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“Thank you, sir. My main question is this: do you know why Rico chose to do his degree here in Llanfair?”
Charlie heard a deep and troubled sigh.
“My son wanted to study painting in Europe. He isn’t the most academic person, and his grades aren’t great, actually, they’re awful. I’ll be honest, I don’t know whether he’s a good painter or not. I just know that it’s all he ever wanted to do.” There was another sigh. “He applied to places in France and Italy, and in London, but they wouldn’t even look at his work because his basic education was so poor. The truth is, he can barely read and write. Why that mattered when all he wanted was to paint, I don’t know. But apparently it does.” Silence fell. Even Mrs Pepperdine’s sobbing had stopped. Charlie could still hear Eddy in the outer office, and the occasional car on the road outside.
“I may as well tell you. It doesn’t matter now. He applied to Llanfair along with all the others, and they turned him down, just like all the others. Then we got a call from one of the professors. He said that Rico was very talented, and they’d love to have him, but there were strict academic standards set down by your government. But there might be a way around it. A donation to college funds is what he called it. Fifty-thousand dollars. I paid it, because that’s what my boy wanted …” Charlie heard the sound of sobbing and then, “I have to go,” and the call ended.
15
Family Love
Tuesday 3.30pm
Charlie hadn’t meant to cry. Crying wasn’t something he did. He didn’t realise he was crying until the first teardrop fell wetly onto the desk in front of him. As for why he was crying, he was crying for the Pepperdines who would pay a huge bribe to get their son a college place, and Mrs Sully, who would forgive Kaylan for anything, because that’s what parents did. And for himself, a little, because his parents wouldn’t forgive him anything. But mainly for the Pepperdines, whose son wouldn’t be going home, and whose hearts were breaking. He put his arms on the desk and let the tears come, but only for a minute because he had work to do.
He didn’t hear the office door open, or Eddy’s footsteps. He felt himself gathered into a pair of strong arms, and heard Eddy’s soft breath in his ear, whispering comforting nothings. Charlie leaned into Eddy’s body and felt some of the tension ease. The next thing he knew, Eddy was lifting Charlie’s head from the desk, and stroking his damp cheeks, with big, strong thumbs.
“Come here,” Eddy said, not giving Charlie much choice. And then his lips were on Charlie’s, warm, and tasting of coffee and a little of tears. His body responded, and Eddy felt the response, sliding his hands though Charlie’s hair, and then, slowly, down Charlie’s back and around his arse, pulling him closer. Charlie opened his lips, letting Eddy’s tongue in to tangle with his own, and it was delicious. Eddy groaned quietly. Charlie’s dick was getting in on the act and was telling him that this would give him a break from the constant anxiety, this would harm no one, this would help him to focus.
Then sense returned.
Charlie wriggled out of Eddy’s arms, putting as much distance as he could between the two of them in the tiny office.
“Um, not what I want,” Charlie said feeling the blush rising up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. “We’re at work.”
“Felt exactly like what you wanted,” Eddy said, “and we won’t always be at work.”
“You took me by surprise. Sorry.” Charlie didn’t know where to put himself, or what to do with his limbs. He had kissed Eddy back and pressed his groin into Eddy’s huge thigh. Not objected to Eddy’s hands on his arse. But Eddy was not who he wanted, even if they hadn’t been at work. He was suddenly afraid that he’d been giving out the wrong signals. Singing along to George Ezra in the car and including Eddy in his decision-making. Only, he didn’t think he had. He’d treated Eddy as a colleague, though he had wondered about Eddy getting into his personal space a couple of times. Oh, what the hell. He just needed to be clear, right now.
“You’ll come round, and it’ll be fun, you and me,” Eddy said neutrally, no sneering in his voice, simply a quiet confidence. Charlie knew at that moment that he wouldn’t, ever. That Eddy was a potentially good colleague, a nice looking and sexy man, but Charlie had spent his entire childhood being told what he ought to do, by people who were certain that they knew better than him. His first instinct was to assume that Eddy was right, that he would come round and have fun, but he was learning that instinct, unchecked, often led to misery.
Instead, Charlie held on to DCI Ravensbourne’s comment that he had done well and her confidence that he knew what he was doing. He thought of Mal Kent’s trust in him, and of the way he, Charlie, had persuaded Tom to see things differently.
“Not going to happen,” he said, but smiled to take the sting from his words. “Tell me about white van man.”
“I’ll tell Ravensbourne, when she comes over,” Eddy said and left the room.
Charlie followed. “You can tell me, now,” he said, without aggression.
For a moment, it looked as if Eddy would refuse. The air in the bigger room was cold and still, smelling faintly of damp and the PVC coating on the hi-vis jackets hanging in a line on the wall. There was little light coming through the tiny window from the grey sky outside. The fluorescent tube buzzed quietly above their heads.
“The gardener’s lad, Gwilym Bowen knew where the keys were to the van, and where the petrol was stored, and when the owner was going out. He fits the description perfectly. He’s also Harrington-Bowen’s nephew. The bad news is that he’s disappeared. He doesn’t have an address, just dosses down at friends.”
“You think Harrington-Bowen sent him? Or could he have another motive?” Charlie asked. “Anything helpful on that?”
Eddy shook his head. “Nothing. It’s not we could ask old H-B if he sent his nephew to firebomb the station. Well, we could, but I doubt he’d admit it. Nope. We have to find young Gwilym, and how we’re supposed to do that with everything else going on, is above my pay grade.”
“Did you find anything interesting about Harrington-Bowen?” Charlie asked.
“He’s on his third divorce, and he’s either ‘one of the best’, or an unpleasant time-server who can’t keep his dick in his pants, and is probably living beyond his means. It depends who you ask, and whether they’re a member of the funny-handshake brigade.”
“With the Masonic contingent finding him to be ‘one of the best’ I suppose.”
“Got it in one, Sarge.”
“Better get started looking for Gwilym then. Friends, family, mobile number,” Charlie said. “Give you something to do until the next disaster strikes.”
DCI Ravensbourne was sitting at the conference table in Tom’s office, drinking tea from a porcelain mug, biscuit crumbs scattered on her lap, when Charlie arrived at the college to take up Tom’s offer of a look at the staff files. Tom, Charlie thought, was beginning to look as if he belonged in the beautiful office. He’d clearly seen through Ravensbourne’s startling appearance to the sharp detective underneath. The secretary, Ann, showed him in, apparently not sure whether he’d come to report to Tom or the DCI. Faced with both of them, Charlie wasn’t sure either. But he accepted the seat he was offered, and a mug of tea, and looked hungrily at the few biscuits left on the plate. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it felt like a long time ago. His stomach rumbled loudly.
