Page 6 of M for Murder

He realised, of course, that she probably wouldn’t be much fun on duty. Unlike the guys, she wasn’t going to want to talk about football or have a laugh with him over his Playboy mags, but with her silky dark hair and small pert breasts, she was the best-looking woman they’d had on the force in the last five years and being her partner would definitely better his chances of getting inside her pants.

Of course, he hadn’t counted on her being so damn feisty. He’d always assumed that women from hick towns knew how to treat men with a little respect. Boy, had he got that one wrong. While she had so far failed to succumb to his charms, it had already become apparent that Rebecca Angell was desperate to be accepted as one of the lads and therefore it seemed that she’d do almost any damn thing he told her.

Which is fine, just as long as she doesn’t make you run again, hey, Vic buddy?

He peered down the manhole. Aside from the faint beam of the flashlight, it appeared empty, with Angell’s dark hair and navy uniform camouflaged against the walls.

‘Are you at the bottom yet?’ he yelled.

‘Nearly.’ Her voice was just a distant echo. ‘You can come on down now.’

Vic glanced around at the second patrol car. He had been hoping to persuade Brown and Sanchez to take sewer duty, but they were having none of it. Kind of a shame, as he didn’t fancy the idea of having to trudge around in other people’s shit in his one clean uniform. Tempting though it was, he guessed that he couldn’t leave Angell down there all alone. If the Chief found out he’d let his rookie partner go down into the sewer by herself, there would be hell to pay.

He looked at the sewer worker, now sitting in the back seat of the squad car next to the kid. The boots he had on came to just above the knee.

‘I’ll be down in just a second,’ he yelled down the manhole.

‘Okay.’ Angell sounded slightly pissed off. ‘Just don’t take all day about it.’

Vic made his way back to the car. ‘Give me those boots, will you?’

The sewer worker looked a little surprised, but didn’t argue.

Vic removed his own shoes and put them in the car, then slipped on the boots, being careful to avoid touching where they were already wet. He made a mental note not to touch any of the doughnuts when he came out – at least not until he’d had the chance for a proper wash down. Climbing onto the rungs of the ladder in the manhole, he drew in a deep breath and screwed up his nose in preparation for the awful stench that was about to hit him.

‘Oh well, buddy,’ he muttered under his breath, silently cursing himself for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. ‘Here goes nothing.’

Class let out at eleven thirty.

Mr Parker dismissed them all with a casual wave of the hand and almost immediately buried his head in the paperwork on his desk.

Justine gathered her books slowly, waiting for the other students to disperse. When the classroom was practically empty, she made her way up to the front. For a moment Mr Parker didn’t even seem to be aware of her presence. Eventually he looked up, his black eyes on her questioningly. ‘Hello Justine.’

Justine hugged her books to her chest and smiled. Mr Parker had been their substitute lecturer for the past four weeks now and she had been trying to pluck up the courage to stay behind and find an excuse to talk to him. Now she was here, though, her well-rehearsed speech had completely vanished from her mind. She had done her research well. Mr Parker, Christian name Lawrence, but known as Lawrie to his friends (she thought that was cute), originated from California. He was thirty years old. Justine knew that because she’d overheard some of the other professors talking about the party his wife had thrown him last month.

His wife. That was the other thing. He was married, a thought that Justine preferred to push to the back of her mind. Mr Parker didn’t look like he should be married. In fact he didn’t look like he should be lecturing in a college. He seemed too dark, too intense and too mysterious. It was silly really, but Justine couldn’t help comparing him to Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights: passionate, intense and brooding. Right now, those intense and brooding eyes were watching her patiently, waiting for her to speak. Justine’s cheeks heated.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ she stammered.

Mr Parker arched his eyebrows very slightly; his eyes didn’t stray from her face. ‘What may I do for you?’

‘I was wondering if… I was wondering, could you recommend any books that might help me with this course.’

‘Are you struggling with the work?’

‘Well, not exactly.’ Justine managed a weak smile. ‘I just like to be thorough.’

Mr Parker nodded, the hint of a smile touching his lips. He continued to watch her for a moment and Justine felt her cheeks turn darker.

Oh my God! He knows why I stayed behind. He knows I fancy him.

She tried her best to hold his stare and failed miserably. As soon as she broke away, Mr Parker took a pen and began to scribble on a jotter pad on his desk.

He’s just like a cat.

Justine couldn’t help but wonder if he had done it on purpose, determined to stare her out, as if he was playing a game with her. Her mind still swimming and her heart thumping loudly against the inside of her chest, she took the piece of paper that Mr Parker was holding out to her.

‘I’ve written down the titles of two books that should help. You’ll find both of them in the college library.’