Page 94 of Twisted Lies
‘White with one sugar please,’ Frost said, and then smiled ruefully. ‘How strange that only the other day I said it’d be nice to chat over coffee some time. I’m still not sure of your motives for—’
‘Frost,’ Kim said, turning towards her. ‘Was there a time when you had my entire childhood history in a file in the boot of your car, which you chose to return to me unread?’
Frost nodded before taking a sip of the coffee Kim had slid towards her.
‘Well, let’s just leave it at that then, eh?’
Kim grabbed her coffee and opened the door to the garage.
‘Ooh, what’s in there?’ Frost asked, following her, cupping her own drink.
Kim stood aside.
‘Oh,’ Frost said, spying the bike parts on the king-size sheet. Kim didn’t mind the disappointed reaction. Few people saw the beauty in bike parts that she did.
‘It’s just rubbish.’
But she drew the line at that.
‘Frost, shut your mouth and go back to the—’
‘I mean, what exactly is it?’ Frost asked, ignoring her instruction and walking around the sheet.
‘It’s the beginning of the restoration of a Vincent Black Shadow.’
‘And that’s what you do to relax, restore old bikes?’
‘Yep,’ Kim said, lowering herself to the ground. There was no point in switching on the iPod if Frost wasn’t going to bugger off.
‘Why?’
Kim thought about all the reasons she did it. The fact that the process took her back to the happiest three years of her life, when she’d spent hours with her foster father, Keith, while Erica had cooked in the next room, listening to her collection of classical music.
She thought about the fact that the finished product, when auctioned, paid anonymously for the communication equipment for a teenage girl with muscular dystrophy.
‘It helps me think,’ she answered, choosing to share none of these reasons with Frost.
‘So you gonna leave the angry bear to sleep now or what?’ Kim asked, steering the conversation away from herself. If Morley’s cronies were behind the ransacking of her home, that was her second warning.
‘Am I bollocks!’ Frost said, leaning against the countertop. ‘There’s no point starting a bun fight if you don’t bake enough dough.’
Kim raised an eyebrow at the analogy.
‘Tomorrow’s article is about the trial, for the good it will do.’
‘I’ve read your articles,’ Kim admitted. ‘They’re not bad, and you’ve certainly put the name of Trisha Morley on more people’s lips.’
‘It’s not enough,’ Frost said, pacing the room.
‘What exactly are you hoping for?’
‘A conviction. I want him to pay for what he’s done.’
‘Careful, Frost, you’re talking like an investigator,’ Kim warned. ‘It’s what we all want. The idea of that bastard walking free sickens every officer who came into contact with him or the case. You’ve done more than anyone outside of the force. You’ve given the victim an identity,’ Kim said. ‘And you’ve paid personally for it.’
Frost shrugged away her words. ‘But I still know that regardless of anything I’ve written, the bastard is going to get away with it.’
‘You can’t be sure of—’
