Human Remains

positive side it was unlikely to have functioning CCTV.
    I took her into the public bar and got her to sit down next to the empty fireplace. ‘Where do you think you’d like to sit? Here looks like a good place, don’t you think?’ I said. She complied without hesitation. ‘Do you think you’d like a Coke?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said.
    I glanced across to the elderly bloke sitting with a half-pint of dark ale in front of him, the only other occupant of the bar. Across the other side I could hear the sound of pool balls clicking together and the laughter of some younger men. This was the right place to be.
    The barmaid came round from the lounge. She was young, with bleached blonde hair in a rough plait over one shoulder. ‘What can I get you?’
    ‘A Coke and a pint of John Smith’s, please,’ I said, handing her a note.
    While she was pulling the pint I glanced behind me at my new companion, sitting where I’d left her, nervously pulling at the sleeves of her jacket as though she was waiting to see the dentist, or about to have a job interview. All those years of wondering how to go about finding a woman and actually it’s ridiculously straightforward. You just have to tell them what to do. It’s so simple.
    I took the drinks back to the table and sat opposite her.
    ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
    ‘My name is John,’ I said, picking a name at random. A different one every time, recognition of the different person I had to be for each of them.
    ‘John,’ she repeated, tasting the word.
    ‘And you?’
    ‘Leah.’
    ‘Your name is Leah,’ I repeated. ‘That’s right.’
    She took hold of the glass of cola and drank from it, not questioning, not even looking perturbed at my strange choice of words. That was when I knew I had her. She’s mine now, all mine, to do with as I choose. We had a lot to talk about, Leah and I. I wanted to hear her story, I wanted her to tell me all about her woes and her fears and her lack of hope. And now I know how to help her.

Annabel
     
     
    ‘It’s like fecking Bridgend,’ Trigger said, slamming down his copy of the
Briarstone Chronicle
on to his cluttered desk.
    ‘Bridgend?’ I said. ‘You mean the teen suicides?’
    ‘Yeah, something like that. And before you start, I know all these are natural causes.’
    I said nothing. In fact they weren’t
all
natural causes; the report provided to us by the Coroner’s Office had identified the death of two to be due to alcoholism, and one was believed due to an overdose of barbiturates. Several others seemed to have starved to death. It might have been natural causes of a type, but if they’d managed to eat once in a while it was likely that they’d still be here.
    ‘Now the bloody paper’s got wind of it, too. This’ll turn out to be one huge pain in the arse, you mark my words. I was chatting to Dave Morris yesterday – you know Dave? Duty inspector in the Control Room. Used to work in traffic?’
    I nodded as if I knew who he meant, just to stop him running through Dave Morris’s entire career history.
    ‘He says they’re getting loads of calls about neighbours now, thanks to the press getting involved. Every few minutes: “not seen the old girl next door for a while”, or “there’s a funny smell around here, maybe someone’s died”. He said they keep sending out patrols just in case, but it’s getting annoying now.’
    I smiled at him, hoping he wasn’t expecting me to apologise. It was as if this whole thing was my fault, just because I was the one who’d drawn attention to it.
    Just for a change, it was sunny outside. I’d finished the comparative case analysis and handed copies to Andy Frost, Bill, Trigger and anyone else who might have been interested, just in the hope that someone would take it on. In truth, the document was sparse. There wasn’t a lot of data beyond what I’d already unearthed; the charts looked impressive, but my intelligence requirement and recommendations were twice as long as the main body of the report. It had been all I could do to refrain from begging, in the conclusion.
    I’d already read the newspaper. Trigger and Kate were assuming I’d tipped them off, but it wasn’t me. They had their own links with the Coroner’s Office; it would only have taken a passing remark about the number of decomposed bodies to spark off a journalist’s interest.
    When Trigger went off to the late-turn briefing, I took the paper off his desk and turned the pages until I