Gone Read Free Page B

aimed the small paper ball at DC Don Murphy. To be fair, you didn’t need to be a sharpshooter to hit the target. He was big enough. But the rules were clear: one point for the gut (easy target), two for the forehead, and three for the mouth. Gardner was going for the money shot. He let go of the paper and watched it sail across the office, landing right in Murphy’s open mouth. Murphy coughed and sat up straight. Gardner raised his arms in victory and DC Carl Harrington tried to claim cheating. PC Dawn Lawton looked up from the corner, smiling at Murphy’s angry bear impression before getting her head back down to whatever she was doing. At least someone was working. Usually Gardner would be the one telling Murphy to get off his lazy backside and do some work but to tell the truth, there was nothing doing. Sure there was paperwork, chasing up a few loose ends, but nothing to really do . He couldn’t decide if he wanted to jinx it by mentioning it or not.
    ‘I could go to HR about this,’ Murphy said and shuffled off towards the kettle.
    ‘I do believe I’m winning by ten points,’ Gardner said to Harrington.
    ‘Nine,’ he said.
    ‘Whatever. I’m still kicking your arse.’
    The phone rang and Harrington picked it up. There was nothing like a sore loser. Gardner wondered what Lawton was up to. The last big case they’d had was a missing teenage girl who’d told her separated parents she was staying at the other’s house for the weekend and had then run off with a teacher. There’d been nothing to suggest the girl had been forced into anything but she was only fourteen. Everything since then had been straightforward, solved in a couple of days. Nothing to get his teeth into. He supposed he should be grateful. After a case like Abby Henshaw’s, which had taken over five years of his life, he should’ve been pleased when things were sorted out so quickly.
    Gardner leaned back in his chair, the high from his win wearing off. He needed to stop thinking about Abby Henshaw. They hadn’t spoken for weeks. Months, maybe. He’d done his job; it was time to move on. And he was trying.
    In a moment of madness he’d signed up for online dating. He’d spent hours tinkering with his profile and drank more than should be necessary in order to send it into the world. He wondered whether admitting to being a copper was a good idea. Or if lying about hobbies would be considered breach of contract. He did have a mountain bike. He just never used it. But he definitely regretted putting the photo on, despite, or maybe because of, the man in the picture being almost a decade younger than he was. To be fair, that was less about vanity than the fact no one had taken his picture in almost a decade. He’d panicked afterwards that someone he knew might see it, might find out what a loser he was, but he guessed if they were on there too they must be as sad as him.
    And though he’d had no luck so far (it’d only been three weeks), in that the sole response he’d had was from someone who listed knitting hats for her cat as her only hobby, it was almost addictive checking his inbox. He was itching to check again but the last thing he needed was anyone in the office finding out what he was up to. Least of all Carl Harrington. He would never live it down. He’d have to transfer somewhere else.
    ‘Oi,’ Harrington said, holding up the phone. ‘For you. A DS Freeman from Blyth.’
    For a moment everything stopped. Gardner felt like the whole office was staring at him. Waiting for a response. How could one little word – the B word – feel like a punch in the guts?
    His own phone started to ring and Harrington indicated he should pick it up. But without wanting to sound like a five-year-old, he didn’t want to and no one could make him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone from Blyth. He didn’t want to get involved.
    The phone kept ringing and now people were staring. Gardner snatched up the phone.
    ‘Gardner,’ he said. DS