‘How do I look?’
‘Wait till you see the other fella.’
Imani smiled politely at the joke. And winced. Smiling made her face ache.
Mike Pierce was sitting next to her. Once the suspect had been pulled to his feet after his Tasering, had had his rights read to him and been bundled away in the back of a van, Pierce hadn’t left her side. He was there when the paramedics turned up, gave them an account of the injuries sustained by both herself and Nadish Khan, waited while she received treatment.
‘Back to base?’ he had said then. ‘You really should go home.’
‘And let the paperwork fairies take over from here? I’d love to.’
He had made sure she and Khan got safely back to Steelhouse Lane. Being in the MIU office in the middle of the night gave it an eerie, half-haunted, time-out-of-joint feel. The right place at the wrong time. As if being there at that hour was disturbing the ghosts.
He brought her a cup of what passed for tea, sat down next to her.
‘Thanks,’ she said, putting down the ice pack the paramedic had given her, bringing the cup to her lips.
‘Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t drunk it.’
She smiled. It hurt. ‘Not just for the tea. You and the boys, tonight… thanks.’
He shrugged. ‘No problem. That’s what we do in Community.’
Imani put the cup to her mouth once more, felt the steam warm her face. She looked at Pierce. He had a strong jaw, good profile. Rugged features, but kind eyes.
‘Listen,’ she said, putting the tea down, ‘I was wondering. You’ve been really great tonight and everything, but… I mean, you don’t have to… but I just wondered if you fancied maybe having a drink one night…’
Pierce smiled, eyes momentarily downcast.
He’s married, she thought. Shit. Or he doesn’t date black girls. Racist.
He turned to her. ‘That would be lovely, thank you, but…’
She waited.
‘There’s… a reason I work where I do. Southside. Hurst Street.’
Imani frowned. Then got it. ‘Oh. Right.’
He made a helpless, what-can-you-do gesture, gave a weak smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem. Sorry for asking.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t mind at all. Shy kids get nothing, as my mother used to say.’
‘What have they brought you back here for?’
Imani looked up when she heard the voice. DI Phil Brennan was walking towards them. He stopped when he saw her face.
‘Jesus Christ…’
She tried to smile. ‘That bad, eh?’ She looked up at him.
There was nothing but concern in his eyes. He knelt down beside her, studied her injuries. ‘Who did that to you? Our suspect?’
‘Yeah. I put my face in the way of his fist. He won’t do it again.’
‘You’re damn right.’ He nodded, still studying the damage. Then noticed that there was someone else there. Looked at him. ‘Phil Brennan.’
‘Mike Pierce. We spoke on the phone.’
They shook. Pierce got Phil up to speed. Phil thanked him, looked again at Imani. ‘What did the paramedics say?’
‘That I was lucky. Nothing broken. Least my nose won’t have to be reset. But I’m going to have a pair of gorgeous black eyes in the morning. We got him. That’s the main thing.’
Phil straightened up, looked round. Nadish Khan was sitting along from her, holding his side. Imani watched as Phil walked over to Khan, sat by him. ‘Same guy?’
‘Came at me with a bar or something in the car park.’ Khan moved, flinched. Screwed his eyes closed in sudden pain. ‘Paramedic reckons I’ve broken a couple of ribs.’
‘Jesus.’ Phil straightened up, looked between the pair of them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said to them both. ‘I had no idea this would happen.’
He means it, thought Imani; he really is anxious about us. ‘Might have been a lot worse if Mike hadn’t been there,’ she said.
‘And the response team,’ said Pierce. ‘Can’t take all the credit.’
‘Thank you anyway. All of you.’ He looked again at Imani and Khan. ‘I’m really proud of you both.’
They thanked him. Imani glanced at Khan. He seemed to be genuinely thrilled by the praise.
Phil was about to speak again when Khan’s phone rang. He looked at the display. Whatever he had been feeling after Phil’s praise quickly drained from his face.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to get this.’ He turned away so the rest of them couldn’t hear the conversation.
Imani threw a quizzical glance at Phil, whose features remained impassive.
Khan finished the call, turned back to the group. From the look on his face he had been given some bad, or worryingly unpleasant, news.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Phil.
‘Yeah,’ said Khan, unconvincingly. ‘Fine. I’ve, er… got to go. For a bit. That OK?’
‘Sure,’ said Phil, still concerned. ‘I think the pair of you should go home. You’ve done enough for one night.’
‘Thanks, yeah. Cheers.’
Khan turned, left them. His walk was contradictory, thought Imani. Brisk yet reluctant. Like he had to be somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Phil turned back to her and Pierce. ‘So,’ he said, ‘where’s this guy I’ve got to question?’