Page 19 of Deadly Cry
Barney ran into the kitchen and returned with the carcass of a stuffed toy he’d ripped open and gutted a couple of days earlier. The scraggy piece of material was now his new best friend.
‘Give it here,’ she said, tugging on what might have been a tail or an ear.
He pulled back, wagging his tail, his eyes bright and alive.
‘Mine,’ she said, feeling the stresses of the day lift as she played tug-of-war with the dog.
After a few minutes, he dropped the toy and nestled into her body.
‘Aah, this is what you want, eh?’ she asked, scratching at the skin beneath the dense fur.
‘Time for Aunty Dawn to come get you, my boy.’
Barney had developed a tolerance for the groomer. She came and collected him at the end of the day to keep him separate from her other clients.
He nuzzled Kim and looked up at the counter top. The place she always deposited his leash.
‘Okay, boy, let’s get the coffee on first,’ she said, getting to her feet. She opened the back door in case he was desperate to pee.
He knew the routine. Coffee pot went on before their late-night walk, whatever the time.
Sleep experts would be shaking their heads at her right now. She knew that counting down the hours until she was back at work did her no good. Neither did making a fresh pot of coffee before bed or taking a brisk walk with her dog around midnight, but she’d tried it their way and that hadn’t worked for her either. The relaxation tapes had annoyed the hell out of her, and sleep hygiene was a set of rules she just couldn’t follow.
Only one thing had the power to fully relax her, she thought, opening the door that led from the kitchen to the garage.
The last motorcycle she’d restored had been sold a week ago to a Japanese collector. The money she’d received was already in the account of Enterprise Electronics, ready to update the communication equipment used by Lucy Payne, a smart, courageous teenager with muscular dystrophy she’d met during one of the team’s first big cases. The girl and her father didn’t know the source of the anonymous donations, and that was fine by her.
But the working area of her garage was now empty. Her tools were clean, tidy and in their rightful place. A thin layer of dust covered the iPod full of classical music, and she’d never seen anything so depressing in her life.
She closed the door, stepped back into the kitchen and took out her phone.
The call was answered on the fourth ring by a voice thick with sleep.
‘What the fuck?…’
‘You got that frame for me yet, Dobbie?’ she asked. He was the local scrap merchant and the provider of many of her bike frames.
‘Fuck me. Do yer know what fucking time it is?’
‘Yeah, but I’m your best customer. So, have you got it yet?’
She’d asked him to source the frame for a Vincent Black Shadow, which she planned to rebuild from scratch.
‘Bloody hell. This is police harassment, yer know.’
‘Not yet but it could be. So…’
‘They’re like rockin’ horse shit, but I might have summat for yer tomorra. I’ll shout yer some time reasonable.’
‘Three hundred quid, right?’ she said, confirming the price they’d agreed.
‘Yeah, yeah, now f—’
Kim ended the call before he could swear at her again.
She smiled hopefully as she reached for Barney’s leash. Having a restoration project kept her sane. It kept her occupied. It channelled her thoughts. It was where she directed her stress at the end of the day. It helped keep her bad temper and natural aggression at bay.
She hoped Dobbie came through for her soon.
