Buried-6 by Mark Billingham Read Free Book Online Page B

bunk.’
    Hendricks didn’t appear to find that crack quite so funny. He lifted his feet up on to the seat of his chair, wrapped his hands around his ankles.
    ‘Maybe he just needs a bit of space to cool off,’ Thorne said.
    ‘I was the one doing most of the shouting.’ When Hendricks sighed the breath hung in front of his face. ‘He stayed pretty calm a lot of the time.’
    ‘Maybe a day or two apart isn’t such a bad idea, you know?’
    Hendricks looked like he thought it was just about the worst idea anyone had ever come up with. ‘He took a lot of his stuff. Said he’s coming back for the rest tomorrow.’
    In recent months, the couple had been living at Hendricks’ place in Islington, but Brendan had kept his own flat. ‘So he’s got somewhere to fuck off back to when we split up,’
    Hendricks had joked once.
    Up to this point it had al been about the fact of the argument, the ferocity and finality of it. Hendricks remained adamant that it had been terminal, yet did not seem particularly keen to talk about what had triggered the fight in the first place.
    Thorne asked the question, then immediately wished he hadn’t when he watched his friend turn his head away and lie to him.
    ‘I can’t even remember, to be honest, but I can tel you it was nothing important. It never real y is, is it? You end up fal ing out over the stupidest things.’
    ‘Right . . .’
    ‘I think it’s probably been brewing for a few weeks. We’re both stressed at work, you know?’
    Though Thorne guessed there was stil something he wasn’t being told, he knew that Hendricks was probably right about the stress. He’d seen what the work could take out of Hendricks on any number of occasions, and knew that his partner’s job was far from being a walk in the park, either. Brendan Maxwel worked for the London Lift, an organisation that provided much-needed services for the city’s homeless. Thorne had got to know him wel during his investigations into the rough-sleeper kil ings the year before.
    Thorne looked at his watch. ‘What time did we order that pizza?’
    ‘I’m not going to do much better, am I?’ Hendricks stood up and leaned back against the wal next to the kitchen door. ‘Better than Brendan, I mean.’
    ‘Come on, Phil . . .’

    ‘I’m not, though. There’s no point kidding myself. I’m just trying to be realistic, that’s al .’
    ‘I give it a fortnight,’ Thorne said. ‘A tenner says you’ve got a new piercing within two weeks. You up for it?’ This was one of their jokes: that Hendricks commemorated each new boyfriend with a piercing. A unique, if painful way of putting notches on his bedpost. It had been a running joke, until Brendan had come along.
    ‘It’s just the thought of being single again.’
    ‘You aren’t single yet.’
    ‘Back on the scene. How depressing is that?’
    ‘It’s not going to happen, I’m tel ing you.’
    ‘We were so grateful that we’d saved each other from that, you know? That we’d found each other. Fuck.’
    Thorne watched Hendricks repeatedly drive the heel of his biker boot into the brick behind him. He saw the tears come again. It suddenly seemed like al he’d done that day was watch people trying, and failing, not to cry.
    The powerful hit of relief he felt when he heard the phone ringing in the kitchen was quickly cancel ed out by an equal y strong pang of shame. He wondered if he should let it ring; what Hendricks would think of him if he got up and answered it; how much longer whoever was cal ing would bother hanging on.
    When Hendricks gestured towards the kitchen, Thorne shrugged a what-can-you-do? and hurried inside.
    There must have been something in his voice when he picked up.
    ‘Not a good time?’ Brigstocke asked.
    Thorne’s answer might have sounded vague, but was about as honest as he could be. ‘Yes and no.’
    ‘I just wanted to see how life on the Kidnap Unit was treating you.’
    Thorne took the phone through to the living room.