Read Sorrow Bound for Free Online Page B

on the horn.
    ‘Patient woman,’ smiles Roisin.
    ‘Oh she’s a love,’ says Tremberg. ‘What brings you up this way, anyhow? Kingswood you live, isn’t it? Or did your husband tell me you were moving?’
    Roisin nods, like a teenager about to tell a friend what she is getting for Christmas. ‘We’re living out of boxes at the moment but we should exchange contracts next week. Aector’s taking care of all that. Lovely house though, down by the foreshore, under the bridge. Old cottages, done up a treat, so they are. I’ve got a load of ideas. I’ve spoken to Aector about having a few peopleover when we get moved in, so it would be lovely to see you. Bring a friend or two. Maybe not whoever’s honking that horn, though …’
    Tremberg smiles. She can see how McAvoy fell for this girl. She’s not just beautiful; she has some inner light, some warmth. She is a soothing presence.
This is what McAvoy comes home to
, she thinks. This is what keeps him upright. Keeps him good. Keeps him alive …
    ‘Oh, before you rush off, can I give you one of these?’ Roisin reaches behind the stroller and hands Tremberg a flier for the alterations service across the street. ‘My friend’s place. Mel. Met her at salsa not so long ago. Such a nice person. This is her dream, running her own place. She’s dead good, too. I’m just here for a bit of moral support because she feels a bit daft sitting there when there’s no customers. No air conditioning in there either, so she’ll probably have me wafting the door! Anyway, I’ll let you go but it’s lovely to see you again.’
    To Tremberg’s surprise, Roisin reaches up and gives her a clumsy kiss on the cheek. Tremberg gets a whiff of sugary pop, of expensive perfume and hand-rolled cigarettes, then gives a vague wave as she heads back to the car. She stops after a few paces, when she remembers that she owes Roisin a thank you. A few months back, Tremberg had been badly cut during the hunt for a killer, and through McAvoy, Roisin had sent her a pot of some herbal remedy that had helped take the sting out of the wound. At the time, Tremberg had tried to make a joke of it, and asked her sergeant if his perfect wife was a white witch as well as everything else. McAvoy had looked hurt, and Tremberg had ended up scolding herself for being mean and feeling like she had just punched a rabbit in the face.
    ‘Next time,’ she says, under her breath, opens the car door.
    ‘Could you have taken any fucking longer?’ demands Archer, as she snatches the packet and begins pulling out fistfuls of wet-wipes. She scrubs at her tanned brown arms, her made-up face, down into the cleavage of her pink tennis shirt. ‘No lemon?’
    ‘They were out of lemon,’ says Tremberg, wincing as her sweat-soaked shirt presses against the skin of her back as she sits down. She looks into the rear-view mirror and watches Roisin waiting for a gap in the traffic, singing gently to baby Lilah.
    Archer scoffs, and then reaches into her designer handbag and starts pulling out lipsticks and assorted blushers.
    ‘Who was that, anyway?’
    ‘Ma’am?’
    ‘The tart? Tits out. Fat arse. Asking the world to fucking look at her.’
    Tremberg opens her mouth to explain, then changes her mind. ‘Just somebody I know from a case.’
    Archer loses interest as she begins applying eyeliner. ‘On the game, is she?’
    Tremberg looks at her boss and lets a little temper bubble to the surface. ‘I think you’ve missed a bit.’
    *
    11.44 a.m.
    A taxi office off Hull’s Hedon Road, halfway between the prison and the docks.
    In the back office, Adam Downey is sipping whisky. It’s an expensive bottle. Japanese. It came in a metal casket with a samurai on the front. It’s supposed to be one of the finest spirits in the world and he’s drinking it from a crystal tumbler that weighs as much as his head. To Downey, the tipple tastes likepetrol and heartburn, but he reckons he looks good while sipping at it, so