Page 42 of Reinventing Cato
“No. I’m not anxious. I’m not having nightmares or flashbacks. Fortunately, we were able to apprehend Mason without anyone sustaining an injury.” Even Mason.
“Even the suspect,” she said, echoing his thoughts. “DC Davies isn’t back at work yet.”
“He’s a young officer. Newly married. It was his first encounter with someone who was armed, let alone someone who discharged his weapon.”
“And not your first.”
“No.”
“How do you feel about the increased use of weapons by criminals?”
How do you think I feel?“The police have always been attacked. It’s unfortunate that machetes, baseball bats, crowbars, knives and firearms have replaced fists.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“I feel disappointed. But resigned. The world’s changed. The growing violence against police officers has caused friction in the force. We have a mix of those who are prepared to get stuck in and those who’d rather stand aside and let the suspect go.”
“And you’re on the former side?”
“If we don’t step in when we see crimes being committed, we’re not doing the job we’re being paid for. But a solitary officer, faced with a gun, shouldn’t step in. They should call for back up and wait, even if it means the suspect gets away.”
“Is that what you’d do?”
“I do what I think best at the time. Weigh risk and reward.”
By the time she let him go, his shift was over. Not that he was leaving yet. He logged onto Athena, read all that had been added that day—no skewers in the kitchen—and made notes on what he wanted to be looked at tomorrow.
When he finally walked out to his car, he hesitated. Cambridge was only twenty miles away.Risk and reward.Even as he drove there, he told himself he was being stupid. Cato would likely slam the door in his face. But at least, he’d have tried.
The door slamming didn’t happen because Cato didn’t appear at the door of the terraced house on Selwyn Road. It was opened by a muscular young guy whose blond hair was tied back in a ponytail.
“Is Cato in?”
“He’s at a rehearsal.” The guy started to close the door again, but Vigge put his hand against it.
“Where?”
“West Road.”
This time, Vigge let the door close. He walked a little way up the road and googled. He might as well leave his car where it was. The chances of finding a place on West Road, closer to town, were small.
As he picked his way along the icy pavement, he questioned the sense in what he was doing, but didn’t turn back. He didn’t want a night to go by without having apologised.
Vigge didn’t make a habit of using his warrant card to get into places when not on police business, but stopped by a security guard, he pulled out his ID.
“You’re not going to interrupt them, are you?” the guard asked. “The conductor will be furious.”
“No. I’ll wait until they’re done.”
Vigge slipped inside the auditorium and sat at the back looking down onto the stage. He saw Cato straight away, wearing a tight black T-shirt and equally tight black trousers, standing close to the conductor. Vigge swallowed hard. Cato was playing the solo in the winter movement of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and as Vigge listened, he felt as if his world had suddenly shrunk. All he could see and hear was Cato. Dazzling, passionate, energetic…so beautiful. Goose bumps raced down his limbs and his throat closed up. Vigge had to keep swallowing.
I’m lost.The sound was heart-achingly pure. It was a good violin, but he suspected Cato could pull magic out of a lesser one. As the end of the piece neared, the speed of Cato’s bowing made Vigge’s heart race. Winter was the hardest movement of the four because of the key it was in and the crazy fast speed at the end. Cato wasn’t slurring the runs but playing the notes separately. Vigge had never attempted to do that. When the music ended, the orchestra applauded Cato, and Vigge almost joined in.
“Passable,” said the conductor as the clapping died away.
What?Vigge glared but Cato grinned.
