Perfect Kill. Helen Fields

and Interpol, only now I’ve been sent back. It wasn’t my choice. I’m not trying to punish you. This just isn’t where I want to be.’

      ‘So you just what … rose above it all?’ Slamming a foot on the brake pedal, Jean-Paul pulled the car roughly in towards the pavement. ‘You’ve decided to forgive me? I guess you expect me to thank you for that. God, you’re unbelievable. Do you ever fuck up? It took about ten minutes after you were back at Interpol to have every woman in the place fawning over you. Did you know they’ve found photos of you on the internet from when you were modelling? And the false rape allegation has just made you even more of a hero. All you went through, and you’ve come back stronger than ever, and now twice as magnanimous. Do you need to sleep or are you actually superhuman?’

      Callanach knew what women thought of him. His looks were as much a curse as a blessing. Dark hair that curled as soon as it grew more than a couple of centimetres, olive skin that tanned with the slightest hint of sunshine, and a smile that could persuade women to do almost anything he wanted. Not that he wanted anything from women any more.

      ‘What’s going on with you? You were never like this, Jean-Paul. As for the way I’m being treated within Interpol, I haven’t noticed anyone paying me any attention. A lot of the faces have changed from a couple of years ago. I just want to be left alone to get on with my job. I didn’t ask to be partnered with you on this.’

      ‘No, you didn’t. I asked to head up the investigation when I realised you were being assigned to it as Scottish liaison officer. I thought that maybe we could reconnect, put the past behind us. I don’t know what I was expecting, Luc. Anger maybe, some bitterness. I was hoping I could help you through the transition to living in France again …’

      ‘I’m not living in France again,’ Callanach said. ‘I’m visiting.’

      ‘You’re not visiting. It’s as if you’re not here at all. I knew you better than anyone, but I don’t know the man you’ve turned into. It’s like you’re a ghost. You don’t talk to anyone. You sit silently in meetings. You work, go to the gym and disappear off to wherever you’re staying. If you want to punish all your old friends then go ahead, but did you ever stop to think that we suffered too?’

      ‘How you suffered? Is that a joke?’

      ‘Yeah, that’s right. It was hilarious being the best friend of the guy awaiting trial on a rape charge. No one knew what to say to me. Half the squad stopped talking to me altogether. Astrid told everyone that I’d introduced you to her, and made it sound as if I set the whole situation up. And you just disappeared. You wouldn’t take any calls, you refused visitors …’

      ‘You were a potential witness. My lawyer told me not to see you under any circumstances.’

      ‘Luc, I was your best friend. You didn’t rape that woman any more than I did, and I knew it. You just never gave me a chance to say those words to you,’ Jean-Paul shouted.

      ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have been more thoughtful when I was facing the prospect of spending fifteen years behind bars, then living with the label of sex offender and doing casual labour because my career had been stolen from me. It was a lot to deal with,’ Callanach replied quietly.

      ‘Even now you can’t see it from anyone’s perspective but your own, can you?’

      Callanach stared at him, arms folded, one side of his mouth twisted up, half smile, half grimace. ‘Well, now you’ve said everything you wanted to. I’ve heard your side of the story. And I’m not superhuman, I’m just doing my job. As for women paying me attention, I think you’re a lot more interested in that than I am. Maybe you need to figure out why that is. You always did hate the way women reacted to me. At least you’re finally being honest about it. But I’m here to work, and that’s all. I want to find Malcolm Reilly’s killer, close down this human trafficking case and go home. No drama, no conflict, no amateur psychotherapy, and – in the unlikely event that anyone does ask if I’m single and available – the answer is no. I’m committed elsewhere. Now, I’m pretty sure we were headed towards a crime scene, so let’s go.’

       Chapter Four

      Detective Chief Inspector Ava Turner’s first thought of the morning was that sex was simpler at the anticipatory stage than in the ramifications phase. Staring at the shoulders of the man asleep next to her, her second was to wonder how he ever found shirts to fit. He awoke, stretched, sighed heavily and ran one hand through his long hair before rolling over to greet her with a wide smile.

      ‘Tell me it isn’t time to get up yet,’ he said. ‘I need at least another twelve hours with you before I’m prepared to let you out of bed.’

      ‘That’s nice,’ she said, sitting up and wrapping his discarded shirt around herself until she located something more appropriate. ‘But I have to get to the station and I’m no good with early morning company, so if you could …’

      ‘Get out?’ DI Pax Graham asked. ‘Ava, we both knew this was going to be complicated when we came back here last night, so let’s go easy on one another. I’ve got no intention of making this difficult for you at work. I’m not the enemy. Far from it. All I want is to make this happen between us, on whatever terms you can deal with.’ He reached out and took her fingers in his hand, stroking her palm gently with his thumb.

      Fuck, Ava thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and one more for good luck. She was such an idiot. Sleeping with an officer under her command was stupid enough, but choosing one who seemed to genuinely care for her was a recipe for disaster. And that was before she pulled back the psychological curtain to take a look at her motivation.

      ‘This was a mistake,’ Ava said, voice soft, face as neutral as she could make it. ‘My mistake, not yours. I’m really sorry. It was a combination of having some downtime and too much beer – not that I needed to be drunk to sleep with you. I’ve been out of a relationship a long time, and I suppose I got lonely.’

      That wasn’t the truth and she knew it, but the lie was easier.

      ‘You know, you’re allowed to be lonely.’ He sat up, showing off the sort of chest an MMA fighter would be proud of, and leaned over to kiss her bare shoulder. ‘Being a detective chief inspector doesn’t mean your feelings have to get shoved into some lesser status. Also, if I leave now I won’t be able to impress you with my bacon sandwiches.’

      ‘Could I maybe take a raincheck on the bacon?’ Ava asked. ‘Not that it doesn’t sound good …’ Her mobile ringtone burst through the excuse session. She grabbed it and stood, pulling the shirt fully closed, hating her self-consciousness in the cold light of day. Opening a drawer with her free hand she rummaged for underwear and socks as she answered. ‘Turner.’

      ‘Ma’am,’ Detective Sergeant Tripp said. ‘We’ve got a dead body, single gunshot wound to the head. Deceased is a Caucasian male believed to be in his sixties.’

      ‘Where?’ Ava asked, perching on the edge of her bed to pull on knickers, as she motioned at Graham to keep quiet.

      ‘Dumbryden Gardens, Wester Hailes. The crime scene examiner’s already there. The deputy pathologist’s on his way, as Dr Lambert is away on a lecture tour this month. Uniforms have sealed off the roads locally. Can you come, only I’ve tried DI Graham, but it’s his day off and he’s not answering his phone?’

      Ava walked around the bed, picked up Graham’s jeans, reached in the pocket for his mobile and tossed it onto the bed next to him.

      ‘Try his mobile again. He was probably sleeping. It’s only …’ She checked the bedside clock. ‘God, I overslept, how is it eight thirty? I’ll be with you in half an hour. Ask DI Graham to meet me there and keep the scene secure. It’s not the easiest of patches on a good day.’ She ended the call. ‘Your phone was off. Tripp’s about to call you. We need to go in separate cars.’

      ‘Can you drop me back to mine