Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

managed to estrange her and Tony. Vance was the worst kind of clever psychopath; he’d understood how things would play out downstream of his actions. He’d worked out how to cause them maximum pain. And she’d walked right into the trap. She’d blamed Tony when really, the only person to blame was Vance himself.
    Carol raised the glass to eye level and stared long and hard at the drink. It was time for her to make some changes. Her life wasn’t over yet.
    Slowly and steadily, Carol stood up and poured the vodka down the sink.

    Dawn broke in a sky that seemed almost as watery as the canal basin. Grey, pearl and eggshell ran into each other in an uncertain muddle of sky and cloud. Tony sat on the roof of his boat up by the bows. His hands were folded round a cup of instant soup that had stopped steaming a while ago. His face was drawn and tired, his eyes gritty with lack of sleep. He’d returned to the boat shortly after one in the morning, so tired his very bones hurt. But as soon as he’d climbed into bed, sleep had slipped from him, leaving him restless and weary. He’d tried to fight the wakefulness, but he’d eventually given up and come outside to watch the orange glow of street lights lose their hold on the sky.
    He’d had the sort of experience he could learn from, no doubt about that. He would better understand some of his patients as a result. Still, it was something he could have done without. Except that it had brought Carol back into his life, however briefly. He took her words at face value – that she wasn’t there for him but for the sake of justice. It had always been what drove her. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think that was a smokescreen for her true feelings. He knew her true feelings. She blamed him and she couldn’t bear his presence. And yet, if he could be certain she’d be there every day, he’d have settled for a life sentence.
    He’d felt on the verge of tears ever since he’d returned to the boat. He knew it was partly because he was tired but it was also because he’d lost her again.
    Even as that thought crossed his mind, the boat rose and fell with the familiar sudden lurch that came from someone boarding. He almost didn’t want to turn round because he couldn’t bear the disappointment of seeing Paula at the other end of the hull. But he did turn, because he wanted to think of himself as someone who could be strong.
    And there she was, standing at the stern, dressed for business in the same suit she’d been wearing the day before. Different shirt, though. Her hair was rumpled and her eyes were bleary with tiredness. But she was there and that was all that mattered to him.
    He scrambled to his feet and couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t banal.
    Carol spoke first. ‘Do you know anywhere we can get a decent cup of coffee this time of the morning?’
    He gestured to the open hatch. ‘I have coffee.’
    She shook her head. ‘Neutral territory.’
    He glanced at his watch. ‘The only place I know is the all-night coffee stand at Central Station.’
    She nodded. ‘I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’ And she jumped ashore, a black-and-white dog at her heels as she strode across the cobbles with more energy than he could have managed.
    Tony scrambled along the boat and locked the hatch, leaving his mug on the roof. He stumbled ashore and ran across to where his car was parked by the tapas bar. He reached Central Station with three minutes to spare and bought coffee for them both. He stood by the coffee stand, a cardboard beaker in each hand, waiting.
    The dog still by her side, Carol rounded the corner and gestured with her head to a bench opposite the station entrance. He joined her there, silently handing over her drink. He still didn’t know what to say. ‘I heard you’d got a dog.’ Hell of an ice-breaker.
    ‘Always the master of the irrelevant.’
    ‘It’s not irrelevant. It means something.’
    She sighed. ‘And what does it mean in Tony world?’
    ‘It means you’ve decided to let yourself form an emotional attachment. And that’s a good thing.’
    ‘If you say so.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘You blackmailed Blake,’ she said.
    ‘I did.’
    ‘Why did you do that?’
    ‘Because I’d rather someone like you was investigating serious violent death in this city than the Alex Fieldings of this world. And because everyone should practise the craft that they’re best at.’
    ‘You’re still a psychologist, then?’ There