Chapter 9

Under the Carpet

Everybody filed out of Spiking's office after the Monday morning briefing with a certain degree of vigour. They had been presented with two new investigations; the blackmail by person or persons unknown of a top-ranking civil servant and the suspicious death of a visiting Israeli diplomat. They all had jobs to do and whilst Makepeace made a phone call to the Israeli embassy, arranging an appointment for herself and Dempsey later on that morning, Dempsey delegated a couple of pull-ins for Dave and Watson to interview that related to their existing caseload.

Makepeace was still on hold when he came back to his desk with two mugs of coffee. She glanced up briefly as he placed one of them in front of her.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

Dempsey sat down heavily on his swivel chair just across from her and picked up his own phone. With his elbows on the desk and his head hung down low, he waited for his call to be answered.

She watched him covertly through lowered eyelashes. Something was wrong with him she knew; not only was he exceptionally quiet but he looked deathly pale too.

They had barely spoken since they'd arrived, having gone directly into Spiking's office for the Monday morning briefing. Now was their time to be exchanging barbed pleasantries and witty observations but it wasn't happening. From Makepeace's viewpoint, it was a rather embarrassing silence. Her mind was still throwing up unruly images from her all too real early morning fantasies but on top of that there was also the joke Toni had employed to introduce herself on Friday evening to contend with. Harry had reacted in a way that had exposed her jealousies and insecurities – she had got herself drunk.

Of course there had been nothing to suggest to Dempsey that the two events were connected but he was a good detective and more than capable of putting two and two together. And on Saturday she had just made things even worse by running away from the situation at Stringfellows.

"Detective Sergeant Makepeace and I'm holding for Mr Ben-Zahav," she said with sharp impatience after being asked her name for the third time.

Dempsey raised his eyes to hers and she quickly looked away.

"Hey, Greg, it's Jimmy," Dempsey said into his receiver.

There was a moment for Greg to respond and then he asked, "Is Toni awake yet?"

Harry crossed her legs and turned a little to the side.

"Just wondered how she's doin'. She okay?"

Again a pause during which Dempsey rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "Uh huh. Okay. Well get her to eat somethin' and plenty o' fluids… she needs plenty o' fluids, yeah? Uh huh, just tell her to take it easy… no, I'm fine – feel better for getting' some fresh air in my lungs. Look, I'll see you tonight, okay?... Yeah, see ya… bye."

Makepeace was doing her level best to appear disinterested, rummaging through her desk drawer in search of a pen.

"Some smart-ass decided to soup up our drinks at the club, Saturday… either that or we got a dose of some twenty-four hour virus or other," Dempsey volunteered.

Makepeace frowned with concern. "Really? All three of you?"

"Nah, Greg got off scot free." He lifted his cup of coffee to his lips but then placed it back down again with distaste. "Greg Roosa - Toni's friend… but I guess you know that already."

Harry uncrossed her legs and looked down at the desk. "Yes, she mentioned him."

"Yeah… course," he mumbled, an awkwardness between them.

After a few moments silence and then with what seemed to be forced brightness he asked, "So, you get that Sunday lie-in, Makepeace?" He tapped at the side of his nose. "Saw you leavin' with that guy."

"What guy?" she asked indignantly. God, he looked rough. Like he hadn't slept for a week. "Oh, you probably mean TinTin."

Dempsey's eyes widened with amusement. "TinTin?"

So he'd seen her leave early and assumed she'd gone home with Justin. Or was he bluffing? Had he seen Justin return a few minutes later to re-join the rest of their friends after he had safely seen Harry off in her taxi?

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, a friend of mine." And then she added more casually, "Sorry I couldn't stop for a drink with you but I'd made arrangements."

"No problem."

He sat back in his chair with a deep sigh. "That thing… 'bout Toni bein' my wife… pretty funny, huh?"

She smiled faintly, see-sawing the biro she held between finger and thumb. "Mmm."

"Like I wouldn't of told you somethin' like that…"

Surprisingly, there was no sarcasm there. It seemed as though it was too much of an effort at the moment to make fun of her.

"Not that it would really make any difference to me one way or the other, Dempsey."

"No?" He picked up a manilla file from the top of the pile in his 'in' tray and slapped it down in front of him. "Gotta tell ya, I'd be seriously pissed if I found out my partner had been holding out on me."

"There's very little I learn about you that surprises me anymore," she said neutrally.

"Wow! Really? Have I made that much of a cynic outta you, Sergeant?"

Makepeace didn't reply.

Sitting back again, Dempsey propped both feet up on the desk, pulled the file onto his lap and flipped the front cover open.

"Oh and by the way, that Blondie number you had playin' so loud Friday night it almost had my ears bleedin'...?"

Involuntarily, her eyes darted to his as her chest constricted but she saved herself with a superciliously cocked eyebrow."

"I get it," he said flatly.

"You get what exactly?"

"You said it was apt."

"Did I?"

"They used it in that movie with Richard Gere…"

Oh God. A stupid, drunken, throwaway dig but he'd remembered it and worked it out and it both pained and gratified her that he knew her that well.

"… American Gigolo," he finished.

He ducked his head to attract her gaze. "Am I right or am I right?"

"Well, if the cap fits," she grated.

The phone suddenly crackled to life as her call was finally transferred.

"Good morning, Sergeant Makepeace, this is Shai Ben-Zahav," came a thickly accented, deep male voice.

Dempsey's legs dropped to the floor and he reared up out of his seat in a world-weary motion. "Boy, you got a real low opinion of me, Harry," he muttered before ambling off, still clutching the file to join Chas and Phil over at Phil's desk.

That was before I knew you weren't really married! She shouted at him in her head over the voice of Shai Ben-Zahav who was questioning whether she could actually hear him or not… to that flame-haired goddess you've got holed up in your flat, she added miserably.

Blearily, Toni opened her eyes to find Greg smiling down at her. She felt bad – worse than when she'd got up that morning. The headache was still there and the swimmy feeling had now extended to her limbs.

"You okay, sweetie?" he asked.

She didn't bother trying to sit up, there didn't seem any need.

"…time is it?"

"Just after 1:00pm. How're you feelin'?"

"Lousy. Really lousy," she cracked.

Greg put a soothing hand to her forehead, stroking back her hair and exaggerating the widow's peak hairline.

"How about we get you into bed and then I'll make us something nice to eat."

"Couldn't eat nothin', Greg. Thanks but maybe later."

"You need to keep your strength up, honey. I could scramble us some eggs?" he offered.

Toni shook her head. "No, nothing."

She suddenly struggled up off the sofa. "Think I'm gonna throw up!" she groaned and lunged unsteadily for the hallway.

"Okay, okay, honey," Greg flapped, trailing behind her into the bathroom.

As she bowed over the toilet bowl, Greg held back her mass of radiant red hair while she heaved up the meagre breakfast of Weetabix she had eaten earlier.

"This ain't no spiked drink, baby-girl, you've picked up a stomach full of nasty germs from someplace. No way you'd still be like this on a Mickey."

Toni moaned and wretched again. "Oh, Jesus!"

Greg gently rubbed her back. "Hey, it's okay. You're gonna be fine. I'm gonna take good care of you. You've got nothin' to worry about, honey."

As her body convulsed again, Greg softly hushed her. "I'm gonna take real good care of you and Jimmy. Believe me."