Dad, John and I sit in the back of the taxi as it drives to the murder scene.
John is confused and dad is being dad and is oblivious to human emotions.
"Okay, you've got questions." I say, trying to reduce the awkwardness.
"Yeah, where are we going?"
"Crime scene. Next?"
Okay good dad's finally talking.
"Who are you? What do you do?
"What do you think?
John hesitates before answering,
"I'd say private detective ..."
"But?"
"But the police don't go to private detectives."
"I'm a consulting detective."
"We're consulting detectives." I correct him.
"You're 13 you're too young to be a consulting detective. I'm the only one in the world. I invented the job."
"What does that mean?"
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."
"Or me if he can't be bothered."
"The police don't consult amateurs."
"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised." Boy I would have loved to have seen that.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military."
I say before Dad interrupts me
"But your conversation as you entered the room ... trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq."
"You said I had a therapist."
"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." "Sister" I wispier
"Hmm?"
"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."
"The engraving. Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"
"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see – you were right." "I was right? Right about what?'
"The police don't consult amateurs."
And then we are there, we shuffle out of the taxi and dad pays.
"Did I get anything wrong?"
"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."
"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."
wait for it
"And Harry's short for Harriet."
"Ha I knew it!"
Dad glares at me but I don't care, it isn't often I get to say "I told you so" to him. I smile all the way to to the police tapes, that smile instantly drops tho when I see Donovan.
"Hello freak, junior freak."
"We are here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."
"Why?"
"We was invited."
"Why?"
"I think he wants us to take a look."
" Well, you know what I think, don't you?"
"Always, Sally."
"I even know you didn't make it home last night." I say, I detest Donovan.
"I don't ...Er, who's this?"
"This is John." I say,
"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson."
"Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan."
"Colleague? How do you get a colleague?"
I've had enough of Donovan so I duck under the tape and start to walk inside the building, I can hear dad following me.
"Freaks are here. Bringing them in."
Oh and there's Anderson, time for round two.
"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."
"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"
The last place is directed at me.
"Quite clear." Dad gives me a you know what to do here look.
"Is your wife away for long?"
"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."
"Your deodorant told me that." Dad says.
"My deodorant?"
"It's for men."
"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"
"So's Sergeant Donovan." We say in unison, we have a rabbit for that. Then Dad says some more witty things but to be honest I'm fare too tied to pay attention. As we enter the building Dad points to the coveralls and gloves "You need to wear one of these." Dad tells John, I gave up on those things long ago.
"Who's this?" Asks Lestrade
"He's with us." "But who is he?"
"I said he's with us."
"So where are we?"
"Upstairs.