Chapter Five
Josie
‘Idon’t remember you saying you were out tonight,’ says Geoff, looking put out.
I sigh. ‘I told you the Chief Super was retiring about a month ago, and last week I told you about the retirement do,’ I remind him. But, of course, you weren’t bloody listening, as usual.
I stick two pizzas in the oven, open the fridge and remove a bowl of pre-made salad. ‘All yours,’ I say to Geoff. ‘You just have to feed the boys when the pizzas are done.’
‘Easy enough, I suppose,’ he says sulkily. ‘It’s just that it’s the final of the darts tonight at the pub and it’s not like we couldn’t have got a sitter…’
I roll my eyes. I should have counted to ten, but sadly I only got to four. ‘For Christ’s sake, Geoff, when do I ever go out? It’s not like you’re playing in the darts team. The only nights I’m ever out are when I’m bloody working.’
‘Bad timing, I guess,’ he says.
I decide to change the subject. ‘Don’t let them play on their iPads all evening.’
‘Got it,’ he says. But I know he will.
‘Right,’ I say, checking my reflection in the hall mirror.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing myself with make-up on.
It’s not the done thing in my job to look like a sex bomb.
Although I’m well past the sex bomb stage these days; I’m closer to the premenopausal, stretch-marks-and-grey-hair stage.
I ought to get said hair coloured, but at a hundred quid a time, I can’t see Geoff agreeing to that.
I smile at my two lads, who are stuffing their faces with garlic bread. ‘Well, I’m not kissing you two goodbye.’ I blow a kiss and leave the house. My partner in crime, Dario, has offered to pick me up and is waiting outside.
Dario González has been sober for eight years, so he’s the perfect taxi driver.
He is also the most handsome man I’ve ever worked with.
His slightly dark skin and wide brown eyes are appealing, especially when he smiles; then, they twinkle like stars.
His black curly hair, although unruly, adds to his appeal.
The single female coppers will be trying hard to impress him tonight, but since his divorce and loss of custody of his kids because of his drinking, his interest in women has been minimal.
‘Ready for a rowdy night out, DS Blackford?’ he says, and smiles.
Roger, the Chief Super, has booked a private room at The Wiltshire pub. The truth is, I’m not good at social dos. I’m good at my job; that’s where I feel secure. But socialising isn’t my thing. Still, I have to go to the Super’s retirement do.
Dario, on the other hand, is confident, and he strides into the pub. We’re about to go downstairs to the Pablo room when someone calls my name.
I turn to see Gil Peterson sitting on a stool at the bar.
I’ve known Gil since we were both involved in a case; that of an abused child.
It was one of the worst experiences of my life as a police officer, and it tore us all apart for several months.
Dr Joanna Neal, Gil and I, along with several other officers, attended the funeral.
I remember Joanna Neal being inconsolable at the time.
‘Wow, look at you, Miss Glam,’ Gil says admiringly.
‘It’s not that fancy,’ I say, playing it down. ‘It’s a retirement do, so I thought I should make an effort.’
‘Ooh, room for a promotion?’ she asks. She’s all dolled up, a glass of red wine clasped in her hand.
‘You’re the glam one,’ I say.
‘Hot date, darling. If he turns up. Half of them don’t.’
‘Not another Tinder, I hope,’ I say.
‘Yep.’
‘Text me if he turns up and say where you’re going. If I don’t hear from you after an hour, I’ll phone.’
‘A bit dramatic, don’t you think? You’re worse than Jo.’
‘Not these days. Anyway, if he doesn't turn up, join us downstairs in the Pablo room.’
‘Thanks, I might do that.’ She nods towards Dario, who is waiting for me. ‘I don’t suppose he’s on Tinder?’
‘Not his scene. Hope the hot date turns up.’
The Pablo room is buzzing. Prosecco bottles are being popped open, and hors d'oeuvres are being placed on a long table.
‘Prosecco?’ asks Dario. I nod. Then I force myself to mingle, saying hi to my colleagues and introducing myself to new acquaintances. Those who know me ask where Geoff is. That soon becomes tiring, so when Gil walks in, I’m relieved.
‘Bugger didn’t turn up,’ she says. ‘Don’t know why I’m not surprised.’
We sit with bowls of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of Prosecco and get slightly tipsy. Gil flirts unashamedly with Dario and keeps trying to push Prosecco onto him.
‘I’m driving,’ he tells her. Then, ‘Can’t you tell her I’m gay?’ he whispers to me.
‘Well, that would be lying, wouldn’t it? I don’t think that will stop her, anyway,’ I say, and laugh.
The Prosecco is making me light-headed, and I grab some sausage rolls from the food table. When I return, I hear a ringtone.
‘Is that your phone?’ I ask.
Gil dives into her bag. ‘Perhaps it’s Mr Tinder,’ she says, then giggles. She seems to recognise the voice and laughs, saying, ‘Hello, Mr Romantic.’
‘Mr Tinder,’ I say, and smile at Dario.
‘No, we parted ways after our swim. Why?’ says Gil, her expression changing. ‘Just after five, I reckon. Why, Danny?’
She stands up and excuses herself. I immediately sense something is wrong, but I don’t like to ask what. She returns looking worried, and I ask her if everything is okay. She forces a smile and finishes the remains of her glass. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she says.
Some time later, she makes a call and says she has to go.
‘Be careful,’ I say. ‘Text me later.’
She says she will, but she never does.