Late evening, and Dempsey was padding around his apartment, trying and completely failing to relax. Harry would be out in Kings Cross by now. She was wired up and there was a team parked just around the corner, tuned into her every move. Earlier, Spikings had looked at his glum face and advised him to go home and get some rest.
"You look like you need it," he said. "We'll call you the moment anything happens."
He had protested violently, but even Harry had pushed him to stay away.
"Chances are, nothing's going to go on this evening. You're done-in. No sense both of us staying up all night. Why don't you get some sleep? Then you can be fresh for following up the lead on the ring tomorrow morning."
Reluctantly, he had agreed. The way things were between them, after today's heated discussion and with the general tension, he had the uncomfortable feeling that it wasn't just for the good of his health that she wanted him to stay away. They couldn't afford any distractions. So this was what happened when you got involved with your partner, he thought bitterly. Everything became suddenly more complicated.
Damn it, why had they paired him with a woman in the first place? He didn't need this kind of emotional crap - disagreements getting under his skin and affecting his ability to do his job.
Restlessly, he flicked through the TV channels, drank a beer, picked at a sandwich. He couldn't seem to settle to anything. He got up and peered out of the window. Across the street below, an office party was in full swing in the Irish pub on the corner. The windows were steamed up and gaudy Christmas lights twinkled around the door. A couple of people were leaving already, pulling their collars up against the December chill.
It was a bitter night, and there would be frost in the morning. Harry was going to be freezing. What had they kitted her out in, anyway? A mini skirt and fish nets probably, to blend her in with the local colour. He hoped she had some decent thermal underwear. Oh pull yourself together, fool.
Half an hour later, things were no better. He tried reading a book, but the words ran together and he realized he'd been staring unseeingly at the same page for five minutes. He gave up and checked his watch. Just after 9pm.
Hell, it can't hurt to swing over and see how things are going. She doesn't even need to know I'm there.
A few minutes later, he was out on the chilly pavement, headed for Kings Cross.
On York Way, Harry was indeed feeling the cold. She stood with Tina, the prostitute they had interviewed a few days ago, and blew on her hands as they watched the slow procession of cars streaming past, and occasionally stopping.
"Quiet tonight, 'arry" said Tina. "Not many of the regular punters around. Maybe they got more commitments at this time of year."
"Do you know most of them, then?" she asked curiously.
"A lot of them, yeah." Tina threw her cigarette end on the floor and ground it down with the toe of her stiletto. "Nine out of ten punters is regulars. Most of them are okay. Just normal geezers really, harmless enough. You get the odd weirdo."
"When you say weirdo…"
"Into strange stuff, y'know. Kinky. Or sometimes, they want to 'it yer. That's why we work in pairs. Look out for each other."
"So the 'weird' ones," Harry persisted, "do any of them stand out? Can you think of someone who's frightened you? Or maybe one of the other girls mentioned something?"
Tina shook her head. "That's the funny thing," she said. "Lately – until all this started – things have been good. I really couldn't tell yer when I last 'ad a bad punter. No knockings about, no threats, nothin'. I knew it couldn't last."
Ahead of them, a car slowed and stopped. A tall girl in turquoise satin pants appeared from out of the shadows. After a brief negotiation, she opened the door and climbed in. As they drove past, Harry got a glimpse of the man's face: middle-aged, non-descript. This was the problem with 'punters', she thought - they didn't look like the bogeyman. They looked like your next-door neighbour, because they probably were.
She scratched her stomach absently. The nylon boob tube she wore was rough and itchy against her skin.
"Remember Tina, we're looking for that car, the one you saw. I'll be here as long as it takes. I just hope I'm blending in."
"Oh, you're blendin' in alright," Tina said, taking in Harry's knee-high black patent boots, PVC mini skirt and heavy eye makeup. "In fact, I bet you're creatin' quite a stir. Might be hard to explain that you're unavailable."
Harry smiled wryly. I'm willing to do a lot of things in the line of duty, she thought, but turning tricks in Kings Cross isn't one of them.
At midnight, she was starting to flag. Tina had disappeared into a regular's car, and she was alone on their spot, in the quiet and cold. She checked her bra for the wire – it was still fixed firmly in place. Her feet ached, unaccustomed to the ridiculously high boots. As soon as Tina gets back, she thought, I'll nip around the corner to the surveillance van and beg a cup of tea. She had definitely earned a break.
Then, out of the darkness, she saw the headlights of a car. It moved slowly along before it pulled up next to her. The passenger window was half open, and the man inside leaned across the seat in invitation. She hung back, and was about to come out with her well-rehearsed line about waiting for a regular to show up, when she noticed the colour. It was maroon.
She glanced around. Tina was nowhere in sight. Could it be him? She did a quick calculation in her head. There was no harm in getting in and chatting a bit. The squad was listening to every word; they were minutes away. If nothing else, it would get her into the warm for a while.
She leaned down into the passenger window and smiled at the man ingratiatingly. "Alright?"
"Hello love," he smiled back. His eyes were kind. "Regular rates, is it?"
She nodded, her pulse quickening despite herself. "Hop in then," he said. Harry took a deep breath and opened the passenger door.