Page 169 of Crocodile Tears

“Immediate transfer, huh?”

“Probably the last time I’ll be able to cash in my ‘hero of Rosengarten’ chips.” He shrugged. “I’ve always liked the idea of being a cop. I enjoy finding things out, asking questions, investigating.”

“Yeah. You’ll be good at it, too. I’ll be sorry to see you go, though, Joe, and not just because of us. You’re the best sergeant I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you.” He shot him a grateful smile. “I wouldn’t enjoy sneaking around, creeping into your bed at night. I wouldn’t like to hide something like this from the unit – that would be wrong.”

“Yes, of course.” Peter sighed. “It would be quite wrong for you. I should have realised that. I’m a dick.”

“Nah. You’re just used to getting your own way all the time.” Josiah grinned. “But, see, you’ve been calling all the shots in this relationship, and that’s not going to work long-term. So, I thought of a different way.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. Then he stood there, uncertain, suddenly feeling shy.

Peter stared at him. “Are you breaking up with me, Joe?”

“No.” He shook his head vehemently. “Kind of the opposite. Um… I think this is traditional… I’m, uh… not sure how it’s done. To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it, but this feels right.”

He went down on one knee and opened the folded handkerchief to reveal the plain gold ring inside. “It’s nothing fancy. In fact, it’s probably about the cheapest gold ring there is – it’s?—”

“Your father’s wedding ring. I recognise it.” Peter was standing very still, gazing down at him.

“Yeah – he didn’t have much – this was probably the only thing of value he owned. When he died, he gave it to me. He said he wanted me to give it to someone I loved one day, and… well, that’s what I’m doing. Look, I’m not one of those guys who likes to play around. I’m nothing special, but I promise I’ll be loyal, and you’ll have my love forever.”

“Forever?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “That’s a long time.”

“Don’t dick around with me,” Josiah growled.

“I’m not. I know how special this ring is to you, Joe. Are you sure you can bear to give it away?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “It is special to me, which is how you know I’m serious, because I wouldn’t give it to just anyone. So, will you marry me, Peter Hunt? Doesn’t have to be now, or anytime soon, but will you, one day?”

He held his breath as Peter gazed down on the ring. Little rivulets of water ran down Peter’s forehead from his wet hair and dripped onto him. The moment seemed to drag on forever.

“Maybe it’s too soon?” Josiah said uncertainly, to fill the silence. “Sorry, I’ve been an idiot. I just thought?—”

“Shut up.” Peter took the ring from the handkerchief and slid it onto his finger. “Yes, of course I’ll bloody well marry you, Joe, and yes, you are an idiot. Now get up – I want to kiss my fiancé.”

The memory worked its usual magic, and Josiah drifted off. He slept for a couple of hours, until the old, familiar dream returned.

Once again, he was walking towards the red car, carrying five cups of warm tea, humming cheerfully as he crossed the street.

All of a sudden, the sound of a piercing scream ripped through the air. Then he saw the bright splash of red blood spattering the windscreen of Peter’s car.

His arms jerked upwards, throwing the tray into the air, and the cups went flying in a slow, graceful arc. He didn’t see where they fell, because he was running as fast as he could towards the car.

Ripping open the door, he found Peter staring at him with an expression of surprise on his face and blood gushing from a deep wound in his neck. Josiah covered it with his hands, trying to stem the tide, but it kept on coming, pumping out in a crimson flood, stealing Peter’s life away.

He woke up covered in sweat, his heart pounding, his hands still feeling sticky with blood. He wiped them, pointlessly, on the bed sheets, knowing that was ridiculous.

He tried to force the memory away, shoving it back into the box he had crammed it into seven years ago. How had it escaped? Why was it tormenting him like this now? It seemed to be deliberately taunting him:You couldn’t keep him safe. Your love wasn’t enough. You couldn’t protect him. You failed him.

He ran for the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. His head pounding, he opened the bathroom cabinet and found some painkillers, swallowing them whole. But when he closed the cabinet door, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and was shocked.

He didn’t look human. There were dark shadows sunk deep under his eyes, and his skin had an icy pallor. He was so pale that the purple bruise on his jaw stood out in stark contrast. His hair looked like a mess of tousled straw, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot: he looked deranged.

“Two nights without sleep will do that,”Peter’s voice murmured in his ear.“You’re running on empty, Joe. Falling apart.”

“Shut up.” He gripped the bathroom sink tightly. Was that even Peter’s voice? It sounded taunting, mean, and Peter had been neither of those things.

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