Blood Rose Read Online Free Page B

killers.’
    Clare’s right eyebrow shot up.
    ‘Pretty. Soft voice. Tiny waist,’ said Riedwaan.
    ‘No wonder you remember her,’ said Clare. ‘Just your type.’
    ‘
Was
my type. You’re my type now. Skin, bone and attitude.’
    ‘So there
is
a body.’
    ‘It’s Monday morning,’ said Riedwaan. ‘There’s always a body.’

five
    ‘Hello?’ Clare’s phone was ringing as she opened her front door, laden with shopping bags.
    ‘Dr Hart? Please hold for Superintendent Phiri.’
    ‘Okay, I’m holding.’ She put down her bags, wondering if she had heard wrong.
    ‘Dr Hart?’ She hadn’t. The clipped formality could belong to only one man. ‘This is Phiri here. How are you?’
    ‘I’m well.’ Clare buried her surprise in pleasantries. ‘How nice to hear from you. How are you?’
    ‘Very busy, but well.’ Phiri took his cue from her. ‘I hope I haven’t got you at a bad time?’
    ‘Not at all.’ Clare could no longer ignore the growing knot of anxiety. ‘Has something happened to Riedwaan?’ she asked.
    Phiri laughed. The low, melodious sound didn’t fit with Clare’s picture of him: precise moustache, stiff and exact in his uniform. ‘He’s fine,’ Phiri said. ‘Looks as if someone’s been looking after him.’
    Clare blushed. She was glad there was no one except Fritz to see.
    ‘I have a situation that needs … lateral thinking. And tact – something I couldn’t get from Faizal for love or money. He suggested that I speak to you.’
    Clare was taken aback. Phiri had always been reluctant to use her services as a profiler. He had a policeman’s distrust of civilians and a man’s scepticism about giving a woman authority.
    ‘How can I help you?’
    ‘I’d like to discuss it with you in person. In an hour. My office at twelve.’
    Clare put down the receiver, took her shopping to the kitchen and packed it away.
    Two weeks ago, Riedwaan had stayed the whole night with her, slipping into domesticity as if it were a second skin. It was not so easy for Clare. Doubling her shopping seemed easier than talking about boundaries and space and her secret pleasure at being held in the morning, but Phiri’s call warranted a few questions.
    Riedwaan picked up on the fourth ring.
    ‘I’m meant to be going on holiday,’ said Clare. ‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’
    ‘I’m coming to the meeting, too. I’ll meet you outside the nut house.’
    At five to twelve, Riedwaan pulled up outside the newly built Psychological Crimes Unit. It had been dubbed the nut house before the first brick was laid, and the name had stuck, much to Phiri’s chagrin.
    Clare wrinkled her nose. ‘You smell horrible.’
    Riedwaan ground his cigarette under his heel. ‘That’s a nice way to greet someone who just got you a job,’ he said, reaching his hand under her thick hair. Clare arched her neck. ‘Are your hackles always raised?’ he asked.
    ‘Only when I’m suspicious,’ Clare laughed. ‘Explain. Phiri’s my new best friend?’
    ‘Let’s just say he sees you as a way out of a tricky political corner.’ Riedwaan followed her up the marble stairs of the unit.
    ‘Since when was I the answer to someone’s political problems? Or you for that matter?’
    ‘Captain Tamar Damases,’ said Riedwaan.
    ‘Who called this morning?’
    ‘That’s the one.’
    ‘I don’t trust you, Riedwaan. There’s something going on that you’re not telling me.’
    ‘She called. Out of the blue. She was looking for you, not me.’ Riedwaan knocked on Phiri’s door before Clare could interrogate him further.
    The senior superintendent gave the impression of a man in uniform, despite his civilian clothes. Phiri was lean to the point of thinness. He moved with the agility of the champion athlete he had been as a young man, desperate to escape the legacy of grinding poverty that illegitimacy had bequeathed him.
    ‘Thank you for coming, Dr Hart, Faizal. Can I offer you some coffee?’
    Clare declined.