AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The two women looked at each other, then Mags spoke.
“Patsy saw the pattern,” she said. “Patsy was the first one to realise that this wasn’t some random flasher. Because the word from Harrington-Bowen was that nothing was happening. We were basically told to take the reports and pass them to him. When we asked about them, he said there was no case to answer, or that the perpetrator was imaginary, or the victim had a history of crying wolf, or had changed her story. But Patsy made copies of everything, and that’s how it all came out. After a bit, I started helping. So between us, we’ve met most of the women and read all the reports. This woman never came forward. But Patsy thinks she knows where it happened, and that it only happened a few days ago.”
“There’s a poster. You can see it, and it only went up last week,” Patsy said. “So, the people covering up have all gone, and there’s been lots of publicity, but this guy is still attacking women.”
There was no way Charlie could keep this information from Tom, in his Acting Principal role. Whether Tom would do anything to warn the student body remained to be see. They had a picture of the flasher, but it wasn’t enough to make an identification, not yet.
Charlie rang Tom’s number, imagining him in a luxurious flat, walls lined with bookcases and pictures. Better pictures than those on his office walls. Interesting pictures. But when Tom answered, Charlie heard the unmistakable sound of a busy pub.
“Hang on,” Tom said.
Charlie heard the clicks and burps of a phone being carried through a crowd, the click of a door opening and Tom’s voice. “That’s better. What can I do for you? Because whatever it is, you should probably come down here for your dinner. The curry is to die for.”
“I need to talk to you. As the college principal.”
“Come to the pub. You can talk to me here, while we eat. The Three Horseshoes. It’s only a hundred yards from the cop shop. I’ve even got a table. I’ll order and then we won’t have long to wait. Say yes.”
This was the Tom who didn’t take no for an answer. Though fair play, last night he’d appeared genuinely concerned about Charlie’s potential hangover, and his state of mind. Was that really only last night? What the hell, Charlie thought, I’ve got to eat.
“OK. I have to ring my landlady first though.”
“Turn right as you come out of the police station. You can’t miss it. I’ve got a table right behind the door.” They ended the call and Charlie found the bit of paper with Dilys’s number and rang her.
Dilys knew exactly who he was. The word had already reached her that Charlie was without clothes or possessions.
“You’re expected sweetheart, and your room is ready. I’ve left you some pyjamas and a shirt, and a new toothbrush and so on. The front door’s open until eleven thirty.”
“Pyjamas? A shirt?”
“You’d be surprised what people leave behind. Don’t worry—it’s all washed and ironed.”
Charlie said thank you, promising to see her later.
Tom was right about it being hard to miss The Three Horseshoes. The noise of people talking at the tops of their voices spilled onto the street. A few cold-looking but animated smokers stood on the three steps up to the tall black door. The steps had black wrought iron railings, more like a smart town house than a pub, Charlie thought. But as soon as he opened the door, there was no doubt where he was.
The sound of conversation vied with the commentary from a football match on a TV screen next to the bar, and the clicks of pool being played from the far end of the room. The clientele were a mixed bag: some in suits or smart dresses, probably on their way home from work; others in jeans and sweaters; and a group of young people in a variety of paint-stained garments who were crowded round a big table and exclaiming over the deliciousness of the food at the tops of their voices. And then there was Tom, just visible near the bar. Taller and broader than everyone else, but gentle; not pushing his way through as he could so easily have done. The light over the bar caught Tom’s hair, painting a bright golden stripe on the black. He looked over his shoulder to point out their table to the barmaid, and met Charlies eyes, locked onto him like a magnet with iron filings. Tom smiled. The uncomplicated smile of someone who was pleased that Charlie had arrived.
Tom waved, pointing Charlie towards a battered pine table with a bench seat close to the door. A navy-blue wool coat lay over one half of the bench, and there was a brown leather bag on the other. Charlie moved the bag and sat down, scanning the room with interest. The art students had plates of rice and curry in front of them, and were eating and talking, forks waving for emphasis. Other tables had smaller groups, but all had plates, either full or empty. The smell of food was making Charlie’s mouth water, and judging from what he saw, the meal promised to be good.
A wave of exhaustion washed over Charlie, the noise and colour of the bar blurring as he gave himself permission to lean back in his seat and think about nothing. His eyes had begun to close when Tom squirmed into the bench seat next to Charlie, carefully putting two pints of lager and two sets of napkin-wrapped cutlery onto the table. Their thighs and shoulders touched, and Charlie felt a comfortable warmth in his skin where their bodies met. He had the sudden urge to lean against Tom, as if that would allow the tension of the day to dissipate. But no. Not a good idea.
Tom turned in the seat, so he could face Charlie. He’d changed out of the suit into black jeans and a dark red sweater — a half-way house between the lumberjack of the night before and the college principal of this morning. He looked good. He smelled nice—of clean clothes and Old Spice. Not that it mattered.
“Thanks for coming,” Tom said. “The food comes from the Indian restaurant next door. The only choice is meat or veg, and there’s only regular rice and a popadom. It’s a fiver. My treat.” Tom grinned.
Charlie smiled back, though even his face ached with the effects of the last twenty-four hours. “What can I say? I guess I’m a cheap date.” Not that it was a date. He opened his mouth to speak again when a figure in a black apron wriggled between the tables. “Two veg?” Tom nodded and the plates were put in front of them. The curry was exactly as Tom predicted, excellent. The vegetables hadn’t been boiled to mush, so he could taste peas, sweet corn and several kinds of beans, and the sauce hit the sweet spot between too hot and boring. Apart from a few compliments about the food, they ate in silence until their plates were clear, and the last bits of rice and popadoms chased until they surrendered.
“Really good,” Charlie sighed, and stretched his legs out as far as he could under the table. “Thanks for suggesting it.”
“I’m happy you came.”
The noise level in the pub had risen, and every seat was now taken, with new arrivals pouncing as soon as anyone left. A couple of people were eyeing their empty plates, obviously wondering whether they were about to leave.
“Do you want to stay for a bit?” Tom asked. “You wanted to talk to me.”
Charlie looked round. The pub was full, and the noise was loud enough that they were unlikely to be overheard. If they got more drinks, they wouldn’t be interrupted by people hoping to pinch their table.
“I’ll get another drink,” Charlie said. He made his way to the bar through the crush and brought two more cold pints of lager back to their table. There was condensation on the sides of the glasses, making them slippery in his hands. He put them down, moisture puddling on the wood.
