Devil in the Detail by A.J. Cross (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📗

‘Ignore them is my advice. My team at work is ninety-nine per cent tosser.’

She grinned. ‘And you’re the one per cent good guy.’

‘Exactly.’ His phone rang. ‘The taxi’s outside. We’d better go.’

Collecting their coats, they left the club and quickly located the idling taxi. They got inside and Judd gave the driver her address, after which they sat in easy silence for forty minutes, much of it filled with the driver’s complaints about the volume of traffic and the time of year. They looked at each other and grinned.

Judd sat forward as the taxi slowed and double-parked. ‘This is me.’ She reached inside her bag. Sean stopped her hand.

‘Forget the money. I’ll pay him when I get to my place.’

She looked towards the building and her darkened bedsit window. The evening had been a total downer. All that was waiting for her now was a cold, empty room. He was looking at her, his face concerned.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

She looked at him. ‘Do you fancy more coffee?’

Carefully exiting the taxi, she waited as Sean paid and the taxi drove away. They stood on the pavement. She pointed. ‘I’m over here.’

They walked in silence to the main door. She entered the code. It opened on the third try. They stepped into the hall. He followed her to her door. She unlocked it. They went inside. He looked around, smiled at her.

‘This is really nice. Homely.’

She knelt unsteadily in front of the gas fire, switched it on and stood. He was standing close to her. She laid her face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth. During her first ten years, Judd hadn’t known warmth. She didn’t dwell on it. Just accepted that that was how it was. Not for her brothers and sisters. Just her. Until she’d been sent to live somewhere else. And now, she had a life. A proper life. Colleagues she liked who valued her, a job she loved which paid for the bedsit and the car she’d bought a month before. Beyond tired, she let go of the image of Julian’s smiling face.

Sunday 16 December. 6.50 a.m.

Eyes squeezed closed, head full of cotton, Judd felt for her phone. Not finding it, she looked at the small travel clock.

‘Holy shit!’

She leapt out of bed, headed for the bathroom. ‘Sean? Sean?’

The bathroom was empty. She ran her hands through her hair. Sarge had asked her to be at headquarters early this morning and she’d agreed. She looked around, frowned, searched every surface, went to her bag, upended it, watching its contents fall onto the bed. She stared down at them. No phone. No purse. No keys.

Breath catching in her throat, she ran to the window, dragged open the curtains, looked outside, searching the line of parked cars.

‘No!’

Watts was inside the incident room waiting for results from several officers occupied with calls to a tip-line set up on Friday. One or two looked up at him, shook their heads. Distracted, he headed for Jones whose eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him. He lowered his voice.

‘When did you last see Judd?’

Jones glanced up at him. ‘Around twelve thirty early this morning. Why?’

‘She hasn’t arrived and her phone’s switched off. Get over to her flat.’ He turned away, then back to Jones. ‘No need to say anything to anybody else.’

More than an hour later, Watts was looking at her. She hadn’t spoken since Jones brought her in.

‘What happened?’

She didn’t look at him. ‘That’s my business.’

‘It’s mine because when I couldn’t reach you, I had to send Jones to fetch you, plus, I want to know how you’ve ended up with no phone, no keys and no car.’ He watched her put her fingers to her lips to steady them. ‘I’ve sent officers I can’t spare to your place to organize a change of lock, and I’ve got Jones and Reynolds out looking around your area for your car. Come on!’

‘Did I ask you to involve them in my private life?’ She turned her face from him.

Her last few words caused Watts a rush of impatience. ‘Idiot celebs rant on about “private lives”. What you are is a cop who looks to me like she’s been conned.’

She still wasn’t meeting his eyes, looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. When asked, Jones had given him a brief account of the previous evening, including Judd sitting at the bar talking to an unknown male.

‘I know you left that club with a—’

‘I’m not talking about it!’

‘Jones has.’

She stared at him, flared, ‘He had no right!’

‘He had every right as a responsible colleague.’ His phone rang. He snatched it up. ‘Where?’ He nodded, his eyes on Judd. ‘Bring it here. Careful how you handle it.’ He ended the call.

‘They’ve found your car three streets from your place, keys inside.’

She covered her face with her hands.

‘What were you thinking, to get yourself in a fix like this?’

Not expecting a response, he headed for the kettle and busied himself. This was way beyond his job description and his personal experience. Things had changed since his daughter was Judd’s age and what he knew of his daughter’s escapades had probably been sanitized for his benefit by her mother. He poured boiling water on to coffee, added three spoons of sugar and brought it back to the table. Placing it next to her, he saw the smallness of her. He reached out and let his hand drop. ‘Drink.’

‘My head’s splitting.’

He went to his side of the table, moved files around, found what he was looking for. ‘Here.’ She reached for the paracetamols. ‘As soon as they get back with your car, I’ll ask Adam to give it a good going over for prints.’

She looked away. ‘Another person who’s going to know all about it.’

‘No. You’re the only one who knows all the details. I’m not asking and neither should they. You’re sure you don’t want to report it?’

‘I told you already, no.’

‘Stay there. Drink your coffee. When your car’s been