The Trail Killer

Eighteen

Bridcutt was just stepping out of the bathtub after a post-work shower when the doorbell rang. The installation of even the most rudimentary of intercom systems being an alien concept to his landlord, he was forced to hurriedly wrap a towel around his mid-rift and expose his still dripping flesh to the cool evening air as he thrust open the living room window. After leaning himself out as far as he could stretch, he veered his gaze downwards to the ground floor entrance next to the butcher's shop. All to no avail it seemed: whoever it was who'd pressed the buzzer had quickly lost patience, stepped back away.

The street was still strewn with puddles from the heavy rain earlier in the day, a series of curved asymmetrical mirrors reflecting the fading daylight. It was then that he noticed the figure scuttling back over to the opposite pavement further along, her blonde hair bouncing as she hopped up onto the curb.

"Sergeant!"

Pausing, the figure turned her gaze up to him. "You don't need to call me that anymore," she shouted back. "I'm just plain old Diane Shields now."

Bridcutt nodded sadly. "Was just in the shower," he called.

"You decent?"

"Sort of."

Though a little ambiguous, the answer seemed to suffice. Swerving her neck on the look-out for passing vehicles, she began stepping back across the road through the puddles.

"Be straight down," he promised before swinging the window back closed.

And thus a few moments later he bounded down the stairs in his slippers, tracksuit bottoms and the first scruffy t-shirt he'd come across in his bedroom. Not an ideal fashion combination for a surprise visit by the woman he was so hopelessly smitten with, no, but it would just have to suffice.

Given the circumstances, the smirk which awaited him upon shuddering open the door seemed incongruous.

"You sure it's you? Never seen you with your hair all flattened down like that."

Yes, this too. If only he'd had five minutes warning to set to work with the dryer and hair spray.

She also looked different to normal. It was the first time he'd ever seen in something different to the knee-length skirts, blouses and shoulder-padded jackets she'd always worn on duty, he realised. Jeans and a slightly shabby-looking sweater was a good look. But then, practically anything would be a good look on Diane Shields.

It wasn't just the clothing which had changed, but those more subtle and less tangible aspects too. The face which gazed back at him was a touch more worn and dishevelled, like the last week had aged her a year. She'd gained a pound or two in weight, it seemed; too much chocolate over the Easter weekend, no doubt. Too much sitting around. Hoping, worrying, praying. The faint whiff of wine which he could detect on her breath came as little surprise.

"When I heard the news this morning," he began, "I was... I mean, it...it was..."

She offered him a smile, let him know he didn't need to find whatever words they were he was looking for.

"It's okay, really. I'm not here for commiserations, constable."

To which he found himself echoing her own comment from moments earlier.

"You don't need to call me that anymore. I'm just plain old Jonah Bridcutt now."

"Well plain old Jonah Bridcutt, you going to invite this girl in or do I have to stand out here freezing to bloody death?"

Given the tightness of the stairwell, it was inevitable that as he stepped aside to let her through their upper bodies should brush against each other. A fleeting second, that was all, but enough to feel a delicious tingle in his soul. Was it so very wrong of him to study that pert backside of hers as he followed her up the stairs? So terribly despicable to hope that her unexpected visit might lead to something? That somehow - even on such bleak day for her personally - the 'moment' she'd talked about the previous Thursday evening had at last arrived? After all, there were no professional considerations to thwart them anymore. No rank subordination to divide them. No sergeant, no constable. Just two single adults who had a thing for each other, as simple as that.