Crime Always Pays Read Free Page B

I mean, some surgeon gets shot in the woods and his kidnapped wife, a charity-hound socialite, goes missing?' Ted rolled his eyes. 'Christ, it'll be front page.' He reached for the pack of Players Blue and sparked a smoke, this contrary to station regs, while he flicked idly through the report.
              'What's the latest on Frank?' Karen said.
              'He's stable.' He gestured at her bloody clothes. 'By the way, in case no one else says it, you did a good job up there.'
              Doyle, abandoned by Karen and Ray in the little clearing up at the lakeshore, had set fire to the Forestry Commission cottage. This because Rossi, taking the handcuff keys, had done the rounds, swiped everyone's cell phone too, chucked them in the lake. Frank had bawled like a wind-trapped calf when she'd dragged him up onto the rickety wooden porch. Doyle couldn't really blame him, Frank with his shin blown out. Tying a tourniquet above his knee, Doyle had wanted to puke every time she caught a glimpse of the white shards showing through the ragged hole in his pants.
              When he'd started shivering Doyle couldn't tell if it was septicemia or hypothermia or the guy just realising how close he'd come. So she'd dragged him in beside the cottage's glowing embers, cuddled him close.  
              For nearly five hours.
    By the time the first fireman came trudging out of the trees into the clearing, the guy tall and bulky in his uniform, just the way she liked them, Doyle was so pissed she forgot to flirt.   
              'The guy's so grateful,' Ted said, 'he's suing your ass for negligence.'
              'He'll hardly get fat suing this ass.' Karen cocked a hip. Ted grinned. She said, 'This investigation. I'm suspended for the duration, right?'
              'Don't take it personal. It's for your own good.'
              'With pay.'
              'Innocent until proven, sure.'
              'Meanwhile, you still have Frank.'
              'Who's claiming he was railroaded by this guy Ray.'
              'Except I have Frank's laptop, the guy kept records he shouldn't have.'
              'Writing up scrips,' Ted said, riffling back through the pages again, 'for Nervocaine. Black market.'
              'What's important there is, one of his customers, a guy called Doug, was his insurance broker with Trust Direct. Doug also being a golf partner of Frank's.'
              Ted, seeing it, nodded along. 'Trust Direct squawk too loud, we whisper inside job. I'm liking it so far. Go on.'
              'You put me front and centre, I'm suspended pending blah-dee-blah. Nothing's more important than transparency, the force being accountable. Meanwhile I'm packed off to Elba with Napoleon.'
              'You think this Ray likes the sound of Elba in autumn?'
              'Fuck Ray. Rossi's the one has the money.'
              'You know I can't sanction that, Steph.'
              Doyle cupped a hand around her right ear. 'Sanction what, Ted?'
              Ted parked his smoke in the ashtray, dry-washed his face, had a good long stare at the ceiling. Then, without looking at her, 'Okay. Just don't send me any postcards from Elba.' He closed the file, stood up and moved around the desk. 'C'mere.'
              Doyle accepted the peck on the cheek, the comforting squeeze, then shouldered her bag. 'How d'you want to do this?' she said.
              'Just slam the door open, leave the rest to me.'
              Doyle stalked away from Ted's office with her chin up, his threats booming down the corridor behind her. Ignoring the smirks, the meaningful glances the boys threw one another. 
    Suspended with pay, indefinitely. The world her oyster with Guinness chasers.
     
     
     
     
     
    Sleeps
     
    'He buys a  gun ,' Sleeps said, 'steals a car.'
              'What