White Rage by Campbell Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page B

make sure your socks match. You look like a kid who’s become separated from his mum in a big department store.’
    â€˜Miriam, I’m a fifty-something cop, and I’m staring down the barrel of retirement.’
    â€˜Quit making yourself sound like an old man, Lou.’
    â€˜You know what lies in wait for me? A pension. Walks in the park, probably in the company of some loyal wee schmuck of a dog. I’ll spend some of my endless spare time wondering what my life really amounted to, did I achieve anything, did it go the way I thought it might, all the big searching questions, et cetera. Who knows? Maybe I’ll gorge myself on Viagra and trawl senior citizens’ bingo clubs in search of casual sex.’
    â€˜Funny man. I don’t see you doing any such thing.’
    â€˜So help me out. What will I be doing? Look into your crystal ball.’
    â€˜I see clouds,’ she said.
    â€˜Heavy or passing?’
    â€˜Hard to say.’
    He moved his weight, shifted his feet. He was uncomfortable whenever he talked about himself. He gazed past her, unable to hold her eye for long, as if he might give too much of himself away. The headstones reminded him that life was a mercilessly brief business altogether, and if you didn’t reach for the prize when you had the chance, you woke up one day and you were out of time. He heard sands whispering through the glass, demented clocks ticking. I left it too long, but how could I have done it any other way? Cowardly of you, Lou. You’ve faced down some vile criminals in your time, but you can’t confront the notion of saying aloud what’s inside you.
    Then it occurred to him that maybe Miriam didn’t know what he felt, that he’d been mistaken in assuming she did. Perhaps he fell into that sad category of a man who wants to be the lover, but is destined for ever to be the best friend.
    There’s an epitaph: His love was never noticed .
    Should he have made a pass at her, chanced his arm? A different kind of man might have done that. Not you, Lou. You’re too courteous for your own good, old-fashioned in matters of the heart. Was it out of a weird respect for your dead brother that you didn’t tell this woman, once and for all and beyond any doubt, what you felt for her, what you’ve felt for many long dry years?
    Miriam folded her arms against her breasts, and moved slowly away. He followed her. A slight glumness had descended on him. He was delighted to be with her, but what had possessed him to rabbit on in such an inane way about life and retirement – and Viagra, of all things? If you were trying to make yourself seem an attractive proposition, or even a promising one, you really fucked up the sales job, shlub .
    Try another tack. ‘Have you got time for afternoon tea?’
    â€˜I’d like that.’
    â€˜The Willow is nice.’
    â€˜I love the Willow. I haven’t been there in ages.’
    Uplifted suddenly, he was suffused with warmth; tea with Miriam, cakes on doilies, genteel sandwiches, cream and scones. Miriam facing him across the table, those chocolate-dark eyes of hers suggesting wild encounters where you adventured beyond the boundaries of your shy staid self.
    His mobile phone rang. The sound startled him. He took the device from his coat pocket with a gesture of irritation.
    It was Sandy Scullion. ‘We’ve got a situation, Lou.’
    â€˜Don’t tell me. The fish pie is off the menu.’
    â€˜There’s no menu. You better come in. Fast.’
    Perlman shut his mobile off and looked at Miriam with an expression of annoyance. ‘Shite. I’m sorry…’
    â€˜A policeman’s lot,’ she said. ‘Call me. By the way, that cloud in the crystal ball?’
    â€˜Aye?’
    â€˜It may pass.’

7
    In the back of his plum-coloured chauffeur-driven Mercedes, Nat Blum sat with his briefcase on his lap. He was conscious of Kilroy’s