“I booked three, so I paid for three. See you later.” Fowler made a sharp exit. Joel stared at the closed door for a while and then walked over and banged his head on it, hard.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

A WEEK LATER, AARON was still feeling like a bloody idiot in his spare time. It could be his new hobby.

He just suggested a pint, you could have gone was circling round in his brain, with He all but suggested going to your place and Yes, he did, he wanted to and Job, career, reputation hot on its heels. The only thing that shut the parade down briefly was Wait till the results. He’d never cared more about the results of an examination. He’d rarely cared more about the results of a case.

Which was stupid. Suppose numbers three or seven turned out to be the culprit and the graphologist was vindicated: that wouldn’t make it safe for him to take Joel Wildsmith out to dinner, with his reckless smile, his sharp tongue, his gloriously scowling eyebrows, the indomitable, endlessly belligerent attitude and the vulnerability it hid. Because he had a conviction for indecent behaviour to go along with those things, and a decided problem with the police, and of all the men on whom Aaron might risk his career, his life—

All what men? There weren’t any. He’d made bloody sure there weren’t since he’d joined CID: at that point, illegal fumbles in dark streets or back rooms were far too weighted with catastrophic consequences. He’d experienced the humiliation of exposure at school, when Paul had caught him with another boy and made sure everyone heard about it. That had been bad enough; a CID sergeant arrested for indecency would be all over the papers. It would be career-ending.

Career-ending. The thought sat in his stomach like suet pudding, with a whole lot of other thoughts floating around it. Maybe you oughtn’t be a policeman if you can’t obey the law was one, and also Why did you do all this if you’re going to throw it away?, and of course the throbbing, unexamined question that was always at the back of his mind, which he never looked at because if you didn’t look, it might not be that bad.

You wouldn’t have to get caught, a little voice wheedled. A meal with a friend at a little place in Lisson Grove? Who’s to know if he comes back to your flat after?

Joel Wildsmith would know, that was who. And if he was indeed a fraud, a sufficiently clever one, it was entirely possible the approaches were aimed at trapping Aaron into a position where he couldn’t denounce the fellow.