Chapter 42
In Church Street, Liverpool’s pedestrianised centre, he dodged oncomers and negotiated his way across to Marks and Spencer. Lizzie’s birthday was fast approaching and he needed to do a recce before he committed himself.
At the doors, he bumped into a man who was leaving. Apologising, he stepped back but the man simply kept advancing upon him. “Thurstan! Bloody hell! Long-time no see. How you doing?”
“Good grief! George! I’m fine. How the hell are you? You’re right, it has been a long time. What’re you doing these days?” They stepped back and away from the exits.
“I’m doing ok. CID still, in the city. A year to go. You still in MIT?”
“Yeah. Enjoying it, though it can be stressful at times.”
“You don't need to tell me about that. I know only too well. That's why I jacked in the squad work. I’d had enough. Didn’t want to be involved in the big stuff anymore." Thurstan settled in for a long chat. George had always enjoyed a good natter. "Twisted ten-year-olds stealing and killing a little innocent. That did it for me. Still haunts me to this day. Nope, I’m happy dealing with your bog-standard domestic murder or suspicious circs. Had one the other day, actually. Body discovered at the foot of some steps. Broken neck. Turns out he tripped over his undone shoelace. Pissed as a fart. The only strange thing about it was he’d been abusing his own daughter years ago. Five she was. Found in a river. It seems the evidence would have been useable had the investigation been done properly but it was a cock-up from start to finish. He did one down here to get away from the press. Hey, I suppose it’s karma. The best thing about it was it was all done and dusted within days.”
A nerve jangled somewhere within Thurstan. “When was this, George?”
“Oh, nearly two weeks ago, now. Anyway, seen you on the telly a few times.”
“Yeah? The interviews? That’s the downside of the job.”
“Still, I loved your put down with that annoying gobshite from Granada Distorts. Axe to grind or what?”
Thurstan laughed. “Oh, yeah. I shouldn’t have really but he was starting to annoy me.”
“Listen, I can’t stop. I’m meeting the wife on Castle Street, we’re having lunch. I just nipped in to get her birthday present.”
“Nice to see you, George. Feel free to pop in whenever you’re in Fantasy Island.” They shook hands firmly. As he entered the store it felt like a shadow was stalking him.
Twenty minutes later, he stepped out onto the street with his crisp new carrier bag. He wasn’t sure what had happened but a sense of achievement made up for it. A quick check of his watch; he had time to spare. He wandered down to Holy Corner, grabbed himself a tea in a plastic cup from the vendor and stood in the sun.
People watching, interesting stuff. As he sipped away, he started by guessing local or visitor then progressed to where they lived in the city and what their life was probably like.
She hadn’t seen him. He couldn’t help but notice her. Short cut, almost white hair, attractive, light grey pencil skirt, crisp white blouse and a sense of elegance he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The Chief’s secretary, in discussion with an older man, late 60s, dark suit, open-necked white shirt. His hair thinning but brushed forward in an effort to disguise the fact, teeth with a hint of prominence as he spoke and smiled. Thurstan decided he was probably a solicitor. Romantic assignation? No, definitely not, but it was friendly. More than a passing acquaintance. Neither seemed in a rush so probably not a chance meeting. They walked up Whitechapel towards the Metquarter, Thurstan admiring the slight flick of her hip as she walked.
He checked his wrist. Time to get back.