Dempsey loitered around the fourth floor and was getting nowhere with the typing pool. Whatever was going on with Harry was top secret. When the secretaries realised he was tapping them for information about his partner, they clammed right up.
Broads, he thinks and hears his partner chastising him with an icy glare. Women, he amends.
It's playground stuff, probably. Nothing tricky, or maybe it's a government thing? Some lying MP who needs tailing; she'd be perfect for that. It's a variation on a scenario he's replaying where they'd need her, not him. The bit that confuses him and pisses him off is why he wasn't told?
Edward's crew are let out on break like school kids, and he's slumped in the canteen, admitting a temporary defeat over a bacon roll. He's leafing through the daily papers for nothing else to do, working out how to break into Edward's office, and weighing up the risks of deportation over trusting his boss to look after his partner. He's starting to question if he's an overprotective arsehole when the conversation from the coffee machine reaches his ears.
"Edwards secretary wouldn't tell anyone who it is."
On this, Dempsey agrees. She's steely by name and by nature, with a habit of glaring over her glasses, making him feel like an errant school kid.
"Wasn't it the Chancellor's daughter?"
"Step daughter, it'll look terrible for her new daddy's reputation if she's found working in a strip joint."
"We've sent someone undercover?"
Dempsey turns the pages of the Daily Telegraph and wonders. Keep talking, assholes.
"Not a chance; that's bollocks. More chance of the miners' strike ending; we're not that involved."
"Home Office order, so I heard."
"That's proper fucked. Who was it?"
"Dunno, nobody does. I can think of a few I'd like to see. Bet DS Joyce wasername has a pair on her."
The three men laugh, and Dempsey feels a lurch of sympathy that he didn't expect. Since working with Harry, he's realised that men are pigs; he's not entirely innocent. Dempsey had no idea who they were, but he'd lay money that Joyce and Harry would know them. He wants to punch them into next Tuesday.
"Yeah, and that new girl, the red-head, ain't been around lately. Tell you who'd like to see getting her kit off. DS Makepeace."
"Miss America?"
"Oh yeah.. hot as fuck."
Dempsey unfurls from his seat and walks over to the table. One of the group clocks him just as he approaches, and looks nervous. He leans over and speaks in tones reserved for the lowest criminals.
"You speak about DS Makepeace like that again; I'll rip off your balls and shove them so far up your arse, you'll be eating them for dinner. You got that?"
He trips down the steps and speeds his car to Harry's home, shaking off his anger. He needs to think clearly; there's no guarantee it's Harry. He can't imagine her working at a strip joint. He thinks of the first time they met. Maybe?
There's still no way. She'd never get herself doing that, it's not her, but she could be on the bar.
He wonders why he cares about this. When he disappeared for six weeks, Harry waited it out and trusted him to do whatever was needed, but he couldn't seem to do the same for her. She's capable at her job, and he knows Spikings will take care of her as he does with everyone. The boss does seem to go the extra mile for Harry.
Dempsey parks in her driveway and sees the top of her car covered with leaves. He has no idea why he's here. Letting himself in, he decides to use 'housekeeping' as his excuse. The mail has built up since he was last here, he flicks through it and finds nothing useful. He waters the plants again, goes to her bedroom, and lies on her bed to think it out.
He's comparing his actions to Catherine Warren's when the phone rings. He leaps off the bed at it's shrill tone. Godammit.
"Hello?" He chances picking it up just in case it's his partner.
"James?" A reedy voice picks up gravitas. "It's Freddy, Harriet's father."
"Huh… Hello Lord Winfield." Dempsey tries to hide his disappointment.
"Have you heard from my daughter? I was ringing on the off-chance. We've not heard a dicky bird from Spikings."
"No, I haven't, and I don't know where she is." Dempsey feels sorry for the guy; he knows the fella isn't in the best health. It makes him hate Edwards a bit more.
"Manchester, I believe. She said she'd have afternoon tea at The Midland; we used to go with her late mother." There's a pause. "I'm so sorry old chap, she asked me to tell you, and I completely forgot."
Harry, you angel. Dempsey can't tick the old man off; he's glad his partner has left a breadcrumb.
What in hell is she doing in Manchester. When he's said farewell to Freddy, he lies back down on her bed. If Harry was in trouble, she'd call him. She's also more than able to persuade Spikings to send him in. He comes to one conclusion.
He's nuts about her. Shit. That wasn't meant to happen.
He misses her ticking him off and her smile, even the roll of her eyes. It's like someone has taken part of him away, and he's no idea when that vital organ will be given back to him.
He has vacation time. He's only been North once, to Cambridge. Manchester can't be that far away, can it?
