Kissing the Dragon - 10. Domestic Cavalry

“What the hell was that all about?” asks Billy, muting the television as I make my way back into the house. With Mr Waldorf curled up on his lap, he reclines on the corner love seat of the sectional sofa.

“More questions about the break in,” I say, which is partially true. I perch on the sofa in an attempt to lighten my mood. Having been warned by Chaudhary and not wanting to piss anyone off, I choose not to tell Billy anything about Denny. “Our detective seems to think one of us left the front door open.”

“You’re joking? I knew he was a prick as soon as I opened the door.”

“Did you find anything missing?”

“Nope. Nothing of mine was touched.”

“I don’t suppose they’d have had enough time to get upstairs. Seems really odd though. A professional thief breaking in just to steal my crappy old laptop.”

“A professional?”

“Well, that’s what our detective thinks. Because they didn’t break the door down, or smash a window” I say, leaning over and picking up the house phone. “Asked me if you and I were an item.”

“He did not!” says Billy, spinning around to glare at me, his voice so high that poor Mr Waldorf’s sleep fogged head shoots up. “God, that dickhead has really great instincts for a copper. How come you knew him? He wasn’t here earlier. I only remember the blond hunk.”

Not wanting to complicate matters, I answer glibly and not untruthfully.

“No, I’ve met him once before. At the school. On official business.”

Fortunately Billy’s attention span is not a strong point and he is already aiming the remote at the flatscreen. He stops when he sees the phone in my hand.

“You want me to wait?”

“No,” I reply, hitting the speed dial and standing up. “You carry on. I’ll call from the kitchen.”

“Janine Carter-McCann,” comes the professional but familiar voice of my sister as I enter the kitchen and slide the door closed. She insisted on double-barrelling their names following her marriage to Mark Carter, a police sergeant. Typical of her, a take-no-prisoners kind of woman, who even in adulthood I hold in complete admiration. She has a marketing position as a Senior Information Manager with the Metropolitan Police, something she has worked at relentlessly throughout her career. Almost as steadfastly as she threw herself into motherhood. More than once I had called on her during my stint at East Barton, mainly to ask her to coax her people into visiting the homes of kids who regularly turned up to school with bangs and bruises.

“Only me, sis,” I say, and hear her chuckle softly. “You can drop the posh.”

“My baby brother. Perfect timing. Kids have just been put to bed and Mark’s in the bath. How are you doing?” she asks, after which we both rattle off the usual pleasantries.

“And you’ll be interested to hear that I am currently a murder suspect. Hence the call.”

“Of course you are. Isn’t that why you’re considering absconding to South America?”

“I’m serious, Jan. I’ve had a couple of visitations from your lot,” I say, dropping my voice to a more sombre tone and relating the story of Denny. “It’s under wraps at the moment, so I shouldn’t really be calling you. School has grounded me for the week until the dust settles.”

“God, Collie,” she says, after a pause, a baby name only ever used by her. “And I thought you were a monk these days after Vaughan jumped ship.”

My sister is the first one to know the truth about anything including my break-up with Vaughan. Partly because her children were fond of him and familiar with their two uncles turning up as a couple. But also because she provides me with sound and unemotional advice.

“I pretty much am. But the one night I decide to venture out, look what happens. Any suggestions?”

“Yes. Get out more.”

“No, I mean—“

“I know what you mean.”

She asks about the team investigating the case, and I am not surprised that she knows Chaudhary.

“Impressive rise through the ranks. She’s managed to get there despite being a woman and Indian. That’s because not only is she tough but she has good instincts and gets results, brother. You should trust her entirely.”

“I do,” I say, and I mean it. “It’s her numbskull sidekick that’s being a right royal pain in the proverbial.”

“Whitehead. Don’t know him personally but I’ve heard he’s a bit of a maverick. They’ve partnered them up because the Chief thinks she’ll break him in, teach him to slow down and follow procedures. Not a bad cop actually, but has a reputation of biting before barking a warning.”

“Yes, and his fangs are buried deep in my backside at the moment.”

My remark produces a chuckle down the phone before she becomes serious.

“Actually, I shouldn’t be telling you this but he’s on probation right now. I don’t know the full details but he really messed up in his last operation in Tottenham. Almost got one of the officers killed. I only get the official version we give to the media.”

“With more holes in it than—“

“—Bonnie and Clyde’s car. Exactly. But I know he can’t put a foot wrong, which is why he’s chained to a senior officer.”

“He wasn’t when he barged in here tonight.”

“He was alone?”

“Yes,” I reply, and then falter. “Why?”

Janine takes a deep breath and pauses for a moment.

“That’s a complete no-no. He shouldn’t be interviewing you on his own.”

“I wouldn’t mind so much if he wasn’t such a blatant homophobe.”

“The point is he shouldn’t have been there at all, Collie. Not by himself. And he certainly shouldn’t have been putting pressure on you. Do you want me to have a word with Jo?”

“Joe who?”

“Chaudhary.”

“Don’t you dare!” I reply, horrified, because I know she will if I say the word. And the last thing I want is Whitehead thinking I had gone crying to my sister to get him into trouble or tell him to back off. “I’ll deal with it. But look, be honest. Do you think I need to get legal advice? He as good as accused me of killing Denny Harrison.”

“Don’t be daft. If they had clear proof, they’d have taken you in by now. My guess is he’s trying to get an emotional reaction out of you.”

“So what should I do?”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got Vaughan’s contact—”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Well then, hang tight for now. Let me make some discrete enquiries when I’m in the office tomorrow. If I think you’ve got any cause for concern, I’ll let you know and we can take it from there. But honestly, Colin, right now I wouldn’t worry.”

“Thanks sis. That’s what I needed to hear.”

“So. Back to Buenos Aires. Have you phoned mum yet?”

Groan. No such thing as free advice, my father, the ex-chief accountant, always used to say. I should have guessed we would get around to our mother eventually. My sister acts as a go-between, reminding me to phone her at Christmas, Easter, and on the woman’s birthday. The bare minimum, but enough to keep her off my back. Janine takes the brunt of the moans and groans from her, especially where her wayward, difficult, and unsympathetic son is concerned.

“No. And skip the lecture please.”

“It’s her birthday next month. I’ll email you a reminder.”

“I expect no less. How’s Mark junior’s temper tantrums? Any luck with the tests?”

A guaranteed way to divert Janine’s attention is to throw in a question about her brood.

“Don’t even get me started,” she says, through a deep breath—works every time. “Why does everybody feel the need to label him? He’s a six-year-old boy, for goodness sake. Fortunately for me, the school specialist has been great and we’re trying to manage what he eats to begin with, see if there are food triggers that set him off. Medication is an absolute last resort.”

“Quite right, too.”

Back when Vaughan had been travelling or working long hours, I spent many a Sunday with them. Often Mark senior and I would take the children and stroll to the local park letting Janine prepare lunch in peace. Mark junior was always energetic, squealing with joy and jetting off across the park like a Red Arrow, maybe a tad more erratic than other children around his age. Although I would never say anything to either of them—bringing up children must be tough enough without having family bystanders tossing advice into the mix—I would be more concerned about their daughter Sarah, two years older, quiet and introverted, a lot like me at that age.

I realise then how much I miss those Sundays. Sitting together on the park bench, Mark had never noticed the speculative stares we gleaned from other families, until I discreetly pointed this out to him. A big mistake as it turned out. Highly amused, he missed no opportunity to play up to the gay stereotype; throwing an arm behind me on the bench, patting my knee, picking up little Mark and placing him on my lap. More than once I had to tell him to tone it down, drawing the line when he planted a lingering kiss on my cheek. And, of course, he would take great pleasure in giving Janine a much embellished download over lunch.

“You are lucky you don’t have kids, Collie,” she says, and then goes quiet at the end of the phone. We have been down this road before. Once Vaughan and I had become cocooned together, adoption had become a favourite topic of hers. I adore her kids but she forgets that I deal with grown up children at school every day. Perhaps a big part is the selfishness of my well-ordered existence but I really do not feel strong enough to bear the burden and responsibility of fatherhood. I openly admit to being in complete awe of any man who takes on that particular role.

“Tell you what,” she says. “We’re away this weekend at Marks parents in Devon. But why don’t you come over for lunch one Sunday in March? Kids haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Why not. I’m sure I’ll need the respite by then. And tell Mark I’ll bring a couple of bottles from my wine collection.”

“A deal.”

After we sign off, I feel as though a weight has been lifted. Tiredness creeps up on me quickly and I decide to leave Billy to his crime shows and head to bed.