Past Mortem Read Free

he had inadvertently caught sight of her bra. Newson knew that he had only to shift his head slightly to catch a tiny glimpse of one of her breasts. But she would know, he was certain she would know. His eyes had already flicked downwards once. She was a detective; she was trained to notice things. Besides, all girls were detectives when it came to male weakness. He felt his face glowing hot. He was thirty-four, not fifteen. How could he be so pathetic?
    Newson had been working with Natasha for nearly three years. He could not recall the point at which their spirited camaraderie and easy friendship had turned for him to this gruelling, secret infatuation. It had been quite quick, he knew that, for it felt as if he had been carrying the burden of it for ever. Looking back (as he often did) to the day when they had first met to discuss Natasha’s application to join his team, Newson did not think that it had been love at first sight. He definitely recalled that friendship had briefly preceded love, but love had come soon enough thereafter, love and with it an aching agony of longing, which had been present at every single meeting that followed.
    He struggled to readjust his gaze to focus fiercely on a wicker basket filled with pieces of double-choc muffin that were being offered up for free tasting that day.
    ‘I think he’ll kill again because I think the scenario he created indicates that he’s psychopathic, and being a psycho is not a part-time thing. Particularly if his problems are sexual, and, let’s face it, in the end all problems are sexual.’
    ‘Sexual? What’s sexual got to do with anything?’
    ‘I think it’s highly possible that this assailant had sexual and ritualistic motivations.’
    ‘Are all rituals sexual as well?’
    ‘Sadly, Natasha, I’ve come to a rather depressing conclusion that everything is sexual…Just look at that advert.’ Newson pointed to a framed poster on the wall featuring the coffee of the week, which boasted vanilla, coconut syrup and cookies ‘n’ cream. ‘Read it: hot, smooth, silky, frothy, warming, enveloping …Freud would have had a field day.’
    ‘Then Freud was a wanker.’
    ‘I think that fact’s well established.’
    ‘A vanilla, coconut syrup, cookies ‘n’ cream latte is not sexual; it’s a substitute for sex,’ said Sergeant Wilkie.
    ‘Well, you can’t get much more sexual than a substitute for sex, can you?’
    ‘What possible reason do you have for thinking that this was a sex crime?’
    ‘I’m not saying it was. I’m saying it might have been. The killer bled his victim to death in a carefully prepared and highly specific manner. In my experience people who feel the need to do that sort of thing are driven to it by a very deep-seated urge, and deep-seated urges are, of course — ’
    ‘Sexual.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    They had by now arrived at the counter. ‘One small latte,’ said Newson to the arrogantly handsome French youth who was facing him across the counter, impatiently awaiting his order.
    ‘One tall latte,’ the youth replied.
    ‘No, a small latte,’ Newson. corrected.
    ‘Tall eez small,’ the boy told him. ‘Eet dozen get any smaller zan tall.’
    ‘What do you mean, it doesn’t get any smaller than tall?’
    ‘Eet jus’ dozen.’
    ‘But that’s a contradiction in terms.’
    The boy shrugged. ‘Maybe you should tell eet to somebody ‘oo geeves a ferk.’
    ‘Am I tall, then?’ Newson asked.
    ‘Eef you wan’. One pound seventy-five, please,’ the youth said and turned to Natasha, who ordered a grande caramel-and-chocolate latte with mallows, for which Newson insisted on paying.
    ‘Grande’s medium,’ she informed him as they collected their drinks.
    ‘I know, I know, and medium is enormous. I have been in a Starbucks before, you know. I just think it’s important to confront these things. I mean, since when did the British start drinking coffee in pints?’ They found a table in the corner. ‘For centuries