Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (15 page)

Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the
whole staircase.

Martin Luther King
Jr.

Chase surfaced slowly, as if from a deep dive. The room was
gloomy, and his head throbbed mercilessly. He blundered out of bed and parted
the curtains. The houses opposite were veiled by fog, and the headlights of
passing cars cast cones of light. He glanced up, and glimpsed a faint trace of
blue in the sky.

He clambered back into bed, drank half his bedside glass of
water, and slid gratefully under the still-warm duvet. Why do you always do
this to yourself? he demanded. You know Jim could drink an elephant under the
table, never mind a self-avowed lightweight like you. He’s probably pottering
around the house at this very moment, whistling cheerfully, and driving Miriam
to distraction. Bad move. A sleep-deprived Miriam is not to be trifled with, as
I know to my cost.

But it had been an enjoyable evening. Jim was always good
value. And it made such a change to spend an evening in company, in a place
where people gathered, talked, laughed... God, that girl had such a beautiful
smile! And when she left, she caught his eye and gave him a final smile, this
one tinged with regret. Another one that got away, he sighed.

Twenty minutes later he was fumbling with the coffee maker
when
Green Onions
rang out. He seriously considered leaving it to
voicemail, but his conscientious side finally won out.

“Morning Al!” said a cheerful female voice. “How’s the
hangover?”

“How did you know, Barb?” he groaned.

“You’re the detective,” retorted his sister. “Listen. Greg
and I wondered whether you’d like to come for lunch today.”

“Just me?”

“Yes. Well, we’ll be there, and the kids, of course.”

“No-one else?”

“No.”

“You’re sure you’re not trying to stitch me up again, are
you?”

Barbara hesitated.

“Who is she this time, Barb?”

She sighed. “She’s called Ruth. Nice girl. Very pretty. And single,
no kids.”

“Where did you find her?”

“She’s a friend of a friend from University, and she’s just
moved into the area. We’ve invited her back to ours after church.”

“She’s not a holy roller like the last one, is she?”

Barbara laughed, a little too loudly, Chase thought. “You
still haven’t forgiven me for Kate, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. Brussels Sprouts are bad enough at the best
of times, without someone trying to persuade you to accept the love of Jesus at
the same time.”

“Ruth’s not like that at all, Al. I promise you. And we’re
not having sprouts today, either. Shall we say twelve thirty for one?”

“Why not?” he replied.

“Unless you want to join us at church?”

“I’ll see you at twelve thirty, Barb,” he chuckled.

*

Chase went about his Sunday morning ritual with something
approaching relish. His sister’s attempts at matchmaking were consistently and
conspicuously unsuccessful, and had been ever since they were at school. Chase
had no doubt his sister’s run of bad luck would continue, but he couldn’t help
remembering Jim’s advice about getting back in the game.

After a brisk stroll to the newsagent, a long shower, and
two large mugs of filter coffee, Chase felt almost human as he settled on to
the sofa with Lucy Faith’s client file. He leafed through it slowly, lingering
over each photograph. All the men seemed sleek, confident, successful. Chase
couldn’t imagine any of them having difficulty with their love lives. So what
deep-seated need did Lucy Faith fulfil? She was clearly expensive and
demanding. Sessions with her were intense and painful. Granted, there was a
degree of sexual gratification involved, but that seemed to be more the icing
on the cake. What was it Bryn Lewis had said, about living on the edge, the
pressure not to make a mistake? Was all this about someone else taking charge
for once? Was there some deeper motivation? Or just a release of endorphins?

He picked up his notebook again. It fell open at the page on
which he had attempted to write Amy Birkdale’s number, the handwriting degenerating
into an unintelligible scrawl as he fell asleep. He lingered on the page for a
moment, before flipping on to a blank page and making a list of names:

Bryn Owen William Lewis
Peter John
Upson
Pascal Bertrand
Edward George Sinton
Charles Edward St John Robertson
Matthew James
Lowther

Lucy Faith’s six vassals. Did they know each other? he
wondered. Lewis and
Lowther
must have met at work,
although they weren’t necessarily close. But did either know the other was a
fellow vassal?

He flipped through the black file and jotted down their
phone numbers and addresses beside their names. All six lived within an hour’s
drive. If they were at home, that is.

That’s tomorrow taken care of, he said to himself, closing
the folder and laying it aside. He pulled on a jacket and stuffed his
belongings into the pockets. Then he picked up his keys and Oyster card and
headed for the front door. Whatever else Barb had planned, he could at least be
sure of a good lunch.

*

“That’s the last of them,” said Chase, handing his sister a
large pile of dirty crockery.

“Thanks,” she smiled, looking up from where she was
crouching in front of the dishwasher. “Was it OK?”

“What? Lunch? Of course it was, Barb. It always is. You know
that.”

She loaded the last few plates into the dishwasher, then
stood and stretched her back. “That wasn’t quite what I meant,” she replied,
turning the machine on.

Chase groaned inwardly. “Time for the post match analysis,
is it?”

She closed the kitchen door quietly. “So what do you think
of her, then?”

“Ruth? Pleasant enough, I suppose. Not my type, really...”

“Nonsense! She’s a really nice person. She’s got a lovely
smile. And her body’s pretty good too: Greg keeps staring at her when he thinks
I’m not looking.”

“Will he be all right in there with her?”

She laughed. “Of course! He’d run a mile if she tried
anything! And if he did, he’d have me to contend with.”

“That’s good.” Chase sipped the last of his wine
absent-mindedly.

“So come on, Al. Out with it. What precisely is wrong with
Ruth?”

“Nothing, Barb. Really. You were right. She does seem really
nice.”

“But...?”

“She just isn’t my type, I suppose.”

“You said that already. So what is your type?”

He shrugged.

“Come on, Al. Give the girl a chance. Why not take her out
for dinner sometime? Get to know her better.”

Chase shook his head.

“Why not? What have you got to lose?”

“Nothing, I suppose. It’s just that...”

His sister sighed impatiently. “How many years has it been
since you went on a date, Al? A proper date, I mean? Not in this millennium, I
bet. Let’s face it, you need the practice, if nothing else.”

“That’s just what Jim said in the pub last night. Not quite
in the same words, but...”

“I can imagine!” she chuckled.

He looked down. “You’re right, I suppose.”

She laid a gentle hand on his arm and looked into his face.
“Look, Al,” she sighed. “I know you’re still hurting over Miriam. But you can’t
go on like this. You need to be with someone.”

“I’m all right on my own, really.”

“No you’re not,” she insisted. “You’re not a natural loner,
Al. No way.” She chuckled. “I remember Mum saying how you begged her for a baby
brother or sister when you were little.”

“And look what I got stuck with,” he deadpanned.

She laughed, and refilled both their glasses. “Come on,” she
said, taking his hand in hers. “Let’s go and join the others.”

At the door she paused and picked up a small sheet of paper,
neatly folded into four, which she handed to him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Ruth’s mobile number. Just in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks, I think,” he grunted. He unfolded the paper and
glanced at the number, then refolded it and tucked it in a pocket. “But, er,
does she know you’ve given me this?”

“Course she does. That’s her writing. She asked me to.”

“But why?”

“Because she likes you, Al. She likes you a lot. Which is
far, far more than you deserve, you silly sod.”

Chase gazed out of the smeary window of the suburban train
as it inched its way across the points, past the abandoned Eurostar platforms
and into Waterloo station. The fog had long since dispersed, and the Houses of
Parliament gleamed in the low afternoon sunshine. Why hurry home? What is there
to rush back for? Nothing. And nobody.

He emerged from the walkway by Jubilee Gardens, threaded his
way through the tourists emerging from the London Eye, and passed under
Hungerford Railway Bridge. At the Royal Festival Hall he bought a cappuccino at
EAT, and sat at a table outside to watch the world go by.

The bright weather had certainly brought out the visitors.
People from every corner of the globe, all bundled up against the chill breeze,
all equipped with fancy digital cameras. And every tourist seemed to be with
someone: a parent, a child, a spouse, a lover, a friend. Nobody was alone.
Except him.

He tried to sip his coffee, but only succeeded in scalding
his upper lip.

Barb was right, he told himself. You’re not a natural loner.
And Ruth seemed very pleasant: attractive, intelligent, good-natured. She had
been quiet at lunch, it was true, but she was probably a little shy. And
anyway, getting a word in edgeways was always a challenge when Barb and Greg
were in full flow. Maybe I should give her a call after all. That’s if Barb
hasn’t told her what I said about her.

“Hello, Sir!” laughed a familiar voice from behind him.
“Mind if we join you for a minute?”

He twisted round in his seat, and saw Halshaw, in knitted
hat and fur-trimmed anorak, smiling down at him. With her was a slight,
dark-haired young man, his thick curly hair beginning to recede and his chin
covered with wispy stubble. A holdall was slung over one shoulder.

“Of course,” Chase replied, neutrally.

They both pulled up chairs and sat opposite him. “Waiting
for someone, are you?” she asked.

“No. I’m on my way back from my sister’s. It looked lovely
and sunny from the train, so I decided to stop for a coffee before I got on the
tube.” He shuddered. “I didn’t expect it to be so bloody cold, though.”

She smiled. “I know what you mean. Oh, let me introduce my
boyfriend Toby. Toby, this is my boss. DI Chase.”

“Pleased to meet you, Toby,” Chase lied, as the two men
shook hands. “Have you had a good weekend?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“What have you been up to?”

“We met some friends for dinner on Friday evening,” she
said. “Saturday we spent with my sister and her family. Her children are little
so we took them to the Zoo. Today we had a long lie-in, and we’ve just been on
the London Eye. Now we’re just killing time before
Tobe’s
train leaves.”

“Lovely day to go on the Eye.”

“Yes. We could see all the way to Windsor Castle. What about
you, Sir? What have you been up to?”

“I spent most of yesterday going through those files you
left me.”

“Find anything?”

“Nothing beyond what you’d already told me. I did manage to
speak to Chris Birkdale, though.”

“I thought he’d moved abroad.”

“Yes, but he kept his UK mobile.”

“Did he tell you anything?”

Chase frowned. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” he
replied. “But I’ll tell you this much. He’s clean.”

Halshaw nodded pensively. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
she asked.

“Let’s meet at River Road at nine. I want to interview her
other clients.”

“Both of us?”

“Of course.”

She beamed with delight. Toby looked adoringly at her. She
smiled back at him tenderly, and slipped an arm around his waist.

Chase leapt to his feet and picked up his coffee cup. “I’ll
leave you to it,” he said. Before you start snogging in public, he added
silently. “Nice to meet you, Toby. See you in the morning, Halshaw.”

“Bye, Sir!”

“Bye!”

Chase turned and wandered slowly away. He sipped his coffee,
but it was cold, so he tossed the cup into a rubbish bin. Outside the National
Film Theatre he stopped to browse the second-hand books arrayed on trestle
tables under the shelter of Waterloo Bridge, but his mind was elsewhere.

I don’t remember Miriam ever looking at me the way Lauren
looked at Toby, he said to himself. I’m not even sure she ever felt that
strongly about me. True, there had been plenty of good times, but all in a
rather comfortable, passionless way. In fact, no-one has looked at me like that
for years, decades even. Not since Miriam and I started going out together.
Well, with one glorious exception, and even that was years ago. No-one will
ever look at me that way again. Not unless I do something fairly dramatic about
it.

And you know exactly what you have to do, don’t you, he
chided himself silently. Jim was right. You have to get back in the game. But
no-one’s going to do it for you. Not Jim, not even Barb. It’s all up to you.

He threaded his way through the throng enjoying the late
afternoon sunshine outside the National Theatre, and continued on towards
Gabriel’s Wharf, where a tiny beach nestled in an angle of the Embankment. He
leaned on the railings and pulled out his phone.

Below, a handful of children dug merrily in the damp sand,
or chased each other, laughing and squealing. I wish I was like them, Chase
said to himself. No hang-ups, no inhibitions, no fears of rejection, ridicule,
or humiliation. Was I ever that carefree?

He dialled the number, but hung up almost immediately.

What the hell’s wrong with you? he demanded. You’ve faced up
to villains of every kind, most of whom wouldn’t hesitate to punch you in the
face, kick you in the balls, or stick a knife in your guts. Why are you so
afraid to phone a woman who obviously likes you? She’s beautiful, she’s great
company, and she as good as said she wants to see you again. And it’s only
dinner, after all. It’s not as if you’re asking her to marry you or anything,
for God’s sake.

He rehearsed the words he wanted to say. They were simple
enough, but to him they sounded vacuous, inane, clumsy. Worst of all,
insincere.

After a couple of minutes’ hesitation, he tucked the phone
back into his pocket and turned away. As he did so, he collided with a couple
approaching from behind. The man was if anything older and plainer than him,
but the younger woman with him was stunning. She was slender, almost too
slender, with short dark hair and piercing pale blue eyes. Her skin-tight jeans
were tucked into flat fur-trimmed biker boots, and she had offset her black
leather jacket with a colourful silk scarf.

“Excuse me,” Chase mumbled. “I’m so sorry.”

The couple parted to let him through. “That’s OK,” the man
grunted. But Chase only had eyes for the woman, who gave him a kind, delightfully
asymmetric smile as he passed.

If he can do it, then so can I, he thought. Before he could
talk himself out of it, he took out his phone, took a deep breath, and pressed
the redial button.

He heard ringing. His finger hovered over the end call
button. Then the ringing stopped. This is it, he told himself. Come on. You can
do it.

A woman’s voice answered. Voicemail. Bugger! He ended the
call with a mixture of panic and relief.

After a few moments’ hesitation he dialled again. “Hi, er,
it’s me,” he said at the tone. “Al Chase, that is. I know it’s short notice
but, er, I was wondering. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? It’s
no problem if you don’t, but it would be really nice to see you... er... please
call me back and let me know. Thanks!”

That was really smooth, he scolded himself. Really classy.
Really articulate. She won’t be able to resist such a request. You’ve blown it,
my friend. And you know it.

Wait and see, another part of his mind replied.

He blundered off towards the Oxo Tower, his mind a whirl of
conflicting emotions.

The breeze had blown his words to where the couple leant
against the rail, looking out across the river. The plain man turned to the
younger woman and smiled wryly. “Been there, done that,” he said.

“I’m so glad you did,” she breathed, kissing him softly on
the lips.