Baby Love Read Online Free Page A

Prisoner Beck during the four months Maxine had kept Her Majesty happy. None of it was fan mail, most of it was threatening. Indeed, if Bev’s memory served
her right, Maxine’s last written words had included the phrases: see you, my dead body, over. That had been getting on for five years back and since then, as far as the police were concerned, Maxine had kept her fingers to herself. Even so, Bev did
not anticipate a warm reception at the Beck residence.
    “Took your time, didn’t you?” Les King’s thick Brummie drawl dribbled contempt. And that was before Bev was over the threshold. Not that she could get over. King’s lard-arse was still spread across the
step.
    “Congratulations, Les.” Bev’s tight smile was dangerous. Taking lip from a lazy incompetent git she could do without. The git looked like she’d told him to split the atom. “The sergeant’s exam?” she asked
pleasantly. As if she gave a fuck. “When did you pass?”
    “Never took it. Couldn’t be arsed.” The smug leer revealed a black hole with stumps.
    “That’s ‘Couldn’t be arsed, sergeant,’ is it?”
    He shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, love.”
    She took a step nearer, recoiled at the baccy breath and hint of body odour. “Tell you what’ll make me feel better – you getting off your butt and running the facts past me. You know? Like a professional?” The lip-curl was
deliberate. “Drop that fag, man, sort yourself out.”
    She rarely pulled rank, but she was sick of Highgate tossers like Les King: time-wasting clock-watchers, drifting to early retirement, treating women as bikes or dykes. Or both. Women bosses especially. The old slacker wouldn’t be here at all if
they weren’t so stretched these days. It wasn’t just Street Watch. They were on constant terror alert. And it was the soccer season. Saturdays were bad enough anyway and a derby at the Blues’ ground made it even worse.
    Rising with a couple of exaggerated winces, King stubbed the cigarette under a size ten boot, then made great play of extracting a dog-eared pocket book from his tunic.
    Bev’s trainer was tapping Morse. She de-coded anyway. “Just talk.” Tosser.
    He ignored the remark, continued to riffle the pages with a fat hairy finger.
    “For fuck’s sake, out of my way!”
    Bev couldn’t have put it better herself. But the words had been spat by a blowsy, busty blonde who sent Les flying as she stormed out of the house. Bev recognised the retreating figure instantly, reckoned the years had not been kind. The woman
was in four-inch heels but Bev had to lengthen her stride to keep up. “Where you off to, Mrs Beck?”
    “Where d’you think? I’m looking for Zoë.”
    Bev put a hand on the woman’s sleeve. “Let’s get some details first.”
    “That fat sod’s got the details...” Maxine suddenly stiffened, stopping mid-pavement. Bev watched as raindrops dripped from the bleached bird’s nest and trickled down wan cheeks. The face was easy to read. Maxine was scanning
her memory bank and clicking on Bev when she’d been in uniform. The penny dropped. Bev caught its flash in the coffee-coloured eyes. “You’re the cop what got me sent down.”
    Bev braced herself for a good slapping. The woman was already as wired as a junction box.
    “I’m putting in a complaint,” Maxine snapped.
    As quick as that? Bev tried not to show her feelings. Signally failed.
    “Not you.” More snapping from Maxine. “That bastard.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. King was lighting up again. “Been here nigh on an hour. Done nothing but drink tea and make stupid cracks.” Maxine sniffed,
wiped her nose with a sleeve. “I can’t stand the sodding sight of you. But at least you’ll get the job done.”
    Bev tucked her hand under Maxine’s leopard-print elbow and gently led her back to the house. She’d made a mistake. It wasn’t rain running down Maxine’s face. It was tears.
     
5
    “It’s just routine, Mrs Beck. We have to