The Bones Beneath

Did you watch that tv documentary/drama the other evening about the things MARTIN and I did? Thought it was very good actually – not too sensationalist or graphic and was hugely flattered by the portrayal. Very HANDSOME actor playing my part. Not sure who they would get to play me the way I look these days – probably someone from one of those agencies supplying freaks and UGLIES for horror films. Just out of interest what do I look like when you try to picture me? IF you try to picture me. How I was just before I came in here or as a little boy?

She stopped after an hour for a cigarette, got out of the car and smoked it in the garage. She didn’t smoke as often as she once had, but kept a packet in the glove compartment for the difficult days or nights. She would sneak out now and again, when everybody else was asleep, and the pack would usually last her a month or so. Her other half knew but pretended he didn’t, and her eldest son had caught her once. He’d smelled it on her and gone ballistic. He’d called her a hypocrite when she’d tried to lecture him after he’d got drunk and thrown up on the landing outside his bedroom. It was hard to argue with.

I think I settled in quite fast compared to some and it’s easy to forget how hard it can be for others – the panic and the sadness at missing your FAMILY. Making that ADJUSTMENT can be very difficult especially if you’re in here for life. Made a new friend I think. JEFF was/is a teacher like me so there’s a common bond straight away. He’s finding it very tough coping in here at the moment – plenty of dark thoughts – so we talk about things a lot. Good to have PROPER conversations and it’s nice being a shoulder to cry on – something I never really had but no point dwelling thinking about things that could not be helped, is there?

More than once, a single dried strand of rolling tobacco had fallen out into her lap as she’d unfolded one of the letters. She brushed it quickly away, hoping it was not one that Nicklin himself had plucked, sticky from his lips.

Looks like I’ll be seeing DEFECTIVE inspector TOM THORNE again quite soon – going on a trip together which I’m very much looking forward to. Will also be taking the friend I mentioned before which has got me thinking how important friendship is – especially in a place like this – having somebody you can count on I mean. THORNE is definitely someone who is very loyal to his friends. Yes he probably loves the new woman in his life and the child he’s been lumbered with but I think he understands that loyalty to friends is definitely the most important quality anyone can have – that friendship is not just SKIN DEEP. Let’s face it we’re stuck with family for good or ill – you must know that better than ANYONE. Luckily we get the chance to choose our FRIENDS though. As for our ENEMIES that’s a whole different question!!!

After two and a half hours, Kitson had read as much as she was willing to for one night. She had got through all the letters from the previous few months and a good many of those from much earlier. A hundred or so altogether. She wondered how Thorne would feel about being talked about, and not just in the most recent letters. She tried to imagine how she would feel if she was the one Nicklin was thinking about like that and couldn’t. She put the cardboard box back into the boot of the car and tossed an old dog blanket across it.

She smoked one more cigarette then went inside to email Thorne.

FIFTEEN

Helen was laughing…

‘… and the bloke who runs the place is like this cartoon Welshman,’ Thorne said. ‘With a big red face and looking like he’s always just about to burst into song.’ They both laughed. ‘Honestly, he’s like a dog with two dicks because he’s got some actual guests, but he’s a bit over-friendly for my liking.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, moved the phone from one ear to the other and leaned down to untie his shoelaces. ‘I think there’s every chance we’ll be murdered in our beds.’

‘It all sounds lovely,’ Helen said.

Thorne looked around the room, wondering what else he could find to tell her about. ‘Oh and the remote control for the TV is attached to the wall… on a curly wire. I swear, it’s actually attached, so people can’t nick it. Does anybody bother to steal remote controls?’

‘Some people’ll take anything, you give them the chance.’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ Thorne could hear Alfie shouting in the background. Helen’s son, just a few months away from his second birthday. Helen tried and failed to shush him. ‘How’s he doing?’

‘Well, he’s not asleep.’

‘Because I’m not there to read him a story,’ Thorne said.

‘Oh, is that it?’

‘Seriously, I’ve got the knack of getting him off now.’

‘He does miss you,’ Helen said. ‘His mood’s different.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve told you.’

Thorne glanced up at the mirror on the wardrobe door, saw that he was gri

‘So everything’s going OK, then, is it?’ Helen asked. ‘How you getting on with your new CSM?’

Thorne sat up straight. Why on earth would she ask that? Had she heard something in his voice? How could there be anything in his voice?

‘Yeah, she’s OK,’ Thorne said. ‘I’ve hardly spoken to her, tell you the truth. She was stuck in the back-up car with Sam Karim.’

‘Right…’

Thorne could still see the look on Wendy Markham’s face when she’d asked him back to her room. The intention had been obvious enough. I mean, nightcap? Had she brought a bottle of wine or something with her? Obviously, there was no bottle of anything. It was a pretty straightforward proposition. Thorne felt good about turning her down, he felt… noble.

And yet…

She was seriously fanciable, no question about it and being propositioned by anyone was nice, was a buzz. She was older than Helen, he guessed, probably early forties, but still a fair few years younger than he was. When he’d asked for her to join the operation as crime scene manager, Thorne had remembered exactly who she was and what she looked like and that he’d flirted with her a little when they’d first met. No point pretending he hadn’t. Something about the way she’d spoken to him on the landing had suggested there would be no strings attached, no awkwardness afterwards.

Just a bit of fun while they were away.

‘I called Phil,’ Thorne said. The change of subject sounded jarring, even to him.

Phil Hendricks. Thorne’s closest friend. A man whose shaved head, tattoos and body piercings made him look more like the lead singer in a death-metal band than the skilled and respected pathologist he was. Someone who remained fiercely loyal to Thorne, though that loyalty had been regularly tested, and who was usually first with a joke, despite his sadness at an unfulfilled desire to be a father.

‘When?’

‘Just before I called you. He wasn’t answering, so I left a message.’

‘Oh, I think I know why he was busy,’ Helen said.

The truth was, Thorne had called Hendricks because he’d wanted to tell him about what had happened with Wendy Markham. Brag a little. They’d have laughed about it, joked about what might have been and Hendricks would have pretended to be shocked that Thorne had passed up a golden opportunity. Ultimately though, his friend would have been pleased, impressed that Thorne had done the right thing. Having grown close to one another in recent months, Helen was now Hendricks’ friend too.

Thorne was pleased about it, even if that triangle had proved to be a tricky one in the past. In a previous relationship, his best friend and his then-girlfriend had regularly taken great delight in ganging up on him.