton made a face.
My father, pouring the tea, shook his head at his son’s stupidity. “It’s something for
you to consider, that’s all I’m saying, Nick. But marriage is marriage, whether it’s gay or
straight, and being with someone is sometimes...challenging. When it’s all day every day,
I mean.”
“I keep telling him that, and he doesn’t believe me,” I said.
“I love Nick’s company and I never want him not to be here. Even when he’s
cranky.”
“Hey!”
“Or when I’m cranky,” he said, serene as he handed me my cup of tea. “We can take
it slow. Nick renting Charlotte’s room is cheaper than moving and taking on a bigger
mortgage, and gives us plenty of time to decide where and how we want to live. All I
want is to be with him.”
“And all I want is to be with you.”
Dad smiled. “Then that’s the important thing.” He lifted his cup. “To both of you.
May you have a long and happy life together.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Thank you, Robert.”
Anton spent a fair bit of time talking to Dad outside after he said goodbye to me. So
long, in fact, that I dozed off, waking only when Anton took the tea cup out of my hand.
“Want to go upstairs? More comfortable.”
“No, I’m fine.” I pursed my lips to invite a kiss and he accepted.
“Your father’s so nice.”
“But not my mother.”
“No, she is. I sense there’s a lot of built up tension there. Did she have a troubled
childhood?”
The breath left me in a whoosh. “You’re psychic. Go on, admit it. There’s no fucking
way you worked that out on your own.”
“Um, have I stepped on something painful?”
“No. Sort of. Not for me. Tell you later. Sit here.” He sat next to me and I put my
arms around him as best I could. “Dad’s worried I’ll make a hash of this with you. Can’t
blame him after Raj and Harry.”
“Nonsense. Raj put his career before everything else, and Harry just didn’t love you
enough. Or realised you didn’t love him. How many girlfriends did he have before he
married your mother?”
“None. They were each other’s first.”
“Really? Ah. That explains a lot. But you’re not my first and I’m not yours. If you
want a bolthole, I say, go for it. If you’re using it more than you’re here, then that means
we’ve got bigger problems than you wanting to avoid a row.”
“Sometimes I’ll need to be alone. To decompress.”
“Yes. If we had a big house and a garden, then you’d probably be in the potting shed
or something. Or an attic.” He took my hand. “This is not a deal breaker, Nick Guthrie.”
“I doubted it would be. God, I want to have sex with you, but I am so sore.”
“Too sore for a blow job?”
“I hate to say it, but I think so.” Every time I moved, my back muscles pulled on the
wound. It was a damn nuisance.
“Oh dear. That is serious.” He bent to kiss me, one of those long, dirty smooches that
made my toes tingle and my poor old cock go rock hard without a chance of relief. Right
on cue, my back twinged.
“Ouch. You are so not helping me, Anton.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“Probably not. But it might cheer you up to know I borrowed a TV/DVD player from
my parents to put in the bedroom and attached a decent pair of speakers. I’ve also moved
a desk in there so I can work upstairs while you’re recuperating, and keep you
entertained. And the moment you are well enough to pounce on, there will be pouncing.
And even molesting.”
“And ravaging? I was counting on the ravaging.”
“Ravager or ravagee? That’s an important distinction to make.”
“I’m happy whichever way it goes, as the actress said to the bishop.”
He groaned. “For that, there will be extra pouncing.”
“I’ll take my punishment like a man.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way, o love of my life.”
If you enjoyed this story, then discover more of my books for sale at
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